Manx

The cat said nothing, and I hated her for it. Those wide, unblinking eyes, so calm and cool and full of azure malice. Like she wasn’t even trying. Like it just came natural.

But then, she was a damned cat.

And I’d do her good.

I brushed crumbs from my whiskers, glanced at Julien.

And Julien…?

Julien wouldn’t even look at me. Not so much as an acid glare. He just hunkered there, paws fidgeting, whiskers twitching, staring unblinking across the vast expanse, to our home across the way. Was naught but a hole in the wall, a nest, but it was ours.

The cat’s tail twitched, just its feathered end, as it crept left-wise for a better angle. It was closer from there, but left us a lane open towards our hole. Almost… The great-maker’s monolith we hid beneath was low, held aloft by four short legs, bent like the trunks of trees harvested from a crooked wood.

“Still too far,” I muttered, just for something to say, to break the fugue, the still, the silence.

Julien scowled, shook his head, said nothing. Usually, you couldn’t get him to shut up. Usually, your ears were bleeding something fierce before you’d left the nest. But that was then…

“Sure we can’t reset it?” I patted the trap. We’d set it off four days past, swiping the goods. Long as you’re careful? Approach from the right angle? Leap on the bait, landing square? No big thing. A whoosh and a snap sure to tighten your tuckus. But once it snaps? Well then, it’s relish the treasure and eat at your leisure, ain’t it?

And we had.

Until the damned cat came, cornering us.

“Rrrg…” I gripped the metal bar, tried forcing it up, over, but it didn’t budge. And I was weaker now. No food for over three days. I collapsed back, huffing. Julien hadn’t twitched an inch. My stomach growled, and he finally looked over.

“Say something.” I looked down, away, twitched the last vestiges of crumb from my whiskers. “Please.”

“You never listen,” Julien whispered.

I sniffed, winced, burped. “S’cuse me.”

“We had a plan.”

The cat swiped a paw in under the great soft monolith. Just a half-assed claw, testing for depth, but one claw was enough. More than enough.

“You can’t reach us, you idiot.” I stuck out my tongue.

The cat hunkered closer, adjusting its paws, setting its gaze, sitting like a sphinx.

I eyed her and, despite my recent bravado, edged back against the wall. A patient type of mouser. I’d heard of her kind. Crooked, gnarly, bent, and old, and not to be trifled with.

“The plan wasn’t working,” I explained.

“It might’ve.”

“Maybe,” I ceded. “Or maybe we’d have been two little skeletons hunkered here til spring.”

“You just needed patience.”

“Three days,” I said. “And well, you know me.”

“You ate it,” Julien scowled. “You ate it all. Ate it without asking. Ate it without telling.”

“One of us has to make it out of here.”

“And you’re calling all the shots?”

“What’s done is done.” I clutched my gurgling gut.

“That’s you in a nutshell.” Julien was looking a mite gaunt, a mite peaked, too. Starving tends to do that, though.

“And she ain’t moving.” I nodded over at the cat. “Are you, cat?”

The glimmer of a grin twitched the corner of her lip. “Wouldn’t count on it,” the cat purred softly. Such a lovely sound from a horrid monster. “Wasn’t what they brought me in for.”

They. The great-makers. They’d waged war on us for longer than any could remember. And really, the ‘any’ meant only Julien and me, because the rest were dead. The last of anyone in the great-maker’s edifice. The cat was an evolution of sorts, the war’s third iteration. The traps had been its second. And its first—

My stomach turned near inside out growling.

“Eh? What was that?” The cat twitched a whisker. “You say something, mouse?”

“Nah.” I clutched my gut, grimaced. “Was just my stomach.”

“Hungry, eh?” the cat said. “My my, well so am I. Been a long sight since I’ve had a good bite.”

“We’re both just skin and bones.” Julien whimpered. “Couldn’t you just let us go…?”

“Be my guest.” The cat sidled aside, holding out a paw as though inviting us out for a warm summer jaunt. Those eyes, though, wide with guile…

Julien swallowed, licked his snout, laid a paw on my own. “I don’t think we should—”

“I love you, Jules,” I cut him off, patted his paw, squeezed it.

Julien’s eyes went wide. “Harriet, don’t—”

I bolted out from under the monolith, scampering fast, scampering quick, heading for the hole, for home, for him. The cat was taken aback. I’d never seen shock fluster a feline’s eyes, but there it was.

And there was the hole!

Just a few bounds.

Almost…

But then, that’s what she wanted. Can’t fall far without hope. But if you climb the heights…? And that’s what cats want. All cats. This cat. They may always land on their feet, but everyone else?

The cat had me pinned by the tail four bounds from home, paws scrambling in place, nails scritching, scratching. Then came the wallop, the bat, and all went dizzy grizzled. She bore me back to the long soft monolith and plunked me down. Not roughly, almost gently. But then, she wanted me alive when she ate me. Wanted Julien to watch, to see me squirm, hear my squeaks, my screams, my squeals.

Through the numbing buzz, I mouthed something soft and slopping, those great awful azure orbs descending, sharp teeth gleaming, as it spat aside my severed tail.

The cat? She was an evolution of sorts, the war’s third iteration. The traps had been its second. And its first? The blocks of poison hid around the edifice, under the monolith, gurgling now in my belly. And soon? It’d be gurgling in hers.