Liches Get Scritches: A Cat Cultivation

The rat was almost as big as me. Brazenly sat on the stones of my kitchen floor, he held a hunk of my Maud’s freshly made bread in two filth encrusted paws. More discarded food was littered about the floor behind it. A smashed jar lay in pieces, fragments of magical herbs, and spices, all of them ruined. Vegetables, a hunk of meat.

Anger flared in my chest. This was my place. My things. My meat! How dare this spongy tailed squeaker defile my living space? The audacity of it to just sit there…

Keeping the cottage and garden clear of vermin was generally an easy task for a cat of my abilities. But the last few days I had been aware of something out of place. My cultivation had been disturbed by shadows, and odd noises, all mysteriously gone when I climbed off the thatch to investigate. I knew it was not my imagination, or unruly ghosties, because neither of those leave behind gnawed sacks, crumbs, or foul excrement. Once, twice, I glimpsed a furred body disappearing into the woods but I was never able to catch it. This, too, was alarming as my running speed now was quite impressive.

That night I abandoned my meditation to watch. Secreting myself high atop the cupboard, I lay flat in the shadows. As still as a stone, only my green eyes peeked out to watch. I did not have that long to wait. The world passed into the stillness of deep night. Maud was fast asleep. Far above I could feel Moon’s presence, even if I could not see her. It was very quiet. Not long after, I heard the thief in the kitchen, although I did not see his means of arrival.

And now, this rat was watching me back. Not only was he not paralysed with fear, he did not seem to care at all. There was a glint of red in those narrowed eyes that made me pause. An unusual shade for a squeaker. Not only that but a scent of rot hung in the air. He looked… ill. Fat in an unhealthy way, bulging with gas or bloat. The scent was reminiscent of the stink of cultivation but mixed with something else I didn’t recognise. Whatever it was it turned my stomach and coated my throat with bile. I did not want to eat someone so obviously impure, so a swift disembowelling would have to do.

I crept along the kitchen wall, keeping low, ready to pounce.

The rat continued to gnaw on the bread, red tinted eyes locked brazenly, mockingly, on mine.

I leapt, claws outstretched.

They sank, not into soft flesh but into hard muscle. I cut deeper until they scraped against bone. The rat tumbled backwards with a piercing shriek. My teeth snapped shut over the vermin’s throat - or where the vermin’s throat had been only a second before. He twisted, sinking vicious fangs into my side. How dare! I knew fury, stars of anger exploding across my vision.

We rolled over and over in a tangle of spitting, and clawing. I was slightly bigger but the rat was somehow heavier. He ripped a chunk of flesh from my side. I kicked him in the stomach and tore a strip of hide from his bones. He bit me again, and again, foam frothing at the corners of his mouth. Blood trickled down my claws as I sank them desperately into his sides. The absolute gall of this diseased squeaker drove me to a frenzy of violence such as I have never experienced before.

Invade my home, not be afraid, fight back, injure me! It was not to be borne.

I kicked, I swatted, I bit, driving him into a corner with my onslaught. He slashed my face, opening a weeping, stinging cut over my eye. With a rumble that shook my belly I grappled his disgusting body, the force of my jump rolling us over as I held him tight. I pummelled, and pummelled and pummelled his head with my powerful back feet, until at last I heard his skull crack.

The rat went limp. I pummelled him a while longer, just in case.

Then I lay panting on my back, with the smelly corpse still held tight. Sometimes squeakers pretended to be dead when they weren’t, but I could see the dent in this one’s head. I let him go, pushing him away and flipping onto my paws to inspect the body. My mouth tasted disgusting. I felt disgusting. And weak.

The eyes, no longer red tinted, were wide open and staring. Long, pale grey and pink digits protruded from dirt encrusted claw-like feet. Scars criss-crossed his face and belly. Old scars, not of my making. His nose was long and pointed, sharper and harder than any other squeaker I had come across. The carcass smelt terrible, like it had already started decomposing.

I poked the corpse again, to make sure he was dead, and because I thought it was a little bit funny. He was still dead. The real question - had he been Awake? And what was wrong with him?

As I was contemplating how I could remove the foul thing from my house without putting my mouth on it again, a noise behind me made the hair on the back of my neck rise. Two more rats stood framed in the doorway.

Like the first, red glinted in their eyes. Like the first they were bigger than any rat had any business being. These two looked even rougher than their slain companion. Unclosed wounds marred pointed faces. I got a good look at them as they ran towards me.

Whirling, I kicked one with a hind leg, slashing the other’s face with razor sharp claws. Instinctively I knew I needed to get out of the corner. I ran the short step backwards, jumped up against the wall, and soared over their startled pointy heads. Now I had the space to move, but two sets of salivating mouths were much more troublesome than one. Never before had I been so hard pressed.

I leapt forward as they leapt for me. We met in a mash of teeth and claws. Round and round we went, biting and snapping, but as soon as I had shaken one lose the other was there. The scent of blood and dirt filled my nose. With a vicious kick I freed myself only to leave a chunk of my flesh in a rat’s mouth. My sides were streaked with blood and huffing like a bellows.

I sprang to the safety of the kitchen table, which earned me a moment’s respite.

The rats could not make the leap. One scrambled around, snarling and jostling the table legs. The other sat calmly, chewing up my precious flesh with protruding yellowing teeth. I spat at it and the squeaker grinned up at me. My sides throbbed, pain lanced through me, threatening to blind my vision with stars. But the rage I felt at this incursion would not allow weakness. I could feel the pain later.

With a yowl I launched myself down, landing squarely on top of the closest squeaker. I sank my teeth into its neck and bit as hard as my jaw would allow. As the light died from its eyes the other one launched at me, and I saw a matching spark of fury in its eyes. I had not been sure before, but I was sure now. These creatures were Awake.

Well, not for long! I dodged a wicked snap, received a kick, and gave one in return. A cunning twist slashed my nose open. Oh how it stung! My head smashed into the floor. I rolled, ducking beneath the snap of wicked fangs. I was so tired now, my limbs heavy as rocks and moving too slowly but I gathered myself for one last blow. I feinted left, then slapped the rat with every last remaining ounce of strength in my shaking paw. Mental stillness? Perhaps. My paw raked across its head, splitting skin and sinew, its jaw whipped backwards from the blow. That was all I needed. I pounced, ripping out its exposed throat.

The rat drowned in its own blood with a gurgle, and I threw up on top of its body.

For a moment I wavered there, my body caught between disbelief and pain. I crawled away, the exhaustion slamming into me all at once. The adrenaline left me and I must have passed out, my chin rested on the cold stone. I do not know how long I laid there.

The next thing I knew, Maud was exclaiming, lifting me gently, lavishing me with affection and praise. She laid me on her lap, dimly, I was aware of her ministrations. She pressed stinging ointments into the wounds on my sides. I had enough energy left in me to bite her hand. The ointments hurt and I had done enough hurting today. She babbled on and on, and I let the sound wash over me in comfort. She cleaned my fur as best she could with her clumsy giant fingers. That was nice. I appreciated her efforts.

At some point the ointment stopped stinging and I fell asleep knowing I was safe and cared for. This time it was proper sleep, not the passed out unconsciousness of exhaustion and blood loss.

When I awoke I felt awful, and everything still hurt. My head felt heavy, and a headache pounded through my head like a summer thunderstorm. I glared down at my poor coat. Chunks were missing, but at least it had stopped bleeding. Maud’s ointments were coated by a sticky dressing and some sort of cloth. It all looked dreadful. I did my best to clean around it but it was too much and I was still too tired.

Maud had left me food and water where I could reach, and I felt a little better after eating and drinking. It also helped wash the foul taste of rat from my throat. Looking up I could see she had removed their carcasses as well. Good riddance. I fell asleep once more and had nightmares about a fourth rat that I could not stop.

When I woke for a second time it was dark once more. For a brief moment I was confused, and afraid, surrounded by visions of sacks and rats and fast flowing waters as black as pitch that dragged me down into death’s cruel embrace. One life, two life, three, they left me, ticking away like hands on Maud’s clock, and I could do nothing to stop myself from dying. Then I recovered myself, and remembered I was safe in my basket, and there was a merry fire burning in the hearth.

Listening carefully, I could hear the vague noises of Maud bustling around in the cellar. There were no rats. I had killed them all. All was well. I laid back and watched the flames dance awhile. Then I started to meditate. I wanted to see if I could do it in an injured state. It should, in theory, aid the healing of my body. Being vulnerable was for birds and squeakers, not cultivating cats.

The soreness made concentration difficult, but eventually my breathing slowed and regulated, and the pain receded. I chased fire qi through my veins, setting myself alight with its passage, cycling over and over. It stung almost as much as the smelly ointment, but a warming, nourishing sting, scouring away the unclean. Scouring away the touch of those rats.

When I surfaced from my meditation I was pleased to note my wounds had started to scab over. Well, well, well. They smelled clean, and I felt much revived. The gunk of cultivation covered me, but it was a familiar stench, and worth it. I celebrated with a careful wash, going over every inch of myself possible, again and again until I was properly clean once more.

What had Maud done with the rats' bodies? I wondered if she burned them up in the fire. That was probably for the best as I would not want their corpses defiling my daisies. Or my forest for that matter.

Over the next few days my wounds continued to heal rapidly. Even my fur grew back, thick and soft, as if it had never been gone. Opening my skin meridian had made my coat extra glossy. I loved how it made my fur look. It shone with health (when it was not covered with muck or mud…or blood). I noticed it was also hardier, tougher, and less likely to split when I was wounded, although the horrible rats had obviously done an excellent job. I knew they were not normal rats, however. Normal squeakers could not have injured me so.

My Maud seemed a little perplexed by my speedy recovery, but after inordinate amounts of prodding and checking and double checking the site of my wounds she muttered something in her gibberish, and let me be. I reassured her as best I could, then returned to my regular training schedule. I continued to keep an extra careful eye on the house. I explained to the bees and the nanny goat the need for caution, and asked them to keep watch, but I do not think either understood. I did not even try to explain to the chickens - that was clearly a lost cause. The geese were good watchmen but they did not have Wuot’s intelligence.

I searched the surrounding woods in vain for more rats.

Finding nothing untoward was a relief. Still, they had come from somewhere. In my fevered nightmares I dreamt of whole nests of them - Awake, red-eyed giant vermin, an army of slathering, vicious rodents all just waiting to destroy my home. I would destroy their home first. And if they came back to the cottage before I found them, well, I would be waiting, stronger than ever.