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Both humans were still in the other room with Pshaw-Ra, I thought. However, as I looked down from my cage I saw a blur of gold fur.

“Stir yourself, catling. We must free these others now. Do to their cages what you did to your own. I will do likewise.”

“So we get them loose. Then where do we go? You and I can return to your ship, but how about the others?”

“All part of my master plan, catling. We take them with us, of course.”

“How? Have you noticed that there are more cats here than would fit into your vessel? Don’t tell me it’s expandable!”

I jumped to the floor and released the locks on two of the lower cages. The inhabitants, a white mother and three unweaned kittens in one cage, a solitary female with black and brown markings in the other, looked at me wide-eyed, then, at Pshaw-Ra’s instructions, left their cages to help release other cats on the lower two levels.

I had to hand it to the old fellow. He had something. Under ordinary circumstances, the feline thing to do would have been to let those strange cats fend for themselves and hightail it out of there.

Somehow, he was herding the cats. I couldn’t imagine how—or why—but I was impressed by the strength of his personality and will. Cats do not like to be herded.

The younger, smarter, more flexible cats could free themselves as I had, with a little instruction. The youngest kittens were too small to help, and the mothers-to-be had lost agility, as had the very old or those who had been hurt during the capture. So I left the lower two tiers in the paws of others who had escaped their own cages, and scaled the wire to the upper tiers to assist our shiny insect liberators.

Semiliberators. It took a feline paw to finish off the lock, and this I provided. From the outside it was a snap, literally. I had the advantage over other kittens because I had observed closely what the beetles were doing and knew what was required of me to complete the task. I had the advantage over older cats because I was younger and lighter, and could climb the tiers of cages without pulling them down on me and everyone else.

So it was leap, leap, leap, wait for the beetles to click the lock, then tap it and leap to the next tier, click, tap, unclaw the wire (no mean feat for paws), let go, free-fall, twist in midair, land on my paws and start the process again. All in less time than it takes to tell, mind you, because our captors were only temporarily detained in the other room.

On the final assault, however, I ran into a small problem. The larger beetles had begun dying from the strain of forcing open the locks. There were none left to release the last cat in the fourth row, a burly orange one-eyed tom who prowled his cage yowling furiously like one of our larger wild cousins. His legs were thick and his paws too massive to poke through the heavy mesh and free himself.

So there was I, hanging by three paws, while the tiny kefer-ka click-clicked but the lock did not snap open. The larger beetles had twisted the lower, heavier part of each of the other locks to free it from its catch, but I couldn’t make the lock twist with the swipe of a paw. Still, I had to try. The old fellow was frantic, yowling abuse at me and pleading, “Don’t leave me, get me owwwt of here, don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t you dare leave me.”

Pshaw-Ra had snaked open the laboratory door and driven our formerly captive comrades to the steps. I heard my boy’s voice soothing them, along with Sosi’s.

“Want me to come up and show you how it’s done, little brother?” a voice called from the floor. I looked down to see Bat, his dapper black and white spots as tidy as ever, staring up at me with wide inquisitive eyes, tail flicking back and forth, ready for action.

I didn’t answer but hooked most of my paw over the back of the twisty part of the lock, keeping my dewclaw in front. I tried to put pressure with it, to twist, as I had seen Jubal do to some of the latches on the farm. But he had a strong practiced thumb, not an untried dewclaw, and though it almost worked, my poor claw hadn’t the necessary