Catalyst_ A Tale of the Barque Cats - Anne McCaffrey [95]
He picked up our cage and, as he carried us to the towering structure of cages, the door slid closed with a soft snick behind us, separating us from Jubal, Beulah, and Sosi.
My fur was erect, and quite involuntarily I began yowling in response to the pathetic cries of the assembled cats.
Don’t worry, buddy, Jubal’s presence beyond the door reassured me. We won’t be far.
A lot of good that would do!
“Lookit here, Fluffy. Fresh meat!” an angry old tom called out to a crony.
“Guess they weren’t the ones that got away after all, eh, Socks?” his friend replied.
“Maybe the woman will take them ahead of us. Hey, there, you new cats! You can go ahead of me. Think nothing of it. I don’t mind a bit.”
I smacked Pshaw-Ra into the wire of the cage, furious that he had talked me into this. We were as helpless as everyone else. Pshaw-Ra still outweighed me, but I rode him clawing and spitting over and over from one side of the cage to the other and from back to front.
“Stop it!” he said finally, laying on his side, his paw raised within a whisker width of my nose. “Why’s your tail in such a twist all of a sudden? This is all according to my master plan.”
“Weeks, bring that cage here,” the woman said. When she peered in at us, I saw that her nose was damp, which is not a sign of health in humans. Her eyes were red and her pale face blotchy. She poked at Pshaw-Ra with the end of a pencil. “What kind of cat are you, anyway?” she asked, though she didn’t expect him to answer.
He did, however, sit up as nonchalantly as if I had decided not to rip his throat out, and pretended to play with the end of the pencil.
“Weeks,” she said, “bring out that fuzzball in the other room and clean the place up. All that fur of hers is bringing on my allergies. This fellow is a far more interesting specimen. He has a wild look about him, don’t you think?”
Pshaw-Ra gazed adoringly up at her and purred loud enough to rattle the cage.
“He seems to like you, Doc,” Weeks remarked.
I had thought, momentarily, that perhaps she had taken a liking to Pshaw-Ra as well. They had a lot in common, both being insufferable and all. But her smile was not kindly as she looked down at him. “Oh, I think we can fix that,” she said.
Pshaw-Ra gazed at her as if she were wonderful and held one front paw up, as if he couldn’t wait to leap into her lap.
“We’re out of cages,” Weeks said. “We’ve no place to put the kitten.”
“Stick him in there,” she said, motioning toward a half-empty cage. “It won’t hurt them to double up. They’re all here for the same thing.”
“So you concluded definitely that the Duchess isn’t infected?” Weeks asked hopefully. “Because I’m sure you wouldn’t want to put this little guy in with an infected cat.”
“Weeks, look at this arrangement, will you? If any of these beasts came in here clean, they won’t be by now. You don’t think the GHA can risk returning them to their ships and homes do you?”
“Well—yeah,” Weeks said. “If they’re healthy, why not?”
The female rolled her eyes.
Weeks stooped and looked into our cage, noting Pshaw-Ra’s attempts to ingratiate himself with the doctor. “These guys look friendly enough. You want to hold the one with the big ears, while I park the kitten and go get the Duchess?”
She gave him a withering look. “Of course not. Do I look like I want to be scratched again? Give the other cat more sedation and carry her out yourself. Then I can sedate this one while he’s still securely caged.”
Pshaw-Ra squeezed his eyes at her, lovingly. Not that he did love her, but he was trying to confuse her. She did not soften, however, even though a look like that was usually good for an extra feeding on shipboard.
Weeks took me from the cage and stuck me into one that smelled like