Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Saw Stars

First they toasted each other affectionately - Polly with a glass of sherry, Qwilleran with Squunk water. Then he presented his gift. A printed card inside said: “An original Barb Ogilvie design, hand-knitted in pointillé cale stitch, using unbleached fleece from local sheep. The wool is hand-washed, hand-carded, and handspun on an antique wheel.” Polly was thrilled.

When Qwilleran opened his souvenir of Canada, he did it gingerly, as if suspecting a package bomb.

“It won’t bite,” Polly said. “I had it muzzled.” It was something made of fabric. It was in the Mackintosh clan tartan. It was a vest!

“Now we have a vested interest in each other,” he said.

The humor of the situation tickled them both, and the dinner was off to a rollicking start. First Qwilleran wanted to know about the French-Canadian professor.

“He was so kind, so helpful, so gracious!” Polly said. “I invited him to visit Moose County.”

“Does he speak English?” The question was facetious, of course.

“He speaks four languages. He’s working on a book dealing with Canadian influence on northern communities in the U.S. Many of our early settlers came from Ontario, you know.”

“That’s not all we got from Canada,” he said, recalling tales of Prohibition days.

Polly, for her part, wanted to hear about the Rainstorm of the Century that had led to the disaster on Sandpit Road.

He said, “Do you know the legend of the Sand Giant?”

“Yes indeed! It’s my theory that it was inspired by a Scottish phenomenon. The Big Grey Man has been haunting a mountain in Scotland for at least two centuries.”

Then Qwilleran mentioned the UFO library. Polly knew about it. “The subject was brought up at the board meeting last night. It will be interesting to see what books they have. We have at least fifty titles in our collection, and some are checked out daily.”

“Hmmm,” he murmured in perplexity. Twenty-four hours before, he would have scoffed at the fact.

Altogether, it was a memorable evening. When Polly was back in Indian Village and he was back in the barn, it was late, and he was sufficiently relaxed to write in his journal:

Pickax-Thursday, July 16 Last night was our last at the cabin. We were sitting on the porch after midnight with the lights turned off, indoors and out. To use a cliché, the night was pitch black. The cats like it that way; they’re fascinated by the invisible sights and inaudible sounds that only they can see and hear. When I’m lounging in a porch chair with my feet up, just thinking, time means nothing, so I didn’t know how long I had sat there. The sky seemed to be getting lighter, yet my watch said it was only two-forty-five. The cats sensed something irregular and fussed nervously. Soon Yum Yum ran indoors. Was it my imagination, or was the sky turning green? Also unusual was the deathlike silence. Suddenly a strong gust of wind stirred up papers and whatnot on the porch, and Koko jumped on my lap and dug in with his claws for safety. It lasted only a few seconds, though. At the same time a large round disc floated downward, throwing shafts of light on the beach. I could feel Koko’s fur standing on end. His tail bushed. Next thing I knew, he was at the screened door, pawing the defective latch. “Koko!” I yelled, though I couldn’t hear my voice. I leaped out of my chair, but he was outside on the deck. I dashed after him and made a grab. He slipped away and headed for the beach, straight down the side of the dune. Just as I was about to go after him, I saw small creatures tumbling out of the disc and sliding down the shafts of light. They had four legs and long tails! He was going to meet them! “Koko!” I screamed, but no sound came out of my mouth. He was picking his way through the tall grass on the sandy slope. Desperate, I plunged headlong in a flying tackle and landed on top of him. For a second I saw stars, then blacked out. When I came to my senses, I was pinned down under a heavy weight - in total darkness. Where was I? My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see, and there was a throbbing in my chest that alarmed me. Then something wet touched my nose. The weight on my body shifted. Managing to raise an arm, I felt fur! Koko was on my chest, purring loudly, and I was back in my lounge chair. How did I get there? My mind was muddled. The green light had disappeared, and the beach was dark. I could hear the waves splashing. Still I felt stunned. It was a dream, I told myself… or was it? Koko’s fur was sandy, and when I stood up, I brushed a shower of sand off my clothes.

It had been twenty-four hours after the incident before Qwilleran had finally found the objectivity to report it in his journal, and he still felt uneasy about the experience. He might be a fool, but he could not swear it was only a dream.

One thought haunted him and caused a spasm of discomfort in the roots of his moustache. Was this a clue to Koko’s abnormal sensory perception? What were the cat’s origins? No one knew. One day he simply… appeared.

Previously, Qwilleran had attributed Koko’s superior intelligence to his sixty whiskers. Perhaps the secret was something more unthinkable - the intelligence of an alien race who were not little green men but little green cats!

As for Sixty Whiskers himself, he had not changed a whisker since the incident. He was still a handsome, intelligent, companionable, unpredictable, somewhat imperious, and frequently exasperating feline … But Qwilleran had changed. He was willing to concede that Koko was not seeing stars when he gazed at the sky; he was seeing fuzzy green blobs.