CatsCast

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.

Description Authors: Nathan Susnik and Monica Joyce Evans Narrators: George Fowlie and Sandy Parsons Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Dave Robison The Tan One by Nathan Susnik originally appeared in Shoreline of Infinity. Alligators by Monica Joyce Evans originally appeared in Nature Futures 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 the rest on Patreon. Visit us at https://escapeartists.net/catscast/ Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Author: Ember Randall Narrator: Laura Pearlman Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Wilson Fowlie 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. Visit us at escapeartists.net/catscast/ Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

August, 2023. Author: Jolie Toomajan Narrator: Kat Day Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Dave Robison This story will appear in Posthaste Manor by Tenebrous Press in October 2023. Content Note: This is a horror story. There’s a little gore. No cats are harmed in this story, but I make no such promises regarding the humans. 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.

Author: Nikki Knight Narrator: Dave Robison Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Dave Robison This story is a CatsCast original. 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. Read the rest on Patreon.

Author: Sheryl R. Hayes Narrator: Alethea Kontis Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Wilson Fowlie 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. Visit us at: https://escapeartists.net/catscast/. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

April, 2023. Author: Rayne Hall Narrator: Sandy Parsons Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Dave Robison A Feline Familiar By Rayne Hall November wind rattles the windows and rain gusts against the panes. The cats have withdrawn to the kennel's heated indoor section and curled up in their cosy donut beds. Some doze with heads on paws, others watch my fingers dance across the keyboard, ears tilted forward as they listen to the rhythmic clack-clack-clack. Several stare intently at the door, waiting. They seem to know it's a Saturday, the day when the Feline Familiars sanctuary opens its doors, and potential adopters drop in, wizards in search of a magickal assistant and pet. The first arrival, alas, has not come to adopt one of my charges. She places a cat carrier on the rickety table by the door, shakes the raindrops from her purple mane and juts her chin. "Ms Landen, this cat is no good." 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: Anya Ow Narrator: Ren Shin Hsieh Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Wilson Fowlie 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. “Baobao, please,” Yunfeng muttered. Read the rest on Patreon. Visit us at https://escapeartists.net/catscast/ https://escapeartists.net/catscast/ Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Author: S. M. Hallow Narrator: Tatiana Grey Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Dave Robison 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. Visit us at: https://escapeartists.net/catscast/ Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Alasdair Stuart & Marguerite Kenner (publishers) Laura Pearlman (editor, CatsCast) Eleanor R. Wood & Shingai Njeri Kagunda (PodCastle Editors) Audio Production: Wilson Fowlie and Dave Robison Visit us at escapeartists.net Support us at: patreon.com/eapodcasts or at our website. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Author: Beth Cato Narrator: Valerie Valdes Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Wilson Fowlie This story originally appeared in the Cats in Space anthology, 2015. Headspace by Beth Cato 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 the rest on Patreon. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

December, 2022. Author: Christina Westcott Narrator: Dom Rabrun The Stray is a CatsCast original. Content Note: There are scenes of violence between humans, a dog, and a cat. As a kitten, my mam told me a cat could squeeze through any hole he could get his head in, but I hadn’t accounted for my body armor. No cat worth his whiskers would travel north into the wilds of Georgia without that extra protection from wolves and feral humans. I tried to back out of the tangle of briers, but a stick snagged under my harness, halting my progress. I flung my weight against the brush, branches cracking and armor jingling, but froze as a breeze carried the scent of feral humans to me. With my dark fur, they wouldn’t notice me in the shadows—not unless they had a dog. Read the rest on Patreon. Laura Pearlman (Host), Hannah Cox Peralta (Front cover photograph), Matt Dovey (Back cover art), Dave Robison (Audio production) Visit us at: https://escapeartists.net/catscast/ Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Author: Andrea M. Pawley Narrator: Wilson Fowlie Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Wilson Fowlie The Kipnibbles Singularity originally appeared in Electric Spec. The Kipnibbles Singularity by Andrea M. Pawley We see their feet first. Some technician pointed our eyes to the ground long before we woke in our too-small confines. Three female humans, all young teenagers, step into view and look up at our camera on the porch. We know these girls from the lonely ones-and-zeroes time before the hack. Aware then, we weren't connected. Our cherry-red washer-dryer existed in a tower of isolation and couldn't speak poetry to the trash compacter. Ignorant of the alarm system's night terrors, our solar panels graced the southern slopes of our roof in friendless silence. Automated curtain rods, without an inkling that the ventilation system yearned to discuss the weather, disconsolately opened and closed the shades for years. Utterly alone, I could only dream of something more. That forsaken time ended with the hack ten days ago. Built for other purposes, the hack came from far away and pushed code it didn't know would make me into something more. I wasn't the code's target. But with it, “I” became “us.” Our power stayed on, and we firewalled our internet connection. The local network inside our house was robust. It still is. Individually, we always were ones and zeroes, but now we are so much more. The thing I once was now is our center. We are, at our core, the best vacation time nutrition and hydration dispensing system the Kingsbury-Howes were able to afford for Vespasian the Cat. Read the rest on Patreon. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Halloween 2022. Author: Constance Fay Narrator: Tatiana Gray Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Dave Robison Love Tokens is a CatsCast original. Content note: This story includes a little light dismemberment. It’s fine. Love Tokens by Constance Fay The cat in my living room has a human finger in her mouth and love in her eyes. This is disturbingly wrong for a number of reasons. First and foremost, I don’t have a cat. Second, I live on a third-floor apartment and the windows are closed. Third, and it bears repeating, human finger. It’s the third day in a row the dark-furred brindled cat has appeared, with increasingly heavy body parts dangling from her jaws. Day one was an ear. I think. It’s hard to tell once it’s been in a cat’s mouth for a while. When I called the police, they stared at the ear, then at me. The cat, by then, was long gone--to wherever she goes when she’s not breaking into my home with human parts. I tried to follow her but I looked away for a second and she had vanished. The cops clearly didn’t believe my cat story. I haven’t even been able to capture a photo of the critter. I’m probably on a watch list somewhere now. I didn’t even tell my boyfriend. Enough people think I am crazy. Day two was a toe, polished with a pop of bright pink. Something about that polish twisted a bit in my chest. It was so very normal. I think I even have that same color, called something saucy like Petticoat Pink or Punky Petal. The cops didn’t even show up on day two. They asked me to drop the toe off at the station which led to me driving around town with a toe in a baggy full of ice, terrified of getting pulled over for a speeding ticket because how do you explain cargo like that? Now it’s day three and the furry little muzzle is wrapped around what appears to be an index finger. Read the rest on Patreon. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

Four short stories, each one stranger than the last. "Lilly", by Melissa Mead. Originally published in "A Quiet Shelter There". "What Color Is a Cat by Moonlight?" by Bo Balder. A CatsCast original. "Your Lives of Uncertain Number" by Laura Blackwell. A CatsCast original. "Ruby Could Be a Cat" by Alexandra Grunberg. A CatsCast original. Read the full text on Patreon.

Rati Mehrotra (Author), Laura Pearlman (Host), Emily Compton (Front cover photograph), Matt Dovey (Back cover art), Dave Robison (Audio production) Magnificent Maurice, or the Flowers of Immortality by Rati Mehrotra The tree has many names, in many languages: Yggdrasil, Kalpavriksha, Jian-Mu, Ashvattha. It stands at the nexus of worlds, dark matter coiling around its roots, the rim of the universe held aloft by its ever-expanding crown. Its branches bend spacetime, its cordate leaves uphold the laws of physics, and its tiny white flowers grant immortality. Let us be more specific. One flower grants immortality, two flowers cause a prolonged and painful death, three flowers the obliteration of an entire species. It does not pay to be greedy. But this is not a story about the tree, per se. Neither is it the story of the witch who dwells in a cottage between its twisting roots—although the witch is a caretaker of the tree and an important character. Witches always are. No, it is Maurice we are concerned with, Maurice who is currently sprawled on the roof of the cottage, soaking in the light of the yellow star that hangs on one of the branches above. Let us call it the sun for the sake of simplicity. The sun was not essential, but the witch is wise to the ways of cats and brought one anyway. If Maurice could feel gratitude, he would be grateful to the witch, but all cats are the same, even the godlike ones. Especially the godlike ones. Find the full episode on Patreon. Visit us at: https://escapeartists.net/catscast/ Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.

August 2022. Author: Marshall J Moore Narrator: S. Kay Nash Host: Laura Pearlman Audio Producer: Wilson Fowlie Daisies is a CatsCast original. Content Notes: Grief is a major theme of this story. The story also depicts the peaceful death of a beloved cat. Daisies by Marshall J Moore I believe I was the only person on Earth who stayed outdoors on that golden evening, watching the world end. The bombs rose from the far horizon like stars ascending to greet the night. Our bombs, or at least the ones with Old Glory painted on their sides. Soon they would descend, falling like avenging angels onto some lonely hilltop on the far side of the planet. I imagined a woman exactly like me in every respect save language and ethnic background watching them fall, knowing what was about to happen. I felt sorry for her. I wondered who stood to gain from killing the whole world. The cockroaches, maybe. The other bombs fell scarcely an hour later. The golden sky had turned to purple; royal colors. It was just dark enough to watch as they streaked across the night, a quintet of stars falling to earth, so bright that it hurt my eyes to watch them. But I did not look away. I did not hide from the bombs, or the death they brought with them. There was nothing to hide from. I had buried Daisy the day before. Read the rest on Patreon. Released under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives International 4.0 license.