by

S. S. Maddix

1. The Cats of Hill City

Tony MacGillicuddy was a bully. He had only been living in Hill City for a few months, but already he had the Mondale Middle School playground pretty much under control. He could spit farther than any of the other children, knew more swear words, and was twice as likely as not to push you into a mud puddle if given half a chance. What made it worse was that he was smart. He'd never do anything within earshot of one of the teachers, and was a good liar.

He was the personal enemy of Sarah Tenmount.

She didn't know why, but even if she tried her very best to stay out of the way, he'd find her, and he'd do his very best to make her mad. It was his favorite sport. To make matters worse, his family had moved into the empty house right next door to hers, where she lived with her Aunt Mae and her cats. Only her careful sneaking out the back door and hiding in the shadows kept him from plaguing her with remarks like "How's your aunt the Wicked Witch of the West?"

Aunt Mae was a bit eccentric, sure, but not by any stretch a wicked witch.

That's how Sarah came to overhear the strange thing that happened to Tony one night in December.

He was returning home from an afternoon spent in the park practicing words (like "phlegm" and "communism")that annoy grownups and sullenly kicking his way along the sidewalk. As he walked in the deepening gloom he started to feel sorry for himself, moved as he was from another state where all his friends were still playing kickball and joking around and forced to live in a big old drafty house on a hill.

Tony muttered a foul word. "And this whole stinking town, too," he added.

Just then, a small black shadow darted from the bushes that lined the road up which Tony was walking and streaked, as cats will, between his legs, heading for the other side of the road. Tony, in a foul mood as he was, chose to give the cat a savage kick rather than allow it to trip him, and sent it sprawling into the snow. Tony left it there and continued trudging up the road, muttering about "all the dumb cats in this city."

"That's it, screamed an irate voice behind him. "That's the last straw."

Sarah, for her part, had just been returning from the library with a volume of poetry clutched to her chest when she heard an all-too familiar voice screeching into the fading sunset. She stopped and ducked behind a bush before coming into sight, for she recognized Tony's voice and didn't relish the idea of meeting him on a darkening street, and she hoped if she stayed hidden in the bushes he'd go right on past without noticing her. Listening, she could hear Tony yelling at someone and didn't envy that person at all. She knew he could be mean when he wanted to. She spread the branches apart so she could see and was surprised to discover that Tony was alone on the street, apparently yelling into the air.

"Okay, wise guy, where are you?" he yelled, staring up defiantly at the windows of the houses lining the street, but as far as Sarah could tell they were all sensibly shut against the cold of the December twilight. Except for a small black cat sitting in the snow, the street was empty. This, thought Sarah, was strange behavior, even for Tony.

"It was I who spoke," said a dusky voice from behind Tony. It was the same voice that had screamed in ire before, though it sounded still and cold now. Norm, on the other hand, did not.

"Well, it's about time," he yelled, rounding on the voice. When he had turned completely around, he found himself facing the black cat that he had kicked, only now it was standing on its hind legs pointing a strange gun at him. The sun was setting at his back, and Tony could just make out his silhouette by squinting up his eyes. There was no mistaking the form for anything but a cat, though.

Tony gaped.

Then he fainted.

With a gasp, Sarah jumped up from her hiding place in the bushes, raking her face on the branches of the shrub through which she had been peering and yelled, "A talking cat!" The cat turned at her yell and aimed the gun at her. Sarah barely had time to wonder what it was before she, too, collapsed into unconsciousness, and the book she had been clutching slipped, unheeded, into the snow.

After what felt like years,

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