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    Longhairs and Short Tales
    Longhairs and Short Tales
    Longhairs and Short Tales
    Ebook195 pages2 hours

    Longhairs and Short Tales

    By Stefon Mears

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    About this ebook

    Longhairs and Short Tales, an irresistible collection of short stories featuring cats.

     

    Mythical cats and magical cats. Larcenous cats and inspiring cats. Sweet cats and wisecracking cats. Some talk, some keep their own counsel, and some might even work with aliens. All of them from the wild imagination of Stefon Mears, author of the Rise of Magic series and the Cavan Oltblood series.

     

    Within these pages you will find:

     

    The Coffee Curse - An urgent plea disrupts one man's whole world.

     

    Feline Generosity - Some cats bring their people more than dead birds…

     

    The Language of Cats - A cross-country drive with a cat takes a bizarre turn.

     

    Long Way from Home - A brokenhearted man finds an epically lost cat.

     

    The Broken Rule - An innocent man flees wrongful pursuit into the border between worlds.

     

    I Bleed Music - A singer finds inspiration in the least likely place.

     

    Night of the Hogtied Alien - A man seeks the truth behind his cat's strange behavior.

     

    The Herald's Tale - A modern retelling of the old English folktale "The King of Cats."

     

    Ask the Cats - Roommates squabble while the cats adjudicate.

     

    The Secret of Catnip - A newly deceased cat will do anything to say goodbye to his loved one.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherThousand Faces Publishing
    Release dateMay 1, 2020
    ISBN9781393676850
    Longhairs and Short Tales

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      Book preview

      Longhairs and Short Tales - Stefon Mears

      Longhairs and Short Tales

      Longhairs and Short Tales

      A Collection of Cat Stories

      Stefon Mears

      Thousand Faces Publishing

      Contents

      Foreword

      The Coffee Curse

      Feline Generosity

      The Language of Cats

      Long Way from Home

      The Broken Rule

      I Bleed Music

      Night of the Hogtied Alien

      The Herald’s Tale

      Ask the Cats

      The Secret of Catnip

      Sign Up for Stefon's Newsletter

      About the Author

      Also by Stefon Mears

      Foreword

      Cats have always been part of my life. Even when I had no cats of my own, neighborhood kitties would often go out of their way to make sure I got my share of feline attention. Sometimes when I went walking, sometimes around the mailbox. One little Russian blue cat even used to climb my screen door to ask me to come out and play.

      One of the side benefits of all this feline attention is that I’ve had a lot of opportunity to study cats over the years. Their quirky behavior, their odd sort of politics, the sheer goofiness they can exhibit when they feel sufficiently safe and loved.

      I’ve developed a lot of my own opinions and speculations about the rationales behind the weird and wild behaviors of cats, and I play a lot with such ideas in this volume.

      This collection includes ten different views of cats. Magical cats, mysterious cats, mythical cats, loving cats, wise cats, and just plain weird cats. There might even be a talking cat or two.

      So settle back, perhaps with your favorite little purring friend on your lap, and enjoy.

      The Coffee Curse

      When I was a kid, one of my favorite shows was Bewitched. Syndicated reruns ran often in our area, and I came to love the antics of Samantha and her family and friends. (I may also have had a slight crush on Elizabeth Montgomery.)

      Much as I loved that show, though, to me it was missing something critical. Where was the cat? Where was the talking, smartass feline familiar?

      I always knew that if I wrote about a modern Witch, I’d have to make sure she had what Samantha Stevens was missing.

      The best part about all this? I wasn’t really thinking of any of it when I sat down to write this story. I just had the idea of a guy having his shower interrupted by his neighbor’s cat. His neighbor’s talking cat.

      I have to say, though. If the Liz in this story is my Samantha, then I suspect that Reuben might become her Darren.

      The Coffee Curse

      Few things in life are better than a hot shower at the end of a long day. Especially a day involving manual labor. All that water – just this side of scalding – beating merciful relief into sore, tired muscles while I scrubbed away sweat and grime. Replaced the stench of effort with good, clean soap and the vaguely citrus scent of my shampoo.

      I think that shower had felt especially good because manual labor wasn’t my thing. If I got my skin covered in sweat and my muscles sore from lactic acids, nineteen times out of twenty I’d been down the street playing basketball.

      And why not? I’d loved playing it in high school and college, and it was still fun four years out of college. Did great things for keeping me in shape, too.

      Alas, though, this day’s efforts weren’t basketball related. Nor any other fun activity I could name that might leave me sweaty, sore, or both, and I could think of a few.

      No. My mom had asked me to come over for lunch. And, like a fool, I’d gone.

      Don’t get me wrong. I love my mom. And lunch was great. My mom could grill cheese like nobody else I knew. But that lunch had been followed by four solid hours of lugging furniture around.

      Most people clean in the springtime. My mom redecorates.

      Scott, my older and wiser brother, hadn’t been able to make it. Even my dad had a golfing date he couldn’t break – club tournament time. So it was just me doing all the heavy lifting.

      Mind you, I was in pretty good shape. But I was in basketball shape. Not furniture-lugging shape. Very different muscle work involved, and about two thirds of my body had been complaining before I’d popped a few ibuprofen and hopped into the much-needed shower.

      I’d just gotten to my favorite part of the shower – when I’d finished cleaning myself and could just power-wash hot relief into my tired muscles, one group at a time – when I heard a voice calling me.

      Hello? Hello! Reuben?

      I gritted my teeth and killed the shower. The squeak of the handles seemed to echo my own internal complaint at being interrupted by some stranger.

      And where the hell were they calling me from? Sounded practically inside … my … apartment.

      No. Had to be a trick. Echoes of the shower stall, maybe. I was surrounded on two sides by translucent Plexiglas and four (including the ceiling and the stall floor) by yellowish tile.

      I stood there, shivering and dripping and hoping I’d been very wrong to think that the voice I’d heard had been coming from inside my—

      Reuben?

      A chill washed over me that had nothing to do with the sudden loss of all that hot water.

      That voice had come from just on the other side of my bathroom’s sliding door. A male voice. A little high-pitched, but I couldn’t tell yet if it was because the person was young, or just had a high-pitched voice. Some guys did.

      I tried to tell myself that the voice sounded worried. Not threatening. But that didn’t change the fact that there was still a stranger in my apartment.

      Yeah, my heart was pounding again. Hard as it had been going when I finally got Mom’s piano all the way from the living room in the front of the house to the back of the family room, at the back of the house.

      Naturally, it had been the last piece to be moved.

      I didn’t know if I should answer the voice. Whoever was there had to have heard the water running, and me shutting off the shower.

      What was worse, I wasn’t exactly in the best position to receive an intruder. I was naked, wet, and shivering. And nothing I had near me was of immediate use.

      I lived alone. So I didn’t keep a bathrobe in my bathroom. I just dried off in the shower, and if I still wanted to wear a robe, I just waited until I reached my bedroom. My clothes were already in the hamper in my closet. Even my cell phone was charging on my nightstand.

      Hell, I only closed the bathroom door when I showered, and even then, only to keep the heat in.

      No, I didn’t habitually leave the toilet seat up. My college girlfriend Anne had broken me of the habit.

      Reuben? the voice called again.

      I frowned then, realizing that if this person had come to rob me, they could have done it and gone. No reason to call my name. If they’d been interested in hurting me, well, the bathroom door wasn’t locked. Just closed. They could be in here with me right now, if they wanted.

      So maybe this was something else?

      Just a damn minute, I called out. At least let me dry off.

      Please hurry? Liz needs your help.

      Liz?

      The only Liz I could think of was my neighbor, next door. She lived in the upstairs end unit, furthest from the stairs, and I lived in the next unit in. Didn’t know her well, though. Only to say hi to. Maybe talk about the weather. That kind of thing. She’d always seemed nice enough, though. Pretty, too, and just about my age. In fact, if I hadn’t known she had a boyfriend, I’d probably have asked her out months ago, when I first moved into the building. Not even necessarily on a date date, just to get to know her better.

      But she had a boyfriend. And I didn’t want to risk a misunderstanding.

      Still. If she was in trouble, I’d definitely help her out.

      I just hoped it didn’t involve more heavy lifting. I wasn’t sure how much more of that my muscles could take.

      Drying off only took a moment. I didn’t even take the extra few seconds I’d need to comb out my short, blonde hair.

      Liz was in trouble. I could live with messy hair.

      I tied the wet towel around my waist and opened the bathroom door, expecting to meet her little brother or cousin or something.

      I didn’t expect her little tuxedo cat to be in my bedroom. Looking up at me.

      My bedroom was kind of a mess. After all, I hadn’t been expecting company. Oh, I didn’t have clothes strewn about the floor, or empty pizza boxes or anything like that. But my bed wasn’t made. And I had three books open on the old blue trunk I used as a nightstand. My computer desk, on the opposite wall, was covered with notes for an upcoming game of Dungeons and Dragons, as was my bureau.

      Did smell like I needed to get around to doing my laundry, though.

      Still, even at my messiest, my room wasn’t so bad that I could overlook a small tuxedo cat, sitting at the foot of my bed and staring up at me with big yellow eyes.

      Hi, I said, frowning hard enough I could feel my forehead crease, but reaching out a hand so the cat could smell me. I knew that was important for dogs, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt with cats, too. You’re … Pie, right?

      Please, the cat said, pawing the lousy brown rental carpet in his urgency. Please come.

      One time, during a practice back in college, I got hit in the back of the head by a basketball that someone had flung at high speed. It didn’t just stagger me forward as I stumbled. I swear, I could hear this kind of metallic, ringing sound that made all the other sounds around me distant and fuzzy. And it wasn’t so much that the gymnasium started spinning, as that I couldn’t focus my eyes on anything for a few seconds.

      I didn’t even realized it when I fell to the hardwood floor.

      Watching a cat’s mouth move while I heard it addressing me in English had just about the same effect on me.

      I staggered backward against the frame of the bathroom doorway. I heard that metallic, ringing sound again, and couldn’t focus on much of anything.

      Next thing I knew, I was sitting on the carpet, leaning against that doorframe, and the cat was right in front of me, beside my bare left knee.

      Breathe, the cat said. You need to breath. And you need to get dressed. Please. Liz needs help.

      How are you talking?

      Later. I promise I’ll explain later. But please—

      The urgency in the cat’s voice broke through my haze. Then I was on my feet and throwing fresh clothes on my body. SF Giants tee shirt, boxer briefs and gray sweat shorts. That’d be more than enough to handle the late afternoon in Santa Clara, California, during the springtime. Didn’t even waste time grabbing sandals.

      Let’s go, I said, grabbing my keys and phone from my nightstand and stuffing them into my pockets.

      As we left my apartment, I noticed that my front door had still been closed and locked. I almost asked how Pie had gotten in, but figured the answer would just be later followed by more urgency.

      Late afternoon sun was pretty bright, but the air was chillier than I expected as we covered two dozen paces along the pebbled concrete walkway from my front door to Liz’s.

      Her door wasn’t open either.

      It’s not locked, Pie said. I made sure.

      I frowned at the cat, but tried the handle. It opened for me. The smell of strong coffee hit me like a slap, along with the undercurrent of something burning.

      Her apartment mirrored the layout of mine. Her kitchen and dining area were to the right, and living room to the left. Hallway straight ahead, with bedrooms on either side. Probably the master on the left, since mine was on the right.

      I’m not ashamed to admit that her apartment was much more tastefully decorated than mine. But before I could even spare more than a glance for the décor, Pie whipped past me and to the right…

      …where I could see Liz slumped forward over a round table. Must’ve been drinking coffee when she collapsed, because her mug had spilled, and coffee was all over the table and dripping down onto the same lousy brown carpet I knew so well. A tablet computer sat propped in front of her, somehow free of the spilled coffee. Unlike her black yoga pants or pale blue flannel shirt.

      Liz? I said, closing the distance to her in quick strides. She didn’t respond to my voice.

      Liz, from what I’d seen of her, was pale under the best of circumstances. And right now, she looked downright pasty. Her skin tacky with sweat, and a dark blue tinge around her normally pink lips. Her long black hair, normally well-brushed and shiny, hung limply where it hadn’t matted to her scalp.

      The blue tinge around her mouth frightened me, but when I leaned in close, I could hear her breathing shallow, wheezy breaths.

      What happened? I asked the cat, then shook my head at what I’d just done while I pulled out my phone.

      "She was drinking her coffee and reading blogs when she don’t call nine-one-one!"

      Talking to a cat was weird enough. Obeying the order of a cat felt downright surreal. But I managed to stop my finger shy of the button that would complete the call. I kept the calling app open, though, as I stared disbelief at the cat.

      This isn’t a call-the-doctor thing, Pie said. Now what I need you to do is—

      Whoa, I said. "Let me get this straight. Liz is lying there unconscious, turning blue, and you don’t want me to call an ambulance?"

      They can’t help her. Now—

      I know she’s big on herbs – she always had some drying on her kitchen windowsill – but this is no time for homeopathic—

      Pie leapt right up on my shoulder. It was such a sudden, surprising movement that I dropped my phone on the cheap linoleum.

      Listen to me, Reuben, Pie said. "Liz has been cursed and we’re losing critical

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