After Eliot

By Katrina Moinet

Silence thrummed. 

Mac nudged the sad empty bowl, scraping and scratching against ceramic tile. Jellied spam aroma tingled his nostrils. His stomach growled and gnawed. Still nothing. Mac leapt onto the counter, toast-crumbs crushed by his tender pads. He observed the implement drawer: open. A sticky jampot held one, vertically plunged. 

Mac paused for a sine-wave vertebrae stretch, then poured his nonchalant frame over the counter’s edge, into the pitch black and strutted to the front door. Something was missing. The faux-suede holdall hunched by the entrance for the past week was gone. Mac settled into the cavity. 

Incursion

By Tinamarie Cox

The purring grew louder on the other side of my closet door. The rhythm of my heart muted the sound for a microsecond at a time. “Please…” I whimpered in the dark among my shoes, my clothing hanging above me. I covered my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut. My body curled in on itself as my chest tightened. The scratching began. All those claws grating against the wood put a lump in my throat. I was going to die tonight. The cats were coming for us all. Who the hell let them watch Hitchcock’s The Birds?

Worship Me!

By James Hancock

Delicious contempt served with every step from door to bed.  Graceful and superior.  To sleep the stretched sleep of selfishness.  My bed.  Your problem.  A belly to entice, but touch and you’ll feel the kicking claws of destruction.  I match your screams with ears back and cold staring death.  Bleed later, minion, for now I wish to feed.  Then into wild suburbia once more, to show dominance over unoccupied driveways and rooftops.  The agility of a ballerina, as I lick my tail atop a narrow wall.  Felinus Purrfectus, with nine lives to spite lesser mortals.  Who would be anything else?

Ghostly Bedfellows

By Kim Russell

In the grey shadows of pre-dawn, I’m woken

by companions of the past and the present,

haunting my dreams until they’re broken.

These ghostly bedfellows curiously haunt,

purring, kneading, butting, always knowing

I will fill their dishes in the morning.

They guard me closely through the night

but, once fed, they lick their lips, 

clean their paws and, tails straight up, slip

out the open door to disappear into a bright

new day, off to hunt a sun-kissed butterfly

or chase a fieldmouse wandering by.  

Lying Low, Aiming

by Jay McKenzie

"Wanna touch it?" 

'It' is a chained tiger cub lying on a crate surrounded by Pad Thai vendors and knock-off Adidas stalls. A rusted metal ring circles his neck.  Four young women, heads tilted, V fingers poised, are giggling for another picture with him.

The glassy pools of the cub's eyes settle on mine, and I briefly wonder if he's been drugged. 

"Simi." Greg, coiled noose-knot tight appears at my side. I twist the gold band on my finger. "Never wander off like that again." He grabs my wrist.

The tiger watches steadily as Greg drags me away.

The Catus Manifesto

By Eric Chong

Ten minutes after the first alliance between a litter of business-minded kittens and a colony of sometimes vertical primates, a feline manifesto was drafted.

The manifesto was developed by Fido Cato; A kitten who understood the primates were doomed because of ineffective food storage techniques.  Their grain sheds were paradise for vermin.  Obese vermin - a paradise for felines.    

   Inspired, Fido declared; “The world was conceived by the mind of Cat. All belongs to Cat.” 

  This declaration has become an eternal and cellular blood creed in the universal consciousness of Felis Catus.

I Have an Invisible Cat

By Manuela Stoicescu

She was born like that. Nothing but a small thud on a wet towel. They kept her in a little cage with sand, so they could “see” where she was. 

I let her be, but sometimes she jumps on my lap and scares the life out of me. Or knocks stuff off my shelves when I doze off in my chair. But I haven’t felt or heard her in days. I don’t know if she ran away or if she… I don’t know how long invisible cats live. Can you die from being unseen?

A Difference of Opinion in Downtown Seoul

By Mary Cohen

Beyond the musical trees and rooftop cafes, you sip convenience-store beer and say: “I can’t wait to get out.”

A street kitten floats by, its paws dangling in the air, perfectly obedient in its mothers mouth. 

We watch in silence as they disappear into an apartment block.

“The lifestyle’s unsustainable,” you say.

The mother cat returns. Our eyes follow as she hurries past, re-emerging moments later with another offspring.

You complain that the beer tastes bad. The city’s cramped. The nature: fake.

I listen to the classical music that plays from the trees and watch the kittens passing by.

The Campers Prefer the Cats

By Sarah Heald

Skinny and silent, the beach cats prowl at dawn.

In the soft Spanish air, the campers roll from salt-damp sleeping bags, and watch the cats waiting.

By day, amid the sprawled sun-lovers, ice-cream and parasols, there had been no sign of the feline. No cats strolled during the elegant Paseo. Those who belonged displayed their fresh-pressed shirts and elegant light dresses.

Lucy made do with her bleached sarong.

In the quiet morning, the fishing boats return.

On every rentable beach-lounger sits a cat.

To every one, a sardine is flung.

Repletion as the sun rises.

No More Mozart

By Kerr Pelto

Flea-ridden, emaciated cats of indiscriminate parentage carpeted every surface in the hoarder’s den. They licked their paws clean with delight, tidbits of raw flesh satiating their inflicted starvation. Stale cigarette smoke danced in the air and played with the lukewarm corpse sprawled on the blood-soaked oriental rug. Reclining atop the pristine Steinway, a Siamese swished her tail, Adagio to Prestissimo. She sprang off her regal tower and pounced on her master’s oozing face. Purring loudly, she sharpened her claws on the narcissistic pianist, keeping tempo with the abandoned metronome, and added her revenge marks to the other orphans' putrifying gouges.

The group chose ‘I Have an Invisible Cat’ as their favourite. Congratulations, Manuela Stoicescu!