evil things could happen. A growl rose in his throat as he curled his tail.
“What’s the matter with you?” Ylawl asked.
“I cannot believe it. A dog who cannot speak.”
‘You can’t have seen much of the world, then. You’re lucky you didn’t run into a guard dog. Try to talk to one of them, and he’ll go for your throat without so much as a how-de-do. All you’ll hear are barks and grunts.”
The worldly young cat was beginning to annoy him. Hrurr swatted him with a paw, Ylawl struck back, and they were soon tussling under the trees, meowing fiercely. He tried to sink his teeth into Ylawl’s fur, only to be repulsed by a claw.
Hrurr withdrew. Ylawl glared at him with gleaming eyes. “Now I understand,” Hrurr said softly. “I know why I was drawn here.”
“And why is that?” the young cat said, flicking his tail.
“I must speak to this dog you mentioned. If she realizes what is happening to her, she’ll want to escape. Not that I care for dogs, you understand, but there is more at stake here. The two-legged ones may draw more creatures into their ways, separating us one from another, and then the world will be for us as it is for them. Where there were voices, there will be only silence. The world will end for us.”
“It is already ending,” Ylawl said pensively, “I have heard the birds speak of burning cities and the broken bodies of two-legged ones amidst the stones. But it is ending for the two-legged ones, not for us. They’ll sweep themselves away and the world will be ours again, as it was long ago.”
“They will sweep us away with them,” Hrurr cried, recalling the blackbird’s words.
“Look around. Do you see anything to worry about here? There are the dogs, of course, but one can hardly avoid such animals no matter where one travels. Clearly the creatures who dwell here are valued and carefully caged. If we stay here, we ought to be safe enough.”
“I won’t live in a cage,” Hrurr responded. “Even a dog deserves better. I must speak to her. If she heeds me, she will escape and may be better able to rouse her fellows to freedom than I would be.”
Ylawl arched his back. “I see that you must do this thing before you discover how futile it is.” He lay down in the shadows again, shielding himself from the bright summer sun.
Hrurr kept his eyes still, and the world vanished once more. Where did it go, he asked himself, and why did it fade away? When he moved his eyes, he found that Ylawl was still with him; the chalet remained on the hill. How many times had he crossed from one world to another without realizing he had done so? Was each world so like every other that no movement could lead him to a truly different place, or was he forever trapped in this one, able only to glimpse the others through windows of shiny glass?
“When will I see this dog?” he asked.
“Soon enough,” Ylawl said. “You must wait for her two-legs to lead her outside.”
* * * *
More metal beasts had come to the chalet, leaving their gray-clothed two-legged ones near the door, where the house had swallowed them. The last to arrive had been a man in black; he entered the chalet while two companions, also in black, lingered near his beast, ignoring the group of two-legged ones in gray who were pacing restlessly.
Hrurr, settling on the grass nearby, waited, grooming himself with his tongue while Ylawl scampered about and inspected the beasts. Occasionally, he could discern the shapes of men behind the wide window above.
At last the other two-legged ones came back out of the house, shaking their heads as they walked toward their metal beasts. The waiting men stiffened and flapped their right arms before opening the beasts’ bellies. One of the black-clothed creatures stared directly at Hrurr; the man reminded him of something, but the memory was just out of reach. He waited to hear a gentle croon or to receive a pat on the head, but the two-legs turned away, watching as the other beasts roared toward the road.
Someone had appeared on the veranda above the window; Hrurr widened his eyes. Two men were perching on the stone barrier surrounding the balcony; one turned and gazed out over the land. Hrurr continued to stare. Suddenly a head appeared next to the two-legs; it had the long muzzle of a large Alsatian dog.
“There she is,” Ylawl said as he strutted over to Hrurr, tail held high. The two-legs had put his hand on the dog’s head and was stroking her affectionately; she opened her mouth, showing her tongue.
“I must speak to you,” Hrurr called out.
The dog rose, paws on the balustrade, and barked.
“I must speak to you,” Hrurr repeated. “Can’t you hear me?”
The Alsatian’s ears twitched as she barked again. Her two-legs rubbed her back as she gazed at him happily. Hrurr, turning his attention to this creature, saw that his dark head fur hung over part of his forehead; a bit of dark fur over his lip marked his otherwise hairless lower face.
“What is she called?” Hrurr asked Ylawl.
“Blondi,” the younger cat answered, tripping a bit over the odd sound. “It is what her two-legs calls her. She, too, has forgotten her name.”
“Blondi!” Hrurr cried. The dog barked again. “Are you so lost to others that you can’t even hear me?” Instead of replying, Blondi disappeared behind the balustrade. “She doesn’t hear.”
“I think she did,” Ylawl said. “Either she doesn’t want to talk to you, or she’s afraid to speak in front of her two-legs.”
“But he can’t hear what she would say.” Hrurr, disappointed, trotted down the hill toward the path leading away from the house. When he looked back, the two-legged creatures had vanished.
He groomed himself for a while, wondering what to do next when a band of two-legged ones rounded the corner of the house, marching toward the path. Blondi, unleashed, was among them. She lifted her nose, sniffing.
“Cats!” she cried as she began to bark. Ylawl was already running toward a tree. The dog raced after him, a blur of light and movement, still barking. Hrurr bounded after Ylawl, following him up the tree trunk toward a limb.
The two cats, trapped, hissed as Blondi danced beneath them. She reared up, putting her paws on the trunk. “Go away” she said. “Leave master alone. Nothing here for you.”
Her words chilled Hrurr; they were slurred and ill-formed, the sounds of a creature who had hardly learned how to communicate, yet she seemed unaware of that.
“Blondi,” Hrurr said, clinging to the limb, “can you understand what I am saying?”
The dog paused; her forelimbs dropped to the ground. “Too fast,” she replied. “More slow.”
His fur prickled. Ylawl, fur standing on end, showed his teeth, snarling. “You are losing your power of speech,” Hrurr said slowly. “Don’t you know what that means?”
The dog barked.
“You have lived among the two-legged ones for too long, and have given up part of your soul. You’ve drawn too close
