Catopolis by Martin H. Greenberg & Janet Deaver-Pack

Author:Martin H. Greenberg & Janet Deaver-Pack [Greenberg, Martin H. & Deaver-Pack, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781440607776
Publisher: DAW Books
Published: 2008-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

AFTER TONY’S FALL

Jean Rabe

Luigi had a dense, blue coat with silvery tips that gave it a lustrous sheen. Like all of his kind—Luigi was a Russian Blue—he had large, round eyes the shade of a just-misted philodendron. His head was broad, his rakish ears sharply tapered, and he was fine boned, yet powerfully built.

Luigi had the most regal appearance of any cat in my acquaintance.

Though I knew he could trace his ancestors back to the Royal Cat of the Russian Czars, he claimed to be Italian—and I’d never heard anyone argue the point.

Luigi spoke with a thick accent, sort of gravelly like Marlon Brando in the Godfather movies. He lived in a spacious apartment above an Italian restaurant in an Italian neighborhood that humans had dubbed “Little Italy.”

“Don Luigi” the cats in the ’hood called him.

I just called him boss.

He’d named me Vincenzo the day I came to work for him—that was a wintry morning nearly three years past when he’d caught me nibbling on some Fettuccini Alfredo that had been tossed into the garbage behind the restaurant. He offered me a job, and I was quick to accept.

“You’re very kind,” I told him. Now I can say it in his preferred tongue: Sei molto gentile!

The boss never asked my real name. Probably, like T.S. Elliot, he figured it was only right that we cats have three—my original moniker, Vincenzo, and Vinnie the Mouser.

The latter is what I usually go by. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

I’m not really Italian either, being a Bombay, or Burmese, but I love the food. Lasagna, ravioli, gnocchi riplieni, cappellacci al vitello e spinaci, and tortellini campagnola are regular dishes on my menu.

Last night it was vitello barolo—oh-so-tender veal with portabello and shitake mushrooms in wine, with just a touch of cream. The night before that was my favorite—calamari riplieni, sweet squid stuffed with cheese and bread crumbs in a delicate tomato sauce.

Per questa sera … I’ve no idea what will be on the menu tonight. Per domani sera … or tomorrow night for that matter. But I’m certain I will find everything tasty. Mi piace l’italiano, after all.

It is a good life, being Don Luigi’s number-one cat—his enforcer, confidant, and appropriator. In exchange for my loyalty and service, the boss makes sure that when I say, Sono affamato, I’m hungry, I am given something good to eat. Too, he has provided me a fine, dry place to sleep, on a thick velvet cushion in the attic above his apartment. From this lofty perch I can hear the boss’s natterings with Guido, Nino, and Uberto, the Siamese triplets that collect the Don’s take from the businesses in Little Italy. I can hear the passionate yowls from his late-night trysts with Mariabella, the Himalayan madam from around the corner, and with Tessa Rosalie, the sleek orange tabby who recently moved into the flower shop across the street.

Best of all, I can hear the boss play.

I’d not heard a cat tickle the ivories before coming into the Don’s employ.

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