tomcat. A yowl, and another clank and the tinkle of broken glass. Something white streaked across the floor; Jeannie shivered. It slowed, stopped, turned to look at her. A small, sleek, white cat, hardly larger than the china cats on the shelf in Clara's bedroom. Her stomach roiled. Another small white cat joined the first, just enough larger to look like one of a set.
She wanted to scream, to say that this was impossible, but no sound came when she tried. She stared at the open door, where an impossibly fluffy white tail showed now, as an enormous white cat, a blue satin bow tied around its neck, backed out of the closet with something in its mouth. A beer can, one of the silver ones. Her mind chattered crazily, reminding her that cats are not dogs; they do not fetch things that way. The cat turned, gave her a long yellow stare, and dropped the beer can, which rolled across the floor. The two small white cats batted it with their paws as it went by.
Her voice returned enough for her to ask 'Snowball…?'
The white cat grinned at her, showing many sharp teeth, and ran its claws out and in. It was as big as the cat-shaped pillow, as big as the cat in the painting. She felt something land on the bed, and looked to see the ginger kitten bound across to jump off the far side and go to the big white cat. They touched noses, rubbed cheeks, and then sat down facing her.
Her mind went blank for a few minutes. It could not be what it looked like, yet she had seen pictures of young Clara, a slight ginger-haired girl with wide, waifish gray eyes. And in the huge white-tomcat, it must be-she saw the protective stance of the acknowledged mate.
Hob's Pot by Andre Norton
In the old days before Papa came home, no one used the big drawing room since Great-Aunt Amelie had stopped entertaining, saying she was too old for company. However, this afternoon it had been turned into a treasure cave and Emmy, sitting on a footstool beside Great-Aunt Amelie's chair, looked about her very wide-eyed. There was a picture in one of the books Miss Lansdall had brought when she had come to be Emmy's new governess which looked a little like this wealth of color and strange objects, some amusing and some simply beautiful, like the pendant Great-Aunt Amelie was now holding. There had been a boy called Aladdin who had found such treasure as this that Papa's Hindu servant and both of the footmen were busy unpacking from wicker baskets which looked more like chests, pulling back layers of oiled cloth which had kept the sea air out, before taking carefully from the depths one marvel after another.
'Rrrrrowwww!' A cream and brown shape slipped between two of the chests and stopped to try claws on the invitingly rough side of one.
'Feel right at home, Noble Warrior, is that it?' Papa was laughing. 'Well, it is true you've seen some of this before. Does this suit your fancy, perhaps?' Papa picked up from a table top a shiny green carved figure. It might have the body of a man wearing a long robe of ceremony but the head was that of a rat!
'Your birth year, Thragun Neklop.' Papa laughed again, catching sight of Emmy's bewildered face. 'It is true, Emmy. Our Noble Warrior was born in the Year of The Rat. And he will have a very notable series of adventures, too.
'Ali San read the sand table for him and the Princess Suphoron before he left the palace. It's all written out somewhere in my day book, I'll find it for you. The princess wanted to be sure that Thragun was indeed the proper guard for
He reached over Lasha's shoulder and picked out of the trunk a bundle of something which was both blue and green, like the gemmed feathers of Great-Aunt Amelie's pendant. There were scrolls of silver up and down, and when Papa shook it out to show Emmy that it was a coat, she also could see that the silver lines made pictures of flowers and birds and-yes, there was a cat!
'Ohhhhh!' Papa put it around her shoulders and she was smoothing it. Never in her life had she seen anything so wonderful.
'A little big, but you'll grow into it-' Papa did not have a chance to say anything else, for there came a loud snarl and then a series of deep-throated growls from floor level.
Thragun Neklop had left off his scratching to swing around and face a much smaller container of wood very sturdily fastened by a number of loops of rough rope. Slow, stiff-legged, he approached the box until his nose just did not quite touch its side, and there, with flattened ears, he crouched. One paw flashed out in a lightning-stiff strike and the extended claws caught in the rope, jerking the box so it fell toward the cat.
With another yowl he leapt up and away before crouching again, eyes slitted and a war cry rumbling in his throat.
'Here, now,' Captain Wexley said, 'did you find your rat after all and is he in there?' He reached down and picked up the chest, standing it on the table.
At first, to Emmy, it looked just like any other box, but with Thragun Neklop snarling that way she began to feel more and more uneasy.
Papa was examining it closely. He looked puzzled.
'That's odd. I don't remember this.'
'Captain Sahib,' Lasha said, 'that was of the sending by the rajah. It came just before we sailed and must have been stowed before you could examine it.'
'The rajah-' Papa stood very still looking at it. 'But he would have no wish to send me a gift, unless,' he was smiling again, 'he wished to celebrate my leaving. We were always far less than friends. All right, let's see what he thought was due me.'
Lasha arose easily from his kneeling position. In his hand he held the knife which usually rode in his sash. 'Captain Sahib, the warrior cat warns, let it be my hands that deal with this.' He moved swiftly to slash at the rope. 'Some trick, you think?' Papa looked very sober now. 'Wait!'
The rope had fallen halfway off the box, but it was still tightly shut. Papa caught it up to carry it into the middle of the room, away from the group by the fire. Thragun Neklop sprang after him and both the footmen and Lasha drew nearer. Emmy bit her lip. Her splendid new coat slipped from her shoulders as she clasped her hands tightly together. There was something-something very wrong now.
Lasha knelt and forced his knife blade into the crack outlining the lid and then very slowly he eased it up. Thragon Neklop, ears back, sleek tail bushed, watched the action unblinkingly.
Once the lid was off, there was an outward puffing of thick grayish fibers. Lasha stirred with the point of his knife. 'Cotton, Captain Sahib.' He went on pulling out the stuff carefully until there showed a colored bundle. It was dark red and it also had a great many cords around it which crossed and crisscrossed like a spider's web. Once more Lasha used his knife on the roundish package. The cords fell away and so did the wrapping. 'A teapot!' Papa laughed. 'Nothing but a teapot!' Thragun Neklop snarled. This was his palace, he was the guard. Such a thing as this had no right here. He could smell vile evil-a Khon, truly a Khon. Evil and with power. It had been asleep-now it was waking.
With a yowl Thragun leaped for the top of the table, ready to send this monstrosity crashing on the floor. Then he stopped, so suddenly that he skidded and his claws tangled in the brocade of the table cloth so that he nearly lost his balance. Captain Wexley had picked up the-thing-which-was-eye-hidden, and still laughing, held it closer so Emmy and Great-Aunt Amelie could see it better.
A teapot it was, but not like any Emmy had ever thought could exist. At first it seemed to be a monkey such as Papa had drawn a picture of in one of his letters. Then she saw the lid and she jerked back on her seat, her hand
