Catfantastic by Andre Norton; Martin H. Greenberg (ed)

Author:Andre Norton; Martin H. Greenberg (ed)
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-11-24T09:02:00+00:00

2

The house, Miles noted, was just as he had expected it to be, no more and no less. A small farmhouse which had withstood the force of the northern winters for nearly two centuries, which his friend and old college roommate had decided to renovate; it stood as a monument to Wesley McGillis' unique personality. Half renovated, and it would probably remain that way forever; Wes had a tendency to grow bored with any project once he had mastered the skills necessary to complete it, and this house was no exception. A pity, Miles thought. The building had promise. Maybe Wes' daughter, who had recently moved in with him, would motivate him to finish the project.

He bounced down a dirt road with thick grass growing down its center, into a yard long overgrown with weeds. Wesley was waiting on the porch-and damn him, he hadn't changed a day since last they met!

Nearly ten years now, Miles realized. He had changed, that was certain.

"How do you like it?" His old roommate asked, with a gesture that encompassed the house, the grounds and even the gleaming white citadel of Bell & Hammond's primary research facility, some miles in the distance. "Nice, eh?"

"Cold." He had left his coat in the trunk in Maryland, and he quickly retrieved it and put it on before pulling out his suitcase. "Give me the southlands, any day."

"Here, I'll take that." Wes reached for the suitcase, finally had to take it forcibly out of his hand. "You're sounding like them, you know that?"

"Southerners. Never thought you would." He led him up the stairs of weatherworn porch, to a screen door that was obviously new. "Elsa sends her love, wishes she could be here. Some business down at NMHI, I'll tell you all about it when you're settled in. Odd stuff, really." Opening the door, he waved Miles through. "Watch the cats," he warned.

As if on cue, a gray tabby bolted for the door. With practiced grace Wes blocked its way, pushing Miles into the primitive kitchen as he pulled the screen door shut behind them. The cat yowled once-a token effort-and then disappeared into a nearby shadow.

Adjoining the kitchen was a common room, in which a central fireplace managed to drive back the worst of the chill. Wesley indicated a calico-covered rocker and then nodded toward the stairs at the far end of the room. "Make yourself comfortable while I put this away. There's hot water on for coffee or tea, your choice. Be back in a minute."

Miles had just had time to notice that the legs of the rocker were scarred, and its cover fringed by the repeated application of animal claws, when a cry of "Downstairs, damn you!" Resonated down the staircase, and a small ball of fur followed. Black from head to tail with white socks on three of its feet, the small cat leaped to the center of the room and then stopped there, suddenly, as if considering its actions.

Hesitantly Miles extended one finger

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