CatsCast 27: Lost in Translation

Author: Aaron Canton Narrator: Eric Valdes Host: Tarver Nova Firecoat's Irreparable Witch by Aaron Canton There had been a time when the world had reshaped itself at Firecoat's command. A snap of his paw was all it had taken to drive a horde of mice out of their hidden warrens and send them scurrying away, a flick of his tail had forced potion ingredients to drop from their shelves into the hands of the magician who needed them, and even the tiniest twitch of his thinnest whisker had flipped the pages of grimoires until they opened to exactly the right spot. But now, when Firecoat slipped into the worn study and then hopped onto the little wooden table where his witch was scratching out a new spell on some parchment, nothing happened. Not even the woman at the table reacted to his presence. Visit us at: https://escapeartists.net/catscast/ Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Laura Pearlman (Host), Matt Dovey (Back cover art), Dave Robison (Audio production) Author : Jennifer Lee Rossman Narrator : Diane Severson Host : Laura Pearlman Audio Producer : Dave Robison This story originally appeared in From a Cat's View: An Anthology of Stories Told by Cats The Cemetery Cat by Jennifer Lee Rossman Night crept into the cemetery earlier than in the rest of town, and dawn came later than usual. Perhaps the mountains to either side snatched up the sun in late afternoon and held it ransom until long after breakfast. Or maybe Nature, lover of all things atmospheric, decided a glorified skeleton farm was too unsettling a place on which to bestow so many hours of daylight. Gothic iron fences and chipped granite angels looked best in twilight, after all, especially when the fog blew in from the river to wind around the gravestones like tulle. Whatever the reason, geology or spookiness, cemetery nights were longer, and people avoided cemeteries at night. As if ghosts and ghoulies only worked the late shift, and the daylight would protect them from invisible echoes of the past and the dark things that hovered at the corners of their eyes. Nonsense. It was the same superstitious thinking that made otherwise rational people toss spilt salt over their shoulder and say their prayers at night. But if they believed the nonsense protected them—and kept them from admitting they were nothing but helpless specks of carbon and water floating in an infinite void of evil that wanted to steal their souls and wear their faces like Halloween masks—so what? If a little nonsense keeps society from falling apart, more power to them. But cats know better. Visit us at: https://escapeartists.net/catscast/ Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Author: Y.M. Resnik Narrator: Tatiana Grey Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Dave Robison This story is a CatsCast Original Lost in Translation by Y.M. Resnik             The first sign of trouble came from the panda enclosure. Speak Now Zoo's headliner attraction spent most of her time munching bamboo and sleeping. Occasionally, she'd climb a tree. Never in Laura's ten-year tenure as proprietress had Mindy, the Giant Panda, actually acknowledged the onlookers who paid to speak to her through the universal translation app.             So why was she now uttering string after string of gibberish?  Visit us at https://escapeartists.net/catscast/. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Author: Jenny Hart Narrator: Katherine Inskip Hosts: Laura Pearlman and Katherine Inskip Audio Producer: Wilson Fowlie This story is a Cast of Wonders and CatsCast original. The Gingerbread House by Jenny Hart The air has only just begun to smell of autumn as I head for Gingerbread Cottage, where I am to house sit two cats for the winter. I have packed warm clothes and antihistamines, and the emailed instructions are both simple and strange. Feed the cats and clean up after them and yourself. But don't let them out, no matter how much they ask. Read the rest on Patreon.   Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

August, 2024 Author: Carolina Valentine Narrator: Laura Pearlman Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Dave Robison This story is a CatsCast original. The Invention of a Cat by Carolina Valentine  The haunting had started at 2 a.m., and my local Joann didn't open until nine. I was in the parking lot at 8:30, and while several Joann employees passed by my car on the way to the doors, I kept scrolling on my phone, feigning disinterest, instead of begging to be let in early. Even after the night I'd had, I wasn't going to be That Customer.              I focused my bloodshot eyes on the featured article in the Journal of Theoretical Witchcraft—something about the potency of blood moon spells—and checked once or twice on the spectral wound I'd slathered in dubious Taint-Be-Gone and expired Neosporin. Despite the mustiness of the gauze wrapping I'd found for it, the four claw-like marks probably wouldn't fester.             In theory. Which is what I did. Theory. Read the rest on Patreon. Visit us at https://escapeartists.net/catscast/. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Author: Annie Reed Narrator: Summer Brooks Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Wilson Fowlie This story originally appeared in Pulphouse Fiction Magazine. Queen of the Mouse Riders  by Annie Reed Gurgling yowls echoed off the tiled floor in Sarah's bathroom. Bounced off the ceiling, gaining strength, and intruded on what was turning out to be a very, very nice dream featuring the star of a movie she'd watched just before bed. In the dream, the star turned his incredibly expressive eyes in Sarah's direction, smiled his best enigmatic smile, and said, "Pardon me, darling, but is that your cat?" (In the dream he'd turned British. She happened to know he'd been born and raised in the Bronx. Dreams were just plain weird sometimes.) "Yes," she said. "She's apparently caught a mouse." Starlight the Cat had a battle cry like a two-note yodeler gargling mouthwash. She reserved that particular cry for whenever she caught a mouse. Or something that looked like a mouse. Or a mouse-shaped stuffed toy. Most of the time she'd only caught one of her toys. Thank goodness. But on at least on memorable occasion she'd interrupted a visit from Sarah's mother by presenting a live mouse as the third course for their lunch date. Sarah's mother was deathly afraid of mice. Read the rest on Patreon. Visit us at https://escapeartists.net/catscast/. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

February, 2024. Author: Dana Vickerson Narrator: Peter Adrian Behravesh Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Dave Robison This story [originally appeared in Zooscape. A content note: this story deals with themes of grief and loss. The Best Way to Procure Breakfast  by Dana Vickerson. If Mama doesn't get up soon, we're going to miss our chance to get off Mars. Mama is a human, but I call her "Mama" because she says I am her baby kitty and her special boy. She is sleeping, but I am hungry. It's a delicate art, waking up your human. If you're too eager, they'll likely get cross with you, and while Mama is a sweet and kind soul, I do not like to see her cross. If you are too gentle, though, your human is likely to continue their blissful sleep while you sit on the floor with a rumble in your belly. So, like most mornings, I start today by walking back and forth across my human's pillow. This is less startling than just going right for patting her face. The soft rhythm of my paws around her head signals to Mama that it's time to start the process of bringing her consciousness to the here and now, where my kibble lives. Read (or listen to) the rest on Patreon. Visit us at https://escapeartists.net/catscast/. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Blood Water by J.A. Bryson The blood on Zip's hands is dried the color of rust and sticks like clay under her fingernails. Mostly, it isn't hers. Mostly, it belongs to the man she shivved, the one who mistook her for an easy mark. Zip is gray-eyed and hunger-slight. She's a lot of things – fast, fierce, speechless since birth – but she isn't easy. The old timers know this. The man waiting at the pits to grab her while she took a piss, he did not know this. He's a newcomer. His people came when jets rained fire on their homeland. They have no code. They left their children and their old timers to burn. Their language is violence. One needn't words to speak it. Outside camp, Zip finds shade in a stand of scraggly pines with peeling bark and sun-bleached needles. She drags her palms over the parched earth. The blood remains. It doesn't flake or rub away. She thinks to spit on it, to make a paste, to paint its warning on her sunken cheeks, but her tongue is swollen with thirst. She hasn't spit to spare. If it doesn't rain soon, her band will strike up camp. Better to move than to choke on dust – to become dust. She closes her eyes and swallows. Her heart beats too fast. The man she shivved will die. Serves him right for making her sweat. Propped against a tree, Zip drifts. She doesn't hear Cat come. She wakes to his rough tongue grazing her knuckles. Groggily, she peeps an eye. The sun is not where she remembers it. Read the rest on Patreon. Visit us at https://escapeartists.net/catscast/. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

December, 2023. Author: K. M. Veohongs Narrator: Dave Robison Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Dave Robison This story originally appeared inTranslunar Traveler's Lounge, February 2022 A content note: there is some death in this one. Kindly, Stop for Me by K.M. Veohongs I rise from my spot by the window in Room 126 of the Sunny Glades Home for Health and Rehabilitation. The sun set an hour ago, so it's no great loss. My front paws extend, claws out, before I shift my weight forward and kick out each hind leg. I don't have the range of motion I once did — everything creaks and clicks now — but since the moment I selected my first feline host, I found there is nothing quite so satisfying as a good stretch. I jump down and land on the tiled floor, hard. I wish they'd carpet the rooms, but that's hardly sanitary, is it? The hop up onto the bed is more difficult still. We're in the hospice wing, of course, and these beds are tall. I've still got the ups to make it, but it's a near thing. Finding a replacement body should be on the top of my to-do list. This one is rather past its natural expiration date, and if I don't find a new host before it gives out completely, I'll be as rudderless as the souls I'm supposed to help. It's only that I'm rather attached to the form I'm currently inhabiting. I've been Archimedes for so long now, I'm not sure I remember how to be anyone else. Read (or listen to) the rest on Patreon. Visit us at https://escapeartists.net/catscast/. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Author: Nicole Walsh Narrator: Matt Dovey Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producers: Wilson Fowlie and Dave Robison This month we're re-running The Cat by Nicole Walsh, which ran on our patron-only feed in June, 2022. Content note: although it's not a major theme, there is some domestic abuse in this story. This story originally appeared in Teleport Magazine in May, 2021. The Cat by Nicole Walsh The cat followed him home. Tomas Shine spent three and a half minutes in the stairwell hyperventilating. He heard Mrs Helen Acres, the widow from Unit Two, clatter and batter her way out her door, shopping bags in hand. She spotted the cat outside the stairway and reversed soundlessly into her unit. Tomas sucked in a ragged breath, filling his lungs to the brim, and looked up. The cat waited on the far side of the glass door. Its tail lashed back and forth. Tomas used the rail to heave himself upright, then crept down the stairs. He opened the door. The cat stood, butt shooting into the air, tail upright like a comma. It mewed. Tomas stepped aside. The cat led the way up the stairs. Tomas walked slowly, careful not to step on it. His hand was shaking so badly he couldn't get the key into the lock. His work bag slid awkwardly down his arm. Sweat pooled at his armpits, licking wet trails past his ribs. The cat pressed into his leg. A small, frightened noise slipped from his throat.  "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm trying." Nervous sweat coated his fingertips. The keys slipped free. They landed on the tiled floor with a loud clang, startling the cat. Tomas pressed into the wall, hand raised defensively.  "Sorry!" The cat stared, tail low and flicking. Tomas crouched slowly, extending a shaking hand for the keys. For a sickening moment he was almost eye to eye with the creature. Tomas rose. He slowly and deliberately inserted the correct key into the lock and opened his door.  A small white shape flittered past his brown work shoes.  It was done. Tomas Shine had a cat. Read (or listen to) the rest on Patreon. Visit us at https://escapeartists.net/catscast. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.