Feline - 1. Phoebe: Winter

1. Phoebe: Winter

What I remember of my childhood is hazy, unclear. I remember New York: tall buildings and grey streets, the feeling of being there, the life energy of the city. I remember the ocean as we sailed over it on our way out of the city. The oceans where crusting over; my parents were scared; so we left. I remember little of our journey; other things were happening, besides to the oceans. There where giant birds that ate people, netting was being put up everywhere. With no sky and no sea, ground transport was all there was. There were more animals to ride now, though. Hamsters where favorites, due to their speed, endurance, and sweet tempers. There were other animals too, though. Giant Coi Carp, and kats. It was the kats who always fascinated me, the idea of them at least.

Housecats the size of goats or sheep, occasionally bigger, the size of horses. The huge ones where called felines. They where ridden. The thing that made them fascinate me was that they where sweet, just like housecats. That, and the fact that no one had ever ridden one without a saddle.

My memories of my last day with my parents are vague, I remember them, their faces, and I remember my mother screaming and a screeching that wasn’t human and red everywhere.

And so, when I was about five, I found the garden. A garden is a place where kats are raised, as an aquarium is a place where Coi are raised.

I saw the kittens first. I stumbled into their enclosure in the winter, looking for warmth. The kittens where all stacked in a pile. I cuddled up with them. There razor claws scratched me as they slept, but I was warm, away from the snow.

The owners took me in. Ellen and Damon and there little daughter, Heather.

“What’s your name?” Ellen asked me when she found me.

“I don’t know.” I told her. “I don’t think I have one.”

“Well, think about it. If you can’t remember, we’ll just have to give you a new one. I’m Ellen. This is Feline Garden. Would you like to live here?” She asked.

I nodded.

“Come on then.” She said, helping me up and wrapping me in her coat to go back to the house. In the early days of the birds, children’s parents where often eaten, and the children turned up everywhere. There was no point searching. She held the door open for me and let me in. Damon was sitting at the table, holding baby Heather.

“Who is this?” He asked when he saw me.

“I found her in the kitten’s stable. She has Amnesia, or something.” Ellen said.

“Well, come on in and have dinner.” He said, smiling. They sat me down and gave me a bowel of hot soup.

“So, how old are you?” Damon asked.

I held up five fingers.

“You have kats.” I said. “Do you have Felines?”

“No riding kats, no.” Ellen told me. “Why do you ask?”

“I always wanted to see a riding kat.” I said. “Since they came to be.”

“I see.” Damon said. “Well, kats will have to do.”

The next day Damon loaded the back of his truck with buckets of fish, and put me in the back too and drove off into the kat fields. We had had cats when they were still small, my parents and I, and these kats where just like ours had been, only there were more of them. They romped and played with each other.

When the truck got through the fence, they all looked up. We drove into the middle of the field. The kats crowded around, head butting the truck and rubbing on it, there purring so loud I could hardly hear Damon.

“Throw the fish to them!” He called. The kats at the back where licking their shoulders indignantly. About half of them where black, the rest where grey and orange tabby, tuxedo, spotted, calico, and any other color any smaller cat could have been. They meowed all kinds of ways. I reached into a bucket and pulled out a fish, and tossed it into the hordes of kats. They meowed maniacally and tackled each other, resting over the fish. I tossed more out, and watched the kats in amazement. They leapt for the fish, trying to catch them. They rarely succeeded, but they didn’t seem to mind. Once I had emptied more than half of the barrels, Damon called to me to stop, and we went and fed the kittens. They were smaller than the cats, of course. While the kats where about the size of a miniature cow, the kittens ranged from the size of a medium dog to that of a sheep.

They where wilder than their parents. They scratched the truck with their razor claws, and meowed silently(or not so silently at times). They tackled each other, each stepping over the others to get closer to the food, levitating the way that kittens do. Scared, I tossed the fish away from the truck. They all bounded towards it with big, clumsy leaps, there disproportionate paws tipping them up.

We drove back to the house.

“Did you like the kats?” Damon asked.

I nodded. I was quiet then, still traumatized from my parent’s death.

“I’m glad.” Damon said. “I think you’ll learn to like it here.”

He was right. I did come to like it, and very quickly, too. I liked playing with the kittens best. They did slash at me sometimes, there razor claws catching at my clothes, but I didn’t mind. I loved every one of them.

“Why do you raise kats? I asked Ellen one day when I was watching Heather for her while she sewed up holes in cloth.

“For their milk.” She said. “And for their fur.”

“There fur?”

“They shed a lot of fur.” She said. “We felt it into big, big squares, and then people buy the wool.”

I nodded. This made sense to me.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“In the middle of what used to be called Florida.” She told me.

“Mama and Daddy and I traveled a long way.” I said.

“Yeah? Where’d you come from?” She asked.

“New York City.” I said.

“Oh my god!” She jumped up. “Do you have it? Are you contagious?”

I just looked up at her.

“No.” She said. “Of course. Your eyes are blue.”

“What does that mean?” I asked her.

“There is in illness you get from being too close to the crust.” she said. “Some people are contagious. If they are, they aren’t sick, but they can get others sick. If they’re like that, there eyes turn neon green. People who get it from the green eyed people have one violet eye while they are sick, and then eventually both eyes are purple. They can’t get anyone else sick, though.” She sat back down. “I’m sorry. I should have thought before acting. Such beautiful blue eyes.” She smiled at me.

I nodded.

“Have you remembered your name?” She asked.

I shook my head.

“Would you like me to give you one?” She asked.

I nodded.

“What kind of names do you like?” She asked.

I shrugged.

“How about a P name?” She asked. “Pam, or Penelope . Oh, what about Phoebe? Do you like that?”

I nodded vigorously.

“Oh, very good. Phoebe it is then. And your middle name… Oh, but more than one middle name is more fun.” She said, getting into it. “Your full name could be Phoebe Ursula Ell Grey.” She smiled. “Does that sound good?” She asked.

I nodded. “Fee-bee Ursul, Ursula Lll G-grey.” I tried to pronounce my name.

“Exactly.” Ellen beamed.

I smiled. I could not remember having a name.