This month’s CatsCast has two flash stories: The Tan One by Nathan Susnik and Alligators by Monica Joyce Evans. It’s available on the Escape Artists Premium Content feed on Patreon for patrons at the Premium Content level or above; it’s also in our premium content repository for those who donate five dollars a month by any means. We’ll be back here in the free feed next month. In the meantime, here’s a sample of what’s playing over on Patreon.

The Tan One

by Nathan Susnik

Some days I pick the white pill. Other days it’s the black. For some reason or another, I prefer the brown pill on Tuesdays. Today, feels like it’s going to be one of my bad days. So, I pinch the tan pill between my thumb and index finger, flick it into my mouth and take a slug of water. It catches halfway down, but when I swallow again, it dislodges quickly enough. As it hits my stomach, I’m already more optimistic. My cat rubs against my leg.

“Oh, hello Lionel,” I say. Abyssinians have ticked fur. It looks like one color from afar, but if examined closely, it’s actually bands of light and dark shades. I bend down, leaning hard on my cane (it’s really more of a modern crutch) and stroke him. Pain shoots out of my lower back, wrapping around my hip. But I clench my jaw, ignoring it, running my hand over the cat’s back. He purrs, and perhaps today won’t be so bad after all.

Read (or listen to) both stories over on Patreon.

This story is a CatsCast original.

Match.Cat

by Ember Randall

They say cats have nine lives, but that’s not quite right. Nine is more of an average–in reality, you get as many as Death gives you, which means it behooves any sensible cat to suck up while they can.

Or, at least, that’s what I told myself as I wound around Death’s legs, giving them my best never-been-petted meow–the unmatched quality of their ear scritches had nothing to do with it.

A snort echoed above me. “You look like one of those spoiled lap cats you’re always deriding, you know.”

I glared up at Alfonsius–Lord Alfonsius Darrowfell of the Silent Wing, to give the owl the full title he often insisted on. “Insurance is never wasted.” I was on my seventh life, and a cat couldn’t be too careful, right?

Read the rest on Patreon.

This month’s CatsCast episode is The Absolutely True and Correct Account of the Honorable Mlle. Cassandra von Archambault, Affectionately and Begrudgingly Known to Her Friends and Family as Echo by Jolie Toomajan. It’s available on the Escape Artists Premium Content feed on Patreon for patrons at the Premium Content level or above; it’s also in our premium content repository for those who donate five dollars a month by any means. We’ll be back here in the free feed next month. In the meantime, here’s a sample of what’s playing over on Patreon.

The Absolutely True and Correct Account of the Honorable Mlle. Cassandra von Archambault, Affectionately and Begrudgingly Known to Her Friends and Family as Echo

As told to Jolie Toomajan

Let it be known I only care because of Mother. She is a good Mother who says I am her little Mar Lean Deet Trick, which makes no sense but that is fine. Motheris not stupid, but she can’t see It the way I can. Sometimes Mother can feel It; she will walk into a room and shiver, curl her nose at the burning smell, and press her hand to the walls above the light switches. Then I will look over at the corner and It will be there, mouths upon mouths upon mouths and all of those mouths are edged with the smoldering orange of burning paper. I stare until It leaves, and I don’t blink so It knows I mean business. Sometimes Mother can’t feel It at all, even when It undulates over the back of the sofa and sniffs her hair. When It drapes over her buttoned headboard at night, I almost die from fright, but It lets me chase It away. I worry about how I could protect her if It decided to ignore me, until he comes along.

Reader, he is very stupid. His shoes smell like seaweed and so does the hair on his arms, and he eats terrible food—tofu and sprouts and entire garlic cloves in vinegar sauces that make your eyes tear. Healthy, he says. As if any diet without blood could be healthy. Stupid. Mother likes him. This is disappointing, but she has other qualities (for example, her feet are lovely and cool and she keeps her fingernails at the exact right length for relaxing scratches and the song she sings for me is not too annoying).

Read (or listen to) the rest on Patreon.

Don’t Mess with the Boss Cat
a Vermont Radio Story
by Nikki Knight

I didn’t want to become the Boss Cat at some radio station in the middle of nowhere, and I definitely didn’t want to have to kill some fool.

But you mess with my family, you mess with me.

See, it’s all That Guy’s fault. He ran out and broke Ma’s heart and made her pack up me and My Girl and leave our comfy apartment. That mope’s wandering eye cost me my great big window and all those nice noisy birds.
I’m Neptune, by the way.

My vet forms say “Neptune Metz,” gray shorthair cat, breed unknown, and make some truly insulting comments about my size. I never used That Guy’s name anyway, and I think of myself as a big gray cat from the Bronx.

Read the rest on Patreon.

The Tenth Life

by Sheryl R. Hayes

I sit curled on my favorite pillow. My fluffy tail is tucked over my nose so I form a circle of perfect warmth. I am content.

My servant is out of the apartment she keeps for me. Something has been wrong with her lately. She looks at my pillow and bursts into tears. My attempts at comforting her by winding between her ankles and bumping my head against her shoulder have been ignored. But during the last few days, she’s changed. She’s been happier. There was a new set of food and water dishes decorated with black paw prints on gleaming white ceramic. Balls festooned with feathers, plush mice, and crinkle foil balls lay scattered on the floor. There is a brand-new litter box filled with this strange, yellow, plant-smelling litter instead of the clay I prefer.

Read the rest on Patreon.

A Routine Vet Visit

by Anya Ow

“Murder! Arson! Kidnapping! Help! I’m being oppressed!”

As a passing jogger slowed down and cast a suspicious look in their direction, Yunfeng dug her thumbnail into her index finger, drawing blood and pressing another droplet onto the yellow talisman she held in her palm. The jogger blinked and sped up, disappearing around the prominent ‘Cat Specialists – Feline-only Vet Clinic’ sign on the corner of the block.

Read the rest on Patreon.

Mandy and Lulu Welcome Walter

by S. M. Hallow

Just for the record, I was very clear. I was literally like, Lulu, I will become your vampire bride on one condition, and she got down on her knees–you know how she is–and she was like, Name the price I must pay for your love. It was super cute, actually–she was so eager for me to finally say yes that she would have agreed to anything, and looking back I totally could have milked that. Like, I could have told her I would only move into her Edgar Allan Poe murder-mansion if we could start our own multi-level marketing scented soap scheme, and she would have been totally on board even though she doesn’t know what any of those words mean. Anyway, my one condition was simple. I was like, Lulu, I will become your vampire bride as long as you promise me we never get a cat, and she started laughing, and she was like, That is all? You make marriage easy.

Read the rest on Patreon.

This month’s CatsCast is Headspace by Beth Cato. It’s available on the Escape Artists Premium Content feed on Patreon for patrons at the Premium Content level (that’s five dollars a month) or above. We’ll be back here in the free feed next month. In the meantime, here’s a sample of what’s playing over on Patreon:

Something was alive in the crawlspace above aft berthing, and damn it all, it was Akiko’s job to slither up there and clear it out.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. In this case, illegal drugs.

With fumbling fingers, she unwrapped a tranq patch and slapped it on beneath the waistband of her jumpsuit. She braced herself against the wall for a long moment, breathing through the terror that came at the very thought of that narrow tunnel.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, she got by just fine. Haulers like the Tolleson had nice, wide hallways. Her crew berth was as large or larger than what she’d get in some residential stack down in Kyoto. Enviro duty meant sys-monitoring most days, and filters could be changed through hall or room access.

Then the one percent moments came along and slapped her upside the head.

Her heart rate slowed as the tranq did its thing. The overwhelming sense of doom diminished. Thank God that whoever busted into her room last week and stole half her stuff missed the tranqs hidden beneath a floor panel.

She stared up the ladder to the hatch in the ceiling. “Let’s do this.”                                     

The work chit had described several passengers’ complaints of moving noises in the ceiling. Akiko had her suspicions. The ship’s last hop involved the transport of about fifty small animals for a colony on Capulet. The critters had been too temperature sensitive for the freight locker, so they’d been given a berth of their own. If anything had been flagged as missing, it wasn’t Akiko’s place to know.

The air shaft was about a meter in diameter—big enough that she could pivot around if necessary instead of backing up. Even blissed-out, she took comfort in that wiggle room. Akiko tapped her comm. Lights flicked on along the length of the tunnel. She squinted.

Something moved at the far end. 

Her tools clanked against the tunnel as she crawled along, her knees tapping hollow. The thing came towards her.

That’s when she realized how incredibly stupid she’d been. She’d been so freaked out about the tunnel, she hadn’t thought about what might be in there. Any creature going to a colony world likely possessed some genetic modifications, whether to cope with the environment, boost agriculture, or poison intruders.

The creature entered the light.

“Damn,” Akiko muttered.

The ginger kitten had an odd, ambling gait that showed the sharp jut of its hips. God, the thing was half dead, and way too small. A runt, maybe, or just plain wasting away. Its mouth opened in a silent meow. A stubby tail stood upright as a flagpole.

Read (or listen to) the rest on Patreon.