Then, using a special viewer, Narfstrom peered deep into Gingersnap's eyes to measure the 4-year-old cat's losing battle with a disorder that is slowly killing her retinas, the thin film at the back of the eyeball that makes sight possible.

Installment 11

My name is Ra-oula. Everybody calls me Lupe, Clay’s little white cat. But my secret name, the name left for me by the Elders, is Ra-oula which, in Furless, means White Angel. I have knowledge of things that I have never seen. I know many things that I have never learned, and I have seen places that I have never been. I know two different kinds of things; things that I have learned during my own life, and things remembered, gathered together, and left for me by my Kind. If I learn anything new, and if it’s important enough, it will be added to The Memory of my kind. But after so many thousands of generations, most of us living today will not leave anything new

The Memory shows me a small fire. A Furless One is eating. I see a rat; it is eating too, eating the Furless One’s food. I feel an overpowering hatred toward the rat. I hear the Furless One make a loud noise, and see it wave its front legs at the rat. The rat looks at him, and then it keeps eating.

Furless Fool, I’ll show you how my Kind deals with vile, filthy rats.

I find the breeze; it must blow toward my face if I am to hunt. I move so very slowly. I become the soil, the bush, the rock. I know that I can not be seen, can not be heard. I breathe shallow and quiet. I step, one…foot…at…a…time, patience, patience.

Words come to me; she who hunts the slowest, eats the soonest. I pause between steps and stand stone-still, then slowly forward. When cover runs out, I crouch down as small as I can. I wiggle all of my strength down my body, down to my back legs. I close my world down. Nothing exists but me and the rat.

In an explosion of power, I leap forward. In one motion, without slowing, without mercy, I bite into the rat and keep running. I run with the rat in my jaws, until I’m out of sight of the Furless one. I stop to see if he is chasing me, to get his rat back. No. He must know that it would be pointless.

In time, the rats are sent to bring plague to the Furless Ones. I see two armies preparing for a final, winner-take-all battle. An endless valley is filled with countless millions of rats; their ranks reach all the way to the horizon. And in the distance, a tall mountain is beautifully alive with a million of my Kind, preparing for war. The battle races by my eyes in short, gruesome visions. When it’s over, all of the rats are dead. But the number of my Kind has fallen from a million, to only a few hundred. My heart is aching.

The Memory tells me, Ra-oula, do not mourn. This war had to be fought. The rats were destroying the whole world. This war, ten thousand years ago, almost cost us our entire Kind. But never forget, in the end, and still to this day, it is our Kind that has triumphed.

The Memory becomes more and more about the Furless Ones. I am hunting rats in ships on the ocean, in grain bins, in grass huts and palaces alike, in tiny villages and giant cities. I know that wherever the Furless Ones are, the rats will go. And wherever there are rats, the Furless Ones will always want me there.

Still, The Memory races by. Many Furless Ones now feed me whether I hunt or not. We live together in the same houses. Our lives, and our destinies, are intertwined. Some treat me as their own kind. I have helped to give them a better life, and they share it with me.

Now The Memory slows down for me. I see a little-one of my kind, newly born, eyes still not opened, unable yet, to walk. It is white. It is in a pile of dirty papers and rotten food, and very sick. Then I see my Furless! He takes the white little-one from the lonely place. He takes it with him to my house! As the little-one grows, the two of them become very close, as though they are of one Kind. Then I hear him calling, “Lupe! Lupe!” It is me he is calling. I feel so happy that I fear that I will die of happiness!

I am growing old now, and I am afraid. Not for myself, not at all. I am afraid for him. I know that he needs me. I worry what will happen to him when I have gone.

Nobody knows him like I do. When he is sick, I keep him company. When he is sad, I act the clown. I run, I flip, I chase shadows, I attack his feet and fall over dead, as if from the smell. If that does not work, I just sit with him, so he knows that he is not alone. And when he is happy, we rejoice together.

But I have one small hope. There is another of my Kind. It is in my garage. My Furless takes some of my food to it every day. I have not seen it, but I know it is a male. A male is not the best one to take my place, but as my Furless says, you must play the hand you are dealt.

It is time to meet the new Rawrhah-pdddrrup. I am not sure what to do! I have never even been near another of my Kind before! But The Memory will know. My Furless opens the door. I walk into my garage and see the Rawrhah-pdddrrup.

He is a giant compared to me, and wild. I can see the ugly marks of many fights. He makes threats at me. The memory says, do not listen to him, show contempt, and insult him! I walk in a circle around him, sniffing at him. He watches me but does not move.

I smell a faint odor of dogs on him. I look in his eyes and tell him that he stinks. His eyes grow wide with fury, and his threats grow worse. Do not listen! Do not fear! Insult him again! It is the only way! I sniff at him some more, and I hiss the meanest, most offensive insult in my language, you smell like a DOG!! ……OK, now what do I do???

(Continued in the next issue of The Cat's Meow)