The Year of the Cat: A Cat of Perfect Taste: The Year of the Cat, #2

By Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Kari Kilgore and 4 more

Cats very clearly find themselves superior to humans. And we humans just nod and accept that fact.

This might come from early history when Egyptians worshipped cats. Or from how humans pamper cats to this day. We have bred them to expect the royal treatment. Sometimes, we even treat them like gods.

And why not?

A Cat of Perfect Taste, the second volume of The Year of the Cat series, focuses on this major trait of cats. Cats as rulers.

And cat people would not have it any other way.

 

Includes:

"Cat in Waiting" by Dean Wesley Smith

"The Philanthropist and the Happy Cat" by Saki

"Pudgygate" by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

"Calvin (A Study in Cat Character)" by Charles Dudley Warner

"Cats" by Philip Gilbert Hamerton

"What Fluffy Knew" by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

"The Secret of Catnip" by Stefon Mears

"The Magic Cat of the Hidden Springs Inn and Spa" by Kari Kilgore

• Language: English
• Publisher: WMG Publishing
• Release date: Jun 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393494652

Dean Wesley Smith

Considered one of the most prolific writers working in modern fiction, USA Today bestselling writer Dean Wesley Smith published far more than a hundred novels in forty years, and hundreds of short stories across many genres. At the moment he produces novels in several major series, including the time travel Thunder Mountain novels set in the Old West, the galaxy-spanning Seeders Universe series, the urban fantasy Ghost of a Chance series, a superhero series starring Poker Boy, and a mystery series featuring the retired detectives of the Cold Poker Gang. His monthly magazine, Smith’s Monthly, which consists of only his own fiction, premiered in October 2013 and offers readers more than 70,000 words per issue, including a new and original novel every month. During his career, Dean also wrote a couple dozen Star Trek novels, the only two original Men in Black novels, Spider-Man and X-Men novels, plus novels set in gaming and television worlds. Writing with his wife Kristine Kathryn Rusch under the name Kathryn Wesley, he wrote the novel for the NBC miniseries The Tenth Kingdom and other books for Hallmark Hall of Fame movies. He wrote novels under dozens of pen names in the worlds of comic books and movies, including novelizations of almost a dozen films, from The Final Fantasy to Steel to Rundown. Dean also worked as a fiction editor off and on, starting at Pulphouse Publishing, then at VB Tech Journal, then Pocket Books, and now at WMG Publishing, where he and Kristine Kathryn Rusch serve as series editors for the acclaimed Fiction River anthology series. For more information about Dean’s books and ongoing projects, please visit his website at www.deanwesleysmith.com and sign up for his newsletter.

Book preview

The Year of the Cat: A Cat of a Perfect Taste

The Year of the Cat: A Cat of a Perfect Taste

Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch

WMG Publishing, Inc.

Contents

Introduction

Cat in Waiting

Dean Wesley Smith

The Philanthropist and the Happy Cat

Saki

Pudgygate

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Calvin

Charles Dudley Warner

Cats

Philip Gilbert Hamerton

What Fluffy Knew

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

The Secret of Catnip

Stefon Mears

The Magic Cat of the Hidden Springs Inn and Spa

Kari Kilgore

About the Editor

About the Editor

Introduction

Cats can be regal, they can be aloof, they can act superior. Any person who has ever been owned by a cat knows that disdainful look a cat can give you when it is busy and how dare you bother it.

Cats make it clear very often that they are better than humans. And we humans just nod and accept that fact.

This might come from early history when cats were worshipped beings in Egypt. Or from how they are pampered, for the most part, by humans to this day. They simply have been bred to expect royal treatment without having to do anything in return.

They are fed regularly, they are cleaned up after, they get a lap to sit on, but only if they want it and not one moment before or longer than they require.

In other words, cats are treated like royalty, like upper-class society, sometimes even like gods.

And why not?

So, when putting a series of twelve books together containing 100 cat stories, it just seemed logical that one of the books would focus on this major trait of cats.

Here are titles of the twelve volumes of cat stories we are putting together.

Book One

A Cat of a Different Color

Book Two

A Cat of Perfect Taste

Book Three

A Cat of Disdainful Looks

Book Four

A Cat of Strange Lands

Book Five

A Cat of Cozy Situations

Book Six

A Cat of Space and Time

Book Seven

A Cat of Heroic Heart

Book Eight

A Cat of Roving Nature

Book Nine

A Cat of Artistic Sensibilities

Book Ten

A Cat of Fantastic Whims

Book Eleven

A Cat of Feral Instincts

Book Twelve

A Cat of Romantic Soul

---

It was not difficult to find eight stories on this theme of royalty and upper class about cats. In fact, it was fun. I personally love this trait in cats. While I like dogs, they are loyal and subservient to a fault. They are followers.

Cats are the rulers.

And for over forty years now, I have enjoyed being ruled by cats. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I wasn’t.

---

Dean Wesley Smith

Las Vegas, Nevada

Cat in Waiting

A Pakhet Jones Story

Dean Wesley Smith

Since I am co-editing this with Kristine Kathryn Rusch, a Hugo Award winning editor, when she insists on a story order, I just nod and follow because so far she has never been wrong. She insisted the first story in my new cat series should start off this volume. She said the story was right on point.

I guess I understand that. Not only do I have a human character who is a superhero for cats, named after an Egyptian cat deity, but the actual cat in the story is superior and aloof. So, I trust her.

As a side point, I am a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of almost two hundred novels and hundreds and hundreds of short stories. You can find my essays and links to my work at deanwesleysmith.com

Chapter One

That creepy little tingling feeling made me want to scratch the back of my neck. Happened every damn time that someone was headed toward me, to disturb my perfectly wonderful afternoon in the sun.

How annoying.

I was in front of what I called my office, Cabana #7 at the Beach at Mandalay Bay Casino and Resorts in Las Vegas. I lay on my stomach on a cloth lounge chair, my head, back, and legs soaking in the wonderful afternoon sun, making me almost purr in delight. Besides good sex, there just weren’t that many things that made me purr, but an afternoon lying in the hot Vegas summer sun was one of them.

Around me, the sounds of the tourists and their kids playing was a comforting and familiar background noise, just like the waves in the huge wave pool rolling onto the sand beach that filled a large part of this vast casino pool area. I loved those sounds. They were like a lullaby easing me gently into my afternoon naps.

And getting to nap in my office was why I came here at least five afternoons a week.

I had reserved and paid for Cabana #7 three-hundred-and-sixty-five days a year, which cost me more than buying a house every six months. But they stocked the fridge with what I wanted, cleaned it like I wanted, and I knew it was always available no matter when I came by. Since I had more money than I knew what to do with, giving myself such a wonderful place to be in the sun seemed like as good a use as any. Living for over a hundred and fifty years could do that rich thing for a person if they were smart and crafty.

I was cat smart. I could save and hoard things with the best.

Problem was that some of my friends knew I could be found here. My real office was on the top corner of one of those plush, mid-rise buildings downtown near my condo in the Ogden. My secretary, Kit, who was a superhero in the secretarial world, ran things there like a clock. I actually owned the entire office building with one of my many companies, but almost no one but Kit knew that.

The tingling feeling on the back of my neck got worse. Damn, I hated leaving the sun. I really was a cat through and through.

So holding the thin top of my bikini in place, I sat up and tied it as Detective Hugh Halligan turned off the concrete path leading from the casino and waded through the sand toward my cabana. It was the seventh in the row, the farthest from the main entrance into the massive pool area and sandy beach. Kind of gave me an even greater sense of privacy.

Hugh was a stocky guy, clearly handsome in his time, but now somewhere in his fifties, he had squared up and was going bald. And the top of his head was always bright red most of the summer. I asked him once why he didn’t wear a hat and he had just snorted.

He had on his standard black sports jacket that had to be damn hot in this intense sun and hundred-plus temperature. Hugh and I had worked many a case over the last few years together after he learned I had some ability with animals, especially cats. He had no idea I was a superhero in the world of cats. There just weren’t many normal people on the planet that knew about superheroes or gods.

Hugh was not one of the few.

I actually worked for Becky, the god of cats. Over the centuries she had been known by a lot of names, but the most famous was Bastet, an historic Egyptian cat goddess. Now she just liked being called Becky. She seemed to have places all over the world, but still liked the hot sands of Egypt more than anywhere.

My skin was golden tan and I was completely bald, so my head was also tanned perfectly golden. At six-two, I towered over Hugh’s 5-7 inch frame, and that was with his big old loafers on.

Some people say that I looked like a golden goddess, being so thin and tall and bald. And always being perfectly tanned didn’t hurt that image. But I wasn’t a goddess, just a superhero. And my looks had nothing to do with what I was good at, and that was cats.

Being a decent guy, Hugh did his best to keep his eyes on my face when I stood from my lounge and motioned for him to follow me back into the covered area of the cabana. It was about the size of a decent bedroom, wide open on one side, with a table and six chairs in the middle of the room and a counter to the right with a fridge.

A slight breeze of air-conditioning blew from the back of the room and outward, keeping the room considerably cooler than out in the sun.

I slipped a light, sheer white cover over my thin bikini that didn’t hide much, but I knew for Hugh it helped.

Sorry to bother you, Pak, Hugh said a moment after he sighed because of the blowing air conditioning in the cabana.

My full name was Pakhet Jones, but my friends called me Pak. In old Egyptian lore, Pakhet means she who scratches. I fit that description just fine I am proud to say.

I handed him a bottle of cold water from the fridge and motioned that he sit down in the direct flow of the conditioner while I got a bottle for myself and sat to one side where the air didn’t blow on me. I liked being warm. It had always been my nature.

So for what do I have this pleasure, Detective?

I need some help with a cat, he said, looking a little more flushed than the moment before, if that was possible with his red scalp. He was clearly embarrassed he was here, which meant this was not his idea at all.

Let me guess, I said after taking a sip of the cold water. Commander Craig told you to get me.