The Great Purr

By Catherine Holm

In a northern Minnesota mining town, cats have always maintained the Great Purr, a force that holds the Real World, the UnderEarth, and the Spirit World together. But when the Great Purr becomes corrupted and threatens to destroy the world, the magical cats of Ironton must work together to prevent disaster. Can Karma use her exquisite sensitivity without it destroying her? Will Target harness his gift of focus at the right time? And will sensual Kali be able to resist the temptation of the Evil that threatens to unravel The Great Purr?

• Language: English
• Publisher: North Star Press of St. Cloud
• Release date: Jun 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9780878399536

Catherine Holm

Catherine Holm is the author of the short story collection My Heart Is a Mountain and the memoir Driving With Cats: Ours For A Short Time. As Ann Catanzaro, she writes cat fantasy fiction. She is a freelance writer and editor, a yoga instructor, and lives in Cook, Minnesota, with her husband, several cats, and a dog.

Book preview

THE GREAT PURR

by

Catherine Dybiec Holm

North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.

St. Cloud, Minnesota

Copyright © 2014 Catherine Holm

Print ISBN 978-0-87839-720-9

eBook ISBN 978-0-87839-953-6

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Author Photo: Deborah Sussex Photography

First Edition: June 2014

Published by

North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.

P.O. Box 451

St. Cloud, MN 56302

www.northstarpress.com

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 1

Karma squeezed through the opening in the foundation, and crawled under the porch and out into her yard. Her whiskers twitched uneasily. The air smelled of cold weather coming. Another hard Ironton, Minnesota, winter.

For an instant, faint and unfamiliar discordance hissed in the night. Uneasy shudders cascaded down Karma’s spine.

She sat still as a sphinx, every hair at attention, listening for several moments. Nothing.

Karma lifted a paw, licking the moisture off her black pads and paying particular attention to one claw. She snagged it on a tooth and worked it until the dead cuticle shed from the claw’s base. Her leg flashed in the full moonlight, and she looked like a piece of the moon with her silver, brown, and black markings and her icy-blue eyes. Above, Karma heard the whisper of dead elm leaves that would soon fall to the ground. A lone person walked stiffly and quickly, hugging his coat tight around him.

She gave one glance over her shoulder at the house before she set out. Her people, Michael and Sandra, had gone to bed. Thank Cat. She got tired of their sniping and the strain it put on her as a Sensitive. Not for the first time, she wondered why she hadn’t been given another gift in her fourth lifetime. Portal Opener, Paws-on Healer, Dream-adept, Telepath—surely these carried less pain than her exquisitely honed feelings. Michael and Sandra’s words still echoed in her mind. Michael’s speech had slurred with alcohol.

Fourteen hundred people laid off from the mine, just like that.

Yeah, well that place has been on the verge of bankruptcy for a long time. Bet the bars are busy. Bitterness in Sandra’s voice.

Get off my back.

How’re you going to find a job if you keep drinking? Your unemployment isn’t going to last forever.

Karma stopped, blinked, and stared at the night sky, willing the echoes of their bickering to dissolve. The words were not as painful as the emotions behind them. She took a moment, letting the silence outside replace the memories in the house.

With efficient grace she moved down the sidewalk, ignoring the neighbor’s Labrador retriever. The dog jumped into action and ran back and forth inside his picket fence, barking and whining. Play with me play with me play with me!

The smell of a rodent attracted her and she pounced, grabbing a tiny vole that tried to hide in a pile of dried leaves and cigarette butts. Karma killed him with a crunch to the neck, then paraded down the road with the prey in her mouth to be savored later. The rodents were easy to catch this time of year when they were scurrying to find warm places before winter set in.

Off in the distance to her left, across Crystal Lake and behind the nursing home, the silhouette of a huge, flat-topped hill rose up on the horizon; overburden from open pit mining. Milo had shown her the vast pit in the ground, made by people and now abandoned and still. Karma had gasped at its depth, but Milo claimed that some of these pits went two miles deep. People had mined Ironton for the last one hundred years, since the early 1900s, coming from other countries and hoping to find prosperity.

She hoped she’d find Milo tonight.

A warm feeling rose up in Karma’s chest and she began to purr, almost dropping the vole.

Milo, she whispered, seeing the orange tom clearly in her mind. She stood in silence, picturing the curves of his body, the grace of his large paws.

Her own paws tingled suddenly, but the sensation came hard and flinty. Tight unease in her gut expanded, turning into full blown nausea. She reeled, again hearing an unfamiliar discordance.

Heart racing, she put her ear down to the ground to listen to the Great Purr.

Karma jumped up, dropping the vole. The silver fur down the center of her back stood up. She hissed.

Never in her life had she heard the Great Purr sound like this.

Her teeth chattered. Shaking, she put her head to the ground once more. A subtle thread of discordance ran through the familiar Purr.

Great Cat. If something was wrong with the Purr, what could that mean? The Purr held the worlds together, the Real World (where she stood now), the UnderEarth where magic originated, and the Spirit World. Any kitten knew this. All domestic cats maintained the health of the Great Purr with their purrs.

She quivered.

Karma tried to purr, working around the unease in her gut. Her skin twitched uncontrollably. She purred louder, hoping she could overcome the discord and return the Purr to its familiar, soothing regularity. Then she was silent, listening for the impossible.

The ugly chords continued, overlaid with a screeching sound, low and volatile, sinister and soft as an angry hiss.

A gray cloud moved over the moon, obscuring its brilliance. Karma ran, her tail puffed out to twice its size. Anything to get away from that sound. Maybe it would be better in another place. Nausea coursed through her gut and she almost tripped over a grate in the sidewalk, an exhaust vent from the city’s steam heat system. She stopped, panicked.

Usually the vents were a thing of beauty to Karma and she’d stare as the vapor rose slowly to the sky, convoluting in graceful twists. Magic mist, Milo called it, and she liked to imagine that it indeed leaked and rose up from the UnderEarth’s own magic.

But now she ignored the chilly moisture. All she could hear was the bone-slicing sound, the corruption of the Great Purr. Her heart pounded, because now the sound had an awful new quality, the quality of emotion. She could feel the horrible and tortured thoughts of something pressing in, squeezing her chest, oiling its way through her body, trying to possess her.

Milo! she screamed, and she hurled herself down the street, farther and farther from the steam vent, deeper and deeper into the muted, now moonless night.

Chapter 2

Target sighed, looking out at the group of at least fifty cats that milled around the lone streetlight. He didn’t have a lot of patience for meetings, even one he got to run, and he twitched his tail. And Target didn’t particularly care to announce bad news. But who did? And likely, everyone else was aware as he was of what was happening.

The pavement dipped and cracked where the Ironton Cat Contingent gathered. Frost heave, one might think, in this cold climate. But Target and most residents of the town, human and otherwise, knew the pavement buckled here because the town had originally been built on a lake. Crystal Lake was visible under the waning moon.

He wished he were a kitten with none of these pressing respon­sibilities. For a second, he allowed himself to pretend he was prowling, playing, chasing mice, turning over trashcans, and diving into restaurant dumpsters.

Venitio’s . . .

He licked his lips. Good grabbings, especially after the AllYouCanEatSausageandPepperNight. Delicately, he licked a black paw, tasting the remnant of meat sauce from an earlier meal behind the restaurant, salvaged from the trash. Target wished all the restaurant leftovers in Ironton were so good.

Target looked out and saw Milo in the crowd next to Karma. Milo, with his iron gut, relished all dumpster food. The orange tom, like Target, lived on his own, and could not depend on the kibble that people insisted on feeding their cats. Target felt his stomach lurch. Not in this lifetime, he muttered to himself. There were advantages to being a street cat.

Sleek and black, he’d have been invisible were it not for the streetlight. His eyes gleamed green. Siamese ancestry revealed itself in his elegant, long-legged build and his voice. Behind him stood a nondescript white building. Nearby was a little-used street. He shivered in the cold, dry air, and his senses told him it was going to be a rough winter.

Let’s get this meeting to order, he called.

The cats continued to chatter. Cats of all sizes and shapes wove past each other in graceful feline dance or sat or groomed themselves or each other. A smack in the face here and there, some play fighting, lots of talking and yowling.

RRRROWWWW!

That could be counted on to shut them up. No one could fault Target his distinctive voice.

He looked out at the group, narrowed his eyes and hoped he looked mature enough.

We’re here for a reason. Let’s make this fast. We have better things to do than stand around here wasting time.

He paused.

Are we ready to move on? Target threw a cold look over his audience.

Silence.

All right. The issues. He was well aware of the problems. As representative of the Ironton Cat Contingent he had to be.

The Great Purr is dying, cried one. I don’t feel it anymore when I walk the streets.

Duh, said someone else, who was quickly silenced with a hiss.

No, no, called out a tortoise shell, sounding desperate. It’s still there, just muddled.

Muddled with an awful new sound, Target thought, but said nothing.

I feel tired all the time. It’s getting harder and harder to talk to any of you. A small white female spoke.

Target nodded. Cats communicated verbally, as at this meeting, or telepathically across any distance. Some were more skilled in telepathy than others, and Target was one of the best. But even Target had noticed that, lately, telepathy required more effort. It was as if he had to reach through a dark, hazy veil just to feel the essence of the cat he was trying to communicate with. Contact, once a common occurrence, was now a lucky surprise.

Does this mean all our magic will be off? What can we count on?

My paws-on healing didn’t work last night.

My dreams are jumbled.

Portals open for me, but only sometimes.

Healers, Telepaths, Portal Openers, Dream Adepts, Sensitives. Target stared ahead, eyes slightly closed with a bland expression, the cat shrug. He hoped his face didn’t betray thoughts inside his mind. How could the cats function if their magical powers were impaired? These gifts made so many things possible, so many things that helped the world stay on course even though people had no clue about any of it.

The worlds needed to overlap. The Real World depended on the UnderEarth for magic, and the UnderEarth stayed grounded by its connection to the Real. Cats and others who’d completed their lives in the Real World needed to be able to move on to the Spirit World. The Great Purr facilitated the exchange. If the Great Purr failed to function, then what?

Milo? Target singled out the orange cat. The opinion of the elder Telepaths?

A Telepath’s gift increased with age. Milo, sixteen years into this life and Target’s mentor, was one of the best. A battered orange tom, with the fat cheeks and scarred ears to prove it, Milo inspired respect. He inhaled, which made his broad chest bigger, and looked at the group with narrowed eyes. But the cats near him saw the worry that passed across those eyes like a shadow.

We are still able to communicate. So far, it seems this disruption is limited to the Ironton area.

Target heard a unified sigh of relief from the cats.

But we’re concerned.

Target nodded. What would happen if this thing, this phenome­non, spread outward?

We’re prepared to help, Milo continued, when the actions have been better identified.

Target nodded. So. The Great Purr is . . . he searched for the right word, the right tone, a calm delivery. No need to incite panic. it’s . . . corrupted. We’re tired. And we can’t talk through the mind. We’ve got to do something.

But what?

Good question. I wish I had all the answers. The responsibility of his position weighed on Target’s shoulders, and he noticed Milo staring at him with an intent expression. Don’t worry, mentor, I won’t let you down, Target thought.

Kittenhood ended abruptly for Target when the town Cat Contingent discovered his skill in telepathy. The black youngster could read the deepest thoughts of another with the skill of an elder. He could extract the thoughts usually hidden away in a private, secret corner of the mind. Target could transmit an urgent message to all cats in town and every single one, even those with no talent for telepathy, would get the thought loud and clear. He received messages from the spirits and was able to keep his sense of energy and his identity, remaining unfazed and energetic. The mind work that Target was capable of would knock most cats flat on their sides with exhaustion.

After Target’s exceptional talent became known, his life had never been the same. The shiny black kitten had grown into a slim cat, destined to lead. His telepathic talents were enhanced by an ability to strike at the root of a problem with precision and focus. But was leadership worth it, was it possible, without magic?

We have to do something. Now. A brindle-marked cat spoke up, anxiety evident in her voice. We’re going to be powerless pretty soon. We won’t be able to maintain the equilibrium. What if we’re stuck here in the Real World, unable to travel to the UnderEarth? What if we die and our spirits can’t move on?

As far as we know, that hasn’t happened yet, Target said.

But what if? What if?

What if, indeed. Only cats had the ability to travel between the Worlds. Only cats could hear and feel and maintain the Great Purr. If the Purr spiraled out of control, what did that mean for the Worlds, for cats, for everyone?

How have others been acting? People? Your neighbors? Canines? It didn’t hurt to explore this avenue, though Target was pretty sure he knew the answer.

Hard to tell.

They’re all pretty occupied with the mine shut-down.

How can we expect them to know anything? They can’t sense it, can’t hear it.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but it’s been almost unbearable at my house. The emotions, I mean. Karma spoke.

There were few Sensitives in Ironton, and the purpose of their gift was not always clear. Target thought it must be a difficult gift to live with.

I’m sure they know nothing, another muttered. By the time they know anything’s up, it might be way too late.

Ironton’s people. Descendants of tough immigrants who had homesteaded on harsh swampland, accompanied by fierce mosquito song and six-month winters. Such people had little time to be aware of magic, so immersed were they in the everyday struggle to survive.

Ooooooo . . .

An old Maine Coon let out a plaintive wail that stretched over the uneven concrete.

I remember.

Silence. Perhaps old Hobo’s story would yield some information and clues.

In my fifth life, Hobo began. The streetlight bounced from his fur, accentuating the blacks and the whites. He sat up tall so his front paws, seven toes on each foot, almost lifted from the hard concrete.

His fifth life, someone whispered. Quiet hung over the group and the moon threw cool shards over the silhouettes of cats.

It was a terrible time on earth. Hobo’s eyes were shut, deep in trance. Gray whiskers framed his wide face. The magic died as it is dying now. It twisted itself right out of the earth, grown to some new evil by one who would manipulate it. A living evil.

Every cat followed Hobo, sharing his trance, feeling the nuances of the story unfolding. It came as close to telepathy as these cats had experienced in a while, Target thought with a pang.

It twisted the magic.

Who? What? Target could not break the trance of Hobo, who might have more to say.

An Evil force. Hobo’s breath came out a hiss and his teeth chattered with emotion. A thing neither male nor female, yet both. It grew on the bad of the world, it killed for the fun of it, it fed on the death of all animals, of all living beings.

The cats breathed softly, a plaintive sigh in the night.

It fed upon cruelty. The more cruelty, the stronger it became. All died . . . no magic . . . no life . . . none . . .

The cats remained frozen, waiting for the next words from Hobo. But the large Maine Coon opened his eyes, licked a paw, and looked around.

Target felt shaky. Cats shifted uneasily under the moonlight. What power did they have to stop a force that thrived on cruelty and destroyed their magic? Could other beings help? None he knew of had the magical talents of cats.

We don’t know that this is we face. The ever-practical Kali Ma could be counted on to act logically in the face of panic. A good cat in that sense, even though many had a hard time liking her otherwise. Bitchy, they called her.

What else do we have to go on?

Aren’t we safest to assume the worst?

It could be here among us now! Walking right among us. Panic rose in the group and Target heard the rising wails, hissing, snarling . . .

Enough! he roared.

They quieted with reluctance.

Mistrust will only divide us. We are CATS.

We are cats, they repeated. A simple statement that covered a multitude of meanings. Unified by their understanding and main­tenance of the Great Purr. Sharing a bond at the core of every cat’s being.

We need to stick together. Murmurs of assent.

Hobo. Do you remember more?

The group watched as the old Maine Coon closed his eyes again. But he resurfaced a few seconds later, shaking his head. Nothing more. The trance has deserted me.

Then there’s only one thing to do. Target’s green eyes glowed with resolution that he hoped would give him power for the upcoming journey. I will travel to the UnderEarth to see what we’re dealing with. I’ll need volunteers, at least two. His tone was brisk. Until we know more, we cannot proceed. Meeting adjourned.

Chapter 3

Winter will be here soon."

Karma looked at the orange tom. Milo wasn’t prone to stating the obvious.

So?

They walked down Second Avenue after the meeting. Cutting across the concrete area where all the cats had gathered, Milo and Karma walked side by side, tails up and occasionally touching. Soon they crossed a grassy area, now brown and hard with frost, onto the bike path that encircled Crystal Lake. The health food store stood on their left, darkened and quiet, a log building that glowed warm in the streetlight. It was one of Karma’s favorite places. They crossed a footbridge where Crystal Lake flowed into Snow Lake. Karma saw the older motel on her left, the lake on her right, a lumberyard farther ahead. A lone, mufflerless car sputtered past, temporarily breaking the silence of the early morning.

Maybe it’d be good if you found another home for a while. I’m not going to be around.

Why not? She looked at the tom, her eyes wide and fearful. Her back arched, and the fur along her backbone stood straight up. Where are you going? A whine crept into her voice.

I’m going with Target.

You can’t, she blurted, the resulting sound a harsh yowl. You can’t go with him. It’s too risky.

Exactly why I should go. Target will need my help.

But it’ll be dangerous. It . . . it . . . Karma sat down in the middle of the path and began to groom herself using fast, erratic motions.

Come on. Milo led her off the pavement into an thicket between the base of a willow tree and the lake. There they cuddled together, and Milo’s tongue rasped over Karma’s face, her gray ears, the gray and silver stripes on her legs. She purred, though the sound