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A very short story about cats


A lone shadow slid silently across moonlit rooftops. An Egyptian Mau, it’s short grey and black fur near indistinguishable from the night around it, a mouse is clutched between it’s fine pointed teeth. It came to stop in a pool of moonlight gathered between the rough shadows of cast by the trees of the Norwegian Forest that sprouted only a stone’s throw from the edge of town. The dark trees were neither true forest, nor was they in Norway but that is what it had come to be called. After a minute of waiting, the solid forms of two dogs came trotting out of the undergrowth. A towering Newfoundland with thick black fur and a slightly smaller but no less hairy Samoyed. The Mau narrowed his glowing green eyes.


Between the mountains of Singapura and the Glen of Imaal, The House of the Sphynx and The Nebelung Pack had come to parley. The Samoyed spoke first.

“Good evening, Kuvasz,” he grumbled, clearly wishing quite the opposite. His voice was scratchy and low. Kuvasz blinked slowly before inclining his head.

“Cymric, Korat.” He turned to his catch and began to devour it delicately. The two dogs exchanged curious looks.

"Where is-"

“They are coming,” Kuvasz cut him off and flicked the tip of his tail playfully, “But surely you’re not going to attack me, even if I am alone.” Cymric snorted in annoyance.

“Who?” Korat, the Newfoundland, asked. Her voice was a deep sound made somewhere in her chest.

“Ocicat and Beauceron.” 

“Beauceron? The Munchkin?” Kuvasz did not answer but continued to eat the mouse. The sound of bones crunching seemed far too loud in the sleepy silence. Small as Beauceron was he hailed from Main Coon which made him cunning. Ocicat was born from the Scottish Fold and was the most resilient fighter Kuvasz had ever seen. The dogs wouldn’t be happy with the presence of a Warcat but it was better to be safe than sorry.

“If we’re asking questions may I inquire after Löwchen?" asked Kuvasz "You’re lacking your negotiator my friends.” His tone was silky, sneering, and far from friendly. “He who emerged from the Kerry Blue unscathed and shining” Kuvasz mocked in a singsong voice. Korat growled softly and made as though to step forward but Cymric snapped at her before her heavy paw had even left the ground.

“He was delayed. Issues at the Snowshoe,” Cymric said shooting a nasty glare in Kuvasz’s direction. “A Turkish Van causing trouble at the border. Know anything of it?” he asked accusingly.

“Do you suspect us Samoyed?” said a high, almost childlike, voice. Beauceron had arrived. His bouncing stride, wide, round eyes, and tiny stature made him almost comical compared to the enormous presence of Korat. Cymric pulled his lips back over gleaming white teeth in a sneer. It was all he could do. As much as he would like, the Samoyed wouldn't dare start a fight in neutral territory. Beauceron either did not notice Cymric's snarl or did not care. He came level with Kuvasz, settling himself on the Mau's left. They shared a nearly imperceptible nod  before Beauceron turned his wide brown eyes on the dogs. Cymric did not answer Beauceron’s question but continued to address Kuvasz.

“I would have though Kai Ken would be with you instead.” He said, still smiling disdainfully at Beauceron. The little cat narrowed his eyes and his gave a slight tail twitch. Kai Ken, one of the High bred of the House of Sphynx, had become infamous for his daring strategies during the Battle of Catalburun and had in recent years become Beauceron’s mentor. It was popular belief that Beauceron would forever live in the shadow of the older cat, never quite living up to the legend. It was cruel jab to mention his name here.

Not to be Continued

(I'm sorry if you wanted more of this but I will not be going forward with this story. This actually started as a writing exercise for my Creative Writing degree and continuing it would require looking up lots of cat breeds to use as I have done here, plus there's simply no more story to tell.)

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