Andre Norton - Star Ka'at 01 - Star Ka'at

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Scanned by Highroller.

Proofed by an unsung hero.

Star Ka'at

Andre Norton

For Impy, Surely a Star Ka'at

Two and Two

The muggy, hot summer weather had settled on Washington. Carefully,

Jim Evans crept under the loose board in the fence. Beyond was a tangle of

weeds high enough to hide him if he kept on his knees as he worked his

way to where the wrecker had torn down an old house and left only a cellar

hole. There was trash and junk all over the place. And it smelled in the

heat. Jim wrinkled his nose as he settled cross-legged, his back against a

pile of chipped bricks, and drew a deep breath of relief. Of course,

disappearing would not stop them. He scowled. Why couldn't they just

leave him alone for once? Just for once! At least he had escaped having to

go to the beach today, but when he went back he would listen to them

yak-yak-yak: Even now he nearly plugged his ears with his fingers just

thinking of Mrs. Dale's nice, "reasonable" voice going on and on and on

about how Jim must learn to make friends with other boys.

Jim's scowl grew deeper. Then Mr. Dale would take over, with talk

about Little League and the Y swimming and—Jim had heard it all about

a million times. While all he wanted was to be by himself. No one seemed

to understand that.

He had overheard them talking about him, saying things like

"brooding" and "shock." But when the whole world you had always

counted on breaks up in little pieces—well, you can't just go to Cubs or

Little League (he had never liked baseball anyway) as if nothing happened.

You remembered, and hurt inside, and sometimes tried to believe that all

the past two months were a bad dream you were going to wake up from

pretty soon. There would be a pancake morning because it was Saturday

and Mom had more time. Then maybe Dad would say, "How about a run

out to the lake" and—

Jim wedged his fist into his mouth. He was not going to cry!

He tugged at the neck band of his Tee shirt. His skin itched there.

Maybe a bug had crawled in. He made an effort to look down, though he

could not see any of his neck. When he gave that up as impossible and

raised his eyes again, he was no longer alone.

Jim blinked. They had lived in a town house before—before Dad and

Mom had taken the plane—the plane that had crashed. And there had

been no pets allowed there. Dad had always promised that when his job

here was finished he would ask for a transfer and they could have a regular

house and maybe a dog—

Jim chewed his lower lip. The animal facing him suddenly yawned,

showing needle pointed teeth and a curling, rough-coated tongue. It was

the largest and blackest cat Jim had ever seen. In the sun its fur gleamed

as if each shining hair had a tiny rainbow tip. Between its green eyes there

sprouted an odd, thin V-shape of white hairs, and the very tips of its four

paws were also white.

The cat stared compellingly at Jim. Jim did not know very much about

cats, but he did know this was no scrawny stray like the ones that usually

slunk around the alley behind the Dales' house. Mrs. Dale put out bowls of

water and food at times, but the animals would never come near enough

to drink or eat until people left. Mr. Dale said it was wrong to encourage

them, that the Animal Control should be called.

This cat was not afraid of Jim in the least, and it had eaten a lot better

food than garbage scraps. Did all cats just sit and watch"you this way? As

if they could see into your head and know what you were thinking?

"Hello—cat—," Jim found himself talking as if to a person. He even held

out his hand a little way, not quite daring to pat the head that now

advanced to sniff delicately at Jim's fingers. The big cat answered with a

small, polite sounding rumble.

Though he knew that the cat could not possibly understand, Jim asked

questions as he would of another boy.

"You live in that apartment?" He waved towards the building on the

other side of the lot. To his vast surprise, the cat moved his head from side

to side as if he were saying "no!"

"Are you lost?" Jim ventured, after his shock wore off a little.

For the second time the cat shook his head. His unblinking green eyes,

the pupils now only black slits in the sun, held Jim, seeming to force the

boy to return his stare.

Jim squirmed. He did not understand what was happening and he was

becoming a little afraid. But he did not know how cats acted. Maybe this

was the way they always met people. There were a lot of smart cats in

shows on TV, like the ones that advertised cat food, and some others Jim

had seen. Perhaps the alley cats were smart, too, but nobody gave them a

chance to show it.

"Tiro." Jim said the word aloud. It did not sound like a name; but once

more the cat rumbled, as if he were pleased with Jim. The boy was as sure

that Tiro was the cat's name, as if the animal himself had said it. Though

how could he have known?

"I'm Jim," he said, feeling a little odd as he introduced himself to a cat.

"Jim Evans. And I'm staying with the Dales." He jerked a thumb over his

shoulder towards the fence he had just crawled through. "I'm—they took

me in 'cause I'm a foster child. My Mom and Dad—" There was a sudden

lump in his throat which he could not fight. His hands doubled into fists,

and he beat them into the plaster-whitened dust beyond his knees. "The

court says I got to live with them—here."

Tiro was listening—and understanding, too. Jim could not say why he

knew this or how. But it was so. And suddenly something broke, perhaps

that knot in his throat, the hard feeling in his chest that had been there so

long. Jim was crying and he did not care. Now Tiro moved, coming

straight to him. One white-tipped paw rested on Jim's knee, and through

that touch the boy could feel a vibration. He dropped his hand on Tiro's

head. Now he could hear as well as feel—the cat was not rumbling, he was

purring. And that purr carried with it feelings of sympathy that Jim could

accept, while the best-meant words he had listened to these past weeks

had only been words he did not want to hear.

The purr went on and on. Now soft fur rubbed against Jim as the big

cat pressed closer to him. The boy wiped his hand across his eyes,

smearing the dust on his cheeks. He felt empty, but somehow better than

he had since they had told him the news about the plane crash.

"I—I like you!" Jim said shyly. He hugged the cat close. Tiro set both

front paws together on Jim's chest and reached up to touch noses with the

boy.

"Scat, Skoo, What'll I do—do—do"

Jim and Tiro both turned their heads. There was a little figure

hip-hopping from the back alley into the waste land where Jim had taken

refuge. Dirty old sneakers much too large, tied on with pieces of string,

were flopping with each hop. Above those were skinny, dark brown legs.

Ragged shorts of faded red clothed the upper part of those knobby-kneed

legs. The shorts, in turn, were hidden by folds of a dirty Tee shirt. There

was a much-faded emblem on the front of that, and what had once been

long sleeves had been hacked off, their edges left to ravel. They covered

very thin arms showing elbjows as sharp as the knees.

"Skit, Scat, Skoo, the Devil take you—"

The newcomer was a girl. Her small head was covered by wiry black

braids and surrounded a face in which large eyes were divided by a button

of a nose and a wide mouth which shaped the words she sang.

Over one shoulder, a shoulder so thin and small it would seem any

weight would break it in two, she carried a gunny sack, which had been

patched with pieces of cloth sewn into place by big, uneven stitches. One

or two threads were hanging as if it was about to come loose and let fall

whatever that bumpy sack contained. Setting the bag down, the little girl

made a sudden dart at the pile of old boards and returned, waving two

Coke bottles in triumph.

"Lucky day, sure is a lucky day!" she announced to the world at large.

"Somebody leaves good cash money lyin' around—" She tucked the bottles

carefully into her sack and then squatted down to inspect one of the loose

patches, pulling the thread tighter and trying to tie its end fast to another

dangling one.

"No good to find 'em and lose 'em," she commented. "I got to borrow a

needle an' get busy, sew these up again—" She was frowning as she shifted

the sack, turning it around to inspect the other side. Then for the first

time she saw Jim and Tiro.

"What are you doing here, boy?" she demanded shrilly, her hands

resting on her hips, her face pinching together in a scowl. "This place—I

found it first, yesterday. It's my picking-up lot!"

Tiro slipped out of Jim's hold to trot toward the newcomer. Now he

gave a small, sharp cry. The girl backed up a step.

"That's a big old cat for sure. I ain't fightin' him."

Tiro sat down as if to assure the girl he meant no harm. With a wary

glance now and then in his direction, she looked to Jim again.

"I told you, this here's my hunting ground. I ain't gonna let nobody in,

neither."

Jim stood up. "You hunting bottles? What for?"

Her scowl changed to a surprised expression. "What for? 'Cause they're

worth cash money, boy. How come you ask me a silly thing like that? Or,"

she eyed his clothing, "you rich folks don't have to worry about no money

back on bottles? Anyway, you get off my place." She looked about her and

then seized upon a part of an old window frame which still had a rusty nail

or two on one end. She swung this warningly in his direction. "I can give

you a few whacks, boy. I ain't nobody you can push around—"

"I don't want to push you around." Jim thought she had a lot of spunk.

Why he was a lot bigger than she and she did not know that he would not

fight her back.

"You'd better not!" She waved the piece of frame. "And you better go

right back where you came from, too."

"Look here," Jim shoved his hands into his pockets. Maybe now she

would understand he did not mean her any trouble. "I'm not hunting

anything here. I just found this cat and—" But how could he explain what

his meeting with Tiro meant to him? That was private, very private.

The girl looked toward Tiro. "He's a mighty big old cat. If he is lost

someone might pay to get him back." She stared at the cat, as if she was

thinking of popping Tiro into her bag along with whatever loot she might

find. Though, Jim decided, she would find that rather difficult if Tiro

decided not to allow it.

"He's my cat now," he said, and then knew that his words were the

truth.

"You sure? Well, he'd make a big armful. Where you come from

anyway?"

Jim pointed to the fence. "From over there. One of the boards is loose, I

got under it."

"Courtland Place, huh. Then you don't need to sneak around taking

things off my hunting ground." She blazed back into her one-sided quarrel

again.

"I'm not," Jim began to be cross. "I don't want anything. What do you

hunt?"

"Things," she returned. "Things 'at I can get money for. Granny—" For a

moment her scowl slipped and Jim sensed, rather than knew, that under

her will-to-battle there was fear. "Granny is took bad. She and me, we're

all the family there is. I got to get around and look for stuff so I can buy

things for Granny."

"Suppose I help," Jim said impulsively. "If you tell me what you need,

can't I look, too?"

Even as he asked, he felt that queer little twitch in his mind. Tiro

wanted him to do this. But how could he know what a cat was thinking? It

did not add up to any real sense.

For a long moment the girl hesitated before she gave a quick nod.

"All right," but she sounded grudging. "I get bottles, I get anything that

can be sold. Down there—," she pointed to the hole of the old cellar,

"maybe some things got left there. Nobody wants 'em now but if we

look—"

Jim edged nearer to peer down into the smelly hole. There was part of a

crumbling stair not too far away. He wondered if he dared trust it to hold

his weight. The girl was already heading in that direction. She looked over

her shoulder.

"I'm Elly, Elly Mae Brown," she announced. "And I live in Cock Alley."

"Where's that?" Jim was watching her go down the remains of the

stairs. She jumped from one to the next, and did not seem to think they

would slip or give way.

"Back there!" Elly waved one hand, but Jim could not be sure just

which direction she was pointing toward. It did not really matter. He

started down the stairs at a slower and more careful pace.

As Elly and Jim were engrossed in their hunting out in the jumble of

discarded brick, junk and weed tangles, a shadow shifted. Tiro raised his

black head to look coolly and critically in that direction.

Immediately the shadow froze, so quickly that one had to have very

good eyes, cat eyes, in fact, to make out what sat there. It was a second

cat.

"Fool!" Tiro's silent thought warning sped to the other's mind. "This is

not the time nor the place to show yourself. I have made contact with the

'boy'. He is not to see the~two of us together here! They have not our ease

of thought, but neither are they to be underestimated."

"They seem harmless," answered the second cat.

Tiro held up his head, licking at the fur on his chest. "You have seen the

history rolls! Harmless!—They are the most cruel and least logical species

we have ever encountered."

He waited a little uneasily for the other to comment on his own

sympathy with the boy. Such liking for any human, unless it was used to

make that human help them, was not a part of scout training. At least Mer

had sense enough not to remind him of that particular point in the

manual. After all, Tiro was the senior Ka'at field operative on this mission.

This was Mer's first field trip; therefore, a certain rashness might be

expected.

The black cat surveyed his companion critically. He himself was the

necessary one-quarter Terran breed demanded for field operatives on this

world, but his magnificent appearance was more that of the pure Ka'at

type. Mer's body was longer legged in proportion to her thin body. Her tail

was slender as a whip lash, and her face narrowed to a more pointed

muzzle. Her color was a greyish white, not much different from the drifts

of dirty plaster on the ground, save that her head, legs and tail were

several shades darker than the rest. She looked like one who had gone

without enough food for days, and had a certain air of wildness. A very

good job of make-up, Tiro thought. Mer could slink through alleys and

creep into places in this tiresome city where a

Ka'at of his own fine appearance would be marked instantly, even by a

short-sighted human.

"You have the orders. Two days to establish yourself, then a meeting."

"I shall take the 'girl'."

Tiro could not believe he had caught that thought clearly.

"Someone like her has no value, sister. You will only waste valuable

time." He tried not to show the irritation he felt.

"Brother, I have done as we were bid. There are those in the hide-life

holes she comes from who are true kin. I have already marked them; why

else am I here? She came—I followed."

Tiro licked once more at his breast fur. It was for Mer to choose, and if

she chose wrongly she would face the penalty. Again he half expected her

to answer his thought. But when he looked up again she was gone. So at

least she would follow rules and make contact with her chosen "child" at a

distance.

He listened to the voices and sounds in the cellar below and settled

himself to await Jim's return. Only his surface thoughts were engaged

with the boy. He was really considering other, darker knowledge that had

brought him to what all the ancient records of his own race proclaimed

was the most violent and unhappy of worlds.

Tiro, Mer and Problems

"No, we can't keep that stray in the house, Jim."

"Tiro's no stray! Somebody must have lost him. Look at him, will you,

just look at him? He's no stray out of the alley."

Tiro held close in Jim's arms, his white-tipped paws on the boy's

shoulders, gave one of his deepest rumbles. But the eyes he turned on Mrs.

Dale were not particularly friendly. It did not really matter so much if

these humans took him in or not. If he did not have this odd liking—yes,

liking—for the boy, he would have been off and out of the house when this

wrangle first started.

Jim's face flushed. Tiro was the only thing he had really wanted since

the first bad days.

"Well, for a while then." Jim knew what that meant. Tiro could stick

around until Mr. Dale came home. Then there would be talk about taking

the cat to an animal shelter and—

"I'm going to keep him," the boy said with determination. "I've got my

allowance. I can buy cat food—"

"It's more than just food," Mrs. Dale warned. "He'll have to have shots,

one at least, for rabies. And those are expensive; remember that, Jim. Yes,

he is a beautiful cat. But I think you are right, someone lost him. We'll

have to keep watching the Lost and Found in the paper."

Jim's breath whooshed into the fur on the top of Tiro's head. At least he

had won this much; she was going to let Tiro in and feed him. The boy

knew that he would fight in every way he could to keep the cat. Luckily,

the phone rang; and as Mrs. Dale, went to answer it, Jim took the steps,

mostly two at a time, to put Tiro in his room before she noticed. He set

Tiro on the bed and scratched behind the cat's ears, soothed by an

answering purr, as his new, fur-coated companion half closed his eyes and

kneaded the bed cover with his front paws.

"Now where did you come from?" asked Elly. Her limp bag was slung

over her shoulders. She had been down to Uncle Slim's junk yard and

there was cash money tied up in a rag and stuck under her Tee shirt. She

had not had to share with that boy either, though he had been the one to

find all them old glass jars a-waiting on a low down shelf in the cellar hole.

Here was another big cat, not the black one the boy said he had found.

And it was sitting on the doorstep watching her just like it was at home

and she was only folks come visiting. Sure was a funny-looking cat, kind of

two colored, and with blue eyes, blue eyes. Elly knew only the wild cats

who ran from among the trash cans when she was hunting throw aways.

This was a different sort of cat; it did not seem in the least afraid. And

because it was not, Elly was—a little.

This was her doorway, the door itself hanging crooked because a lot of

the wood was rotted away. Cock Alley was all shanty houses. But this was

likely the worst of the lot, Elly reckoned. There was only one room inside

and the windows were nothing but frames. Elly had tacked some old

gunny sacks over those. Kept out the light, but kept out some of the wind

and a little of the cold in winter, too.

Now the cat raised a front paw to lick the fur over its claws. Elly swung

her empty bag.

"You—you go away!" she commanded. "This house is mine, mine and

Granny's. We got no cats. Don't want 'em either!"

She had never seen a cat with such blue eyes which stared right into

hers. Elly wiped her hand across her forehead. Sure was hot. She wished

she had a popsicle, an orange one, all cool and icy. Elly had to get inside to

see how Granny was doing. Granny had said she was tuckered out that

morning, that she would stay in bed a little longer, just to rest her old

bones. Granny had awfully old bones, and they were always hurting her

now.

"Get away!" Elly flapped the bag at the cat but it did not even blink.

Putting as much distance between her and the animal as she could, the

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