The Max Brand Megapack
The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack
The Wilkie Collins Megapack
The Philip K. Dick Megapack
The Jacques Futrelle Megapack
The Randall Garrett Megapack
The Anna Katharine Green Megapack
The Zane Grey Megapack
The Second Randall Garrett Megapack
The M.R. James Megapack
The Murray Leinster Megapack
The Second Murray Leinster Megapack
The Andre Norton Megapack
The H. Beam Piper Megapack
The Rafael Sabatini Megapack
INTRODUCTION: HERE, KITTY, KITTY! by Robert Reginald
Our third offering of kitty delights and delectables features twenty-five cat stories, two nonfiction compilations, and nine poems—but the emphasis overall is decidedly more modern than in our previous two Cat Megapacks.
Heading the list this time around is Mary A. Turzillo, who contributes eight wonderful and wondrous tales and verses relating to our feline companions. Perennial contributor A. R. Morlan, another lover of our kitty friends, shares her affection in six stories set on the dark side of town. Her visions are both moving and unique.
California writer Michael Hemmingson, who penned the screenplay for the film, The Watermelon, stirs the heart with his sad visions of cats abused and dying. Australian-Texan author Damien Broderick provides his unique take of the universe in two stories that send his cats beyond-beyond the ordinary. Horror writer Kathryn Ptacek contributes a pair of poignant fantasy tales, including “Cat Burglar.” Our dear friend Douglas Menville adds a couple of delightful verses celebrating two different kitties that he knew.
Darrell Schweitzer uncovers the tale of a mystery-solving cat from an alternate universe. David C. Smith’s “Tommy’s Cat” tells the story of a boy and his pet—a creature who’s not quite what he seems. Marilyn “Mattie” Brahen gives us the real story of how the author created Alice in Wonderland—and, of course, that forced us to add the vignettes relating to the “Cheshire-Cat” from Lewis Carroll’s classic fantasy tale! Speaking of older material, we’ve included two versions of “Puss in Boots,” Dracula-creator Bram Stoker’s “The Squaw,” Mark Twain’s vignette, “Reverence for Cats,” Mary E. Wilkins Freeman’s “The Cat,” nonfiction compilations celebrating “Cat Sagacity” and “Cat Anecdotes,” and much more besides.
So, settle back in your chair, your couch, and your bed, cat-lovers everywhere, and enjoy this third selection of frisky feline tales!
—Robert Reginald & Mary Wickizer Burgess, 8 Oct. 2013
THE CHESHIRE CAT, from ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND, by Lewis Carroll
Alice opened the door and went in. The door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke from one end to the other; the Duchess was sitting on a three-legged stool in the middle, nursing a baby; the cook was leaning over the fire, stirring a large caldron which seemed to be full of soup.
“There’s certainly too much pepper in that soup!” Alice said to herself, as well as she could for sneezing. Even the Duchess sneezed occasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and howling alternately without a moment’s pause. The only two creatures in the kitchen that did not sneeze were the cook and a large cat, which was grinning from ear to ear.
“Please would you tell me,” said Alice, a little timidly, “why your cat grins like that?”
“It’s a Cheshire-Cat,” said the Duchess, “and that’s why.”
“I didn’t know that Cheshire-Cats always grinned; in fact, I didn’t know that cats could grin,” said Alice.
“You don’t know much,” said the Duchess, “and that’s a fact.”
Just then the cook took the cauldron of soup off the fire, and at once set to work throwing everything within her reach at the Duchess and the baby—the fire irons came first; then followed a shower of saucepans, plates and dishes. The Duchess took no notice of them, even when they hit her, and the baby was howling so much already that it was quite impossible to say whether the blows hurt it or not.
“Oh, please mind what you’re doing!” cried Alice, jumping up and down in an agony of terror.
“Here! You may nurse it a bit, if you like!” the Duchess said to Alice, flinging the baby at her as she spoke. “I must go and get ready to play croquet with the Queen,” and she hurried out of the room.
Alice caught the baby with some difficulty, as it was a queer-shaped little creature and held out its arms and legs in all directions. “If I don’t take this child away with me,” thought Alice, “they’re sure to kill it in a day or two. Wouldn’t it be murder to leave it behind?” She said the last words out loud and the little thing grunted in reply.
“If you’re going to turn into a pig, my dear,” said Alice, “I’ll have nothing more to do with you. Mind now!”
Alice was just beginning to think to herself, “Now, what am I to do with this creature, when I get it home?” when it grunted again so violently that Alice looked down into its face in some alarm. This time there could be no mistake about it—it was neither more nor less than a pig; so she set the little creature down and felt quite relieved to see it trot away quietly into the wood.
Alice was a little startled by seeing the Cheshire-Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off. The Cat only grinned when it saw her. “Cheshire-Puss,” began Alice, rather timidly, “would you please tell me which way I ought to go from here?”
“In that direction,” the Cat said, waving the right paw ‘round, “lives a Hatter; and in that direction,” waving the other paw, “lives a March Hare. Visit either you like; they’re both mad.”
“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat; “we’re all mad here. Do you play croquet with the Queen today?”
“I should like it very much,” said Alice, “but I haven’t been invited yet.”
“You’ll see me there,” said the Cat, and vanished.
Alice had not gone much farther before she came in sight of the house of the March Hare; it was so large a house that she did not like to go near till she had nibbled some more of the left-hand bit of mushroom.
* * * *
The chief difficulty Alice found at first was in managing her flamingo: she succeeded in getting its body tucked away, comfortably enough, under her arm, with its legs hanging down, but generally, just as she had got its neck nicely straightened out, and was going to give the hedgehog a blow with its head, it would twist itself round and look up in her face, with such a puzzled expression that she could not help
