At day break, the cats wound round her ankles.  “I’ll have treats for you soon, she said, setting out the cooking pans.  She broke eggs into a bowl, set a pan of water on the stove to heat.  While waiting for it, she beat the eggs with a whisk.

The older cats settled on their shelf to wait, but the kittens still bobbled around her feet.  When the water began to boil, she added cracked oats to it.  Into the eggs, she whipped seaweed, a bit of wheat grass and crumbles of farmer’s cheese

She then melted butter in a skillet, all the while keeping an eye on the oats.  When the butter was sizzling slightly, she poured in the egg mixture, whisking it steadily to keep it from sticking.

When the eggs were done, she spooned them into the 49 bowls lined up on the floor, calling names of the cats as she ladled.  “Here, now, old Tom, Sweet Amelia, Lady Beth…”

Her voice was gentle, almost like a purr.  The cats flowed off the shelf, a wave of gray, white, calico, black, orange and striped.  They sorted themselves out to their dishes with uncanny accuracy and a minimal amount of fussing.  The woman dished the last bit of egg for herself; took the oat porridge from the stove, added cream and sugar, then repeated the dishing out into now empty bowls.

As she ate her own breakfast, the cats one by one, bumped and rubbed her ankles buzzing softly, then settled themselves back on the shelf in the sun.  Some of them set about the business of grooming, a few used the cat flap to go visit the sand box.  The kittens began a game of pounce and tumble across the kitchen floor.

The last cat in from the sand box patted softly at her dress hem, and mewed questioningly.  “I know, Tabbitha,”the woman replied.  “I’ll get to it soon.”

She sighed and stood up.  Quickly she gathered all the bowls and stacked them in the sink.  She pumped it full of water and washed the bowls quickly.  She then refilled them with clear water and set them on the floor.  

Next came cleaning the sand box.  This was her least favorite chore of the day.  She poured the wet, stinking sand through a great sieve, sifting out the solid matter.  The sand fell into another sieve, with finer holes.  Through this, she poured hot water that flowed away down a drain.  Finally, she took down clean sand trays, filled each with a layer of sand and placed them in the sun to dry.  She unstacked previously cleaned pans of dry sand and placed them in a row by the wall.  

The cat chores finished, she washed up her own bowl, wiped down all the surfaces in the kitchen.  As she passed the cats, the old queen looked up from where she was settling the kittens for a nap, and purred softly.

She went on into the living room, vacuumed and dusted everything, then curled herself up in a bowl chair beside a finished stack of piece work for a well-earned nap.

She awoke to a thunderous knocking at the door, just as the light from the setting sun filtered through the blinds.  When she opened it, uniformed men entered the room.  “I tole you,” one of them shouted, “look at all them cats!”  

“What are you doing,” she cried, as the men forced their way into the room.

“You got too many cats, lady,” one of them said, “We’re impounding them.  You cain’t have this many cats in one house–taint sanitary.”

“But I clean carefully,” she wailed, “You can’t do this!”  She tried to stop the intruders from entering, but one of them set her firmly aside, and shoved a clipboard of papers at her.  

“Fill those out,” he directed.  She stared at the papers a moment, stupidly.  From the kitchen came a loud squall, then shouting.  She flung the clipboard at the man, then came at him with her fingers curved like claws.  “No!” she shouted, “I won’t let you!”

The woman fought, the cats fought–oh, my how they fought–but the men used tranquilizer darts and nets; soon the cats were loaded in the van and the woman was sitting in the bowl chair, restrained.  One of the men spoke into the phone, “Yes, yes, we have them all.  No, she didn’t take kindly to it…please send the doctor over right away.  Yes, one of us will wait.”

Tears streamed down her face.  She sat without a sound.  When the man in white came, she turned her face to him uncomprehendingly.  He shook his head sadly, and deftly administered a shot.  As she slumped down, unconscious, he gestured for the orderly who had come with him to load her onto a stretcher.

Some time later, the moon rose, full and kindly.  It shown on the woman’s white face as she lay behind lace curtains that hid steel bars.  She opened her eyes, and sat up on the side of the bed.  Unsteadily, she stood, and went to the window, pushing aside the curtains, and lacing her fingers sadly through the bars.  But before the first tears could flow, she began to change.  She blurred, grew smaller, furrier…and suddenly a dainty gray cat sat beneath the window.  She leaped, clung, and made her way between the bars that kept her woman form trapped inside the room.  She balanced, reconnoitered.  The change had cleared the drugs from her system.  The room was on the second floor, but an old maple grew nearby outside.  A leap, and a scramble, and then she was backing cautiously down the tree.

On the ground, she leaped away.   Something like a tiny radar inside of her sent her scampering through the town.  Cats are not made for steady travel; she was foot-sore and aching by the time she drew near her destination.  The moon was still high in the sky, but beginning its slide toward morning as she darted through the ornamental bushes that hid the cages.

Meanwhile, inside, the attendant was readying the euthanasia chamber.  His face was somber.  It was the thing he liked least about the work at the Pound.  There were other parts that weren’t much fun–mucking out the kennels, burning the pitiful bodies from the daily harvest of beasts.  But he hated taking their lives.  Had jobs been more plentiful, he would have been working elsewhere; but he had a wife and child.  He didn’t talk about his work when he went home.

He opened the door to the kennels, heading toward the cage where they had put the old lady’s cats.  His instructions were very specific–these cats were to go down tonight, not waiting the usual three days.  As he stepped through, a tiny gray shape darted under his feet and back toward the cage.  It skidded to a stop, mewing piteously before the door.  There was a sound, and then a hum like a thousand cats purring, and a flash of light.  As the man drew near enough to see around the cinder block divider, the entire 49 cats shimmered.  Where they had been a few seconds before, there now were 49 humans, crowding the tiny cell.

An older woman, regal, in spite of her bare skin, spoke imperiously, “You will open this door immediately.”

He gulped.  “Yes, mam,” he stammered fumbling with the keys.

“There are uniforms stored here?  Fetch them at once.”

Soon most of the 49 were clad–either in the stored uniforms, which fit variously–or in rags and tags torn from the sheets and clean rags kept on the premises.  Lady Beth, the old queen, turned to Old Tom.  “What shall be done with this one?” she asked.  “He has no will for this work.  It eats him out from the inside.”

Old Tom thought a minute.  He scooped up the little gray cat, cuddling her in his arms.  “I’m at a loss, m’lady,” he said, “We’ve fared sadly our own selves, despite all the efforts of this little one.”

A lithesome wench with tawny hair tugged at Old Tom’s arm.  “I have an idea, Daddy.  May hap he and his family would better guardians make.  Our Sweet One grows old; she needs help and loving care.”

“Well, Tabbitha, it is well thought on.  Time presses hard on her.  Where is it you live, these days, Man?”

The attendant stammered, “In an apartment.  My wife and I…well, I don’t know if she’d like it if I bring home so many guests.”

“Is it your will to labor on in this place the rest of your days?” Old Tom asked.

“NO!” the man declared.  “It.. it…”

“Even so,” said Old Tom.  “We have a house, but we need humans to speak for us during the day.  Long, long years ago my grandmother made a wish.  She wished that her old cat, Tom, could be a man; he having been more faithful to her than any man she knew.   Little did she know, but a leprechaun had hidden by the hearthstone that very day, and granted her wish.  Now unlike the joking tales you hear, old Tom had ne’er been neutered;  and he did spread his seed far and wide.  Such was that leprechaun’s humorous ways, all his descendants become human by night, but by day are cats.  Now and again, one such as our Sweet One comes to us.  By day, she is human.  By night, she is a cat.  Times gone by, we did well enough.  But after such a day and night as this, I fear we need more knowledgeable help.”  

“I’ll do it!” the man put out his hand.  “My name is Dan.  We need to get you out of here quickly, before anyone sees–and before you change back.  I’ll bring the van around.”

While Dan brought the van around, the cat people went quickly through the pound, opening doors, loosing animals back into the wild.  They were quickly done, and loaded into the vehicle.

Dan needed no directions back to the old house.  Talk had been all over town about the numbers of cats living there, and the strange old lady who kept them.   Dan explained as he drove that there would be more work to be done before they could be safe.  “There’s a rumor that the house is part of a block that is to be made into a shopping mall.  That’s one of the reasons for getting the old gel…err…cat…well, whatever she is and all of you out of it.  My wife knows about such things.”

“I am glad,” said Old Tom.  “Bring her at first light, and Our Sweet One will talk to her in her human form.  But now, we must be swift to hide, for the moon rests upon the rim of the world, and the change is upon us.”

The Cat People took the little gray cat into the house, and set her carefully in the bowl chair.  In moments, she was the only cat visible anywhere inside the building.  “I’ll be back,” Dan called.

He closed the door, hearing the lock snick behind him.

To be continued.