Catland - a humorous fantasy

Chapter Seven: Disguises

That day, Greg dreamed about Sarah, which was something he really tried not to do.  He dreamed that Sarah was finally coming home from that long, long holiday she had taken, and she was bright-eyed and suntanned and rattling on and on about all the wonderful adventures she'd had, but all Greg wanted to do was hold her very, very close, and weep quietly into her fur, and tell her that—

"Excuse me," said a strained voice that was trying to be polite, "but you're getting my coat wet."

Greg sat up with a jolt, to find a supine Leopold looking at him sardonically over his shoulder.  He realized, with a wave of hot shame, that he had been cuddling the man-sized cat in his sleep.  Of course, Leopold wasn't a man-sized cat; it was Greg who was a cat-sized man.  Everything was very confusing.  And Greg also realized that he had to pee.

Leopold craned his neck and looked down at the droplets of tears that had collected in the black fur of his back.  He licked the tears experimentally.  He looked up at Greg.

"Are you all right?" asked Leopold.

It was not an easy question to answer, under the circumstances.  Instead of trying to come to grips with all the various arguments pro and contra the proposition that he was all right, Greg did what he usually did when people asked him that question: he lied.

"Yes," said Greg.

"You're weeping," said Leopold helpfully.

"Yes," said Greg.  "It's something I do in the mornings."

Leopold nodded sagely, stretched, and got to his feet.  He looked at the opening in the side of the tree.  "It's almost dark," he said.

Greg followed the direction of the cat's gaze.  Sure enough, long interlacing shadows lay in dark streaks along the ground, with bright glowing patches scattered among them, shrinking and getting paler as the sun dipped behind the hill.  As they watched, the last pools of molten sunlight vanished into nothing, and the earth was cool, and blue, and dark, and growing darker, and the night began to take hold.

Leopold's eyes glowed bright in the twilight.  "This is a night of destiny, Gregory Tilson," intoned the cat.

"I have to pee," said Greg.

Greg crept out into the dusk and relieved himself against a tree trunk.  The night air was cool and clean, and he felt grateful to be awake.  He was still cowed and frightened by the unknown dangers that lay ahead of him, but somehow none of Catland's insane mysteries were quite as intimidating, just now, as the prospect of returning to his own big, empty house.  While he was there, the house had seemed safe, and comfortable, and mercifully predictable; now that he had left it, he wasn't sure he would ever find the strength to go back.

Greg climbed back into the hollow tree, and since there wasn't much else to do while they waiting for Millicent, he decided to annoy Leopold by asking him questions.

"So what happened to Millicent's family?" he began.

Leopold shrugged.  "It is an unlucky thing to speak about."

"You mean you're afraid to speak about it?"

Leopold fixed Greg with a baleful gaze.  "Your childish attempts at psychological manipulation are wasted on me."

"So you are afraid to speak about it."

"Of course not!"

"Well, go on, then."

Leopold sighed, and relented.  "The Lamleys were a proud family," he began, "and for the most part they shunned the world outside their own walls.  That is why they were so vulnerable to the great catastrophe known as The Culling."