The Cats Of Mars

by Jeff Baker

The Tortoiseshell cat was sunning herself on the wooden floor by the front door when Petro walked up and set his overnight bag down.

“Well, Kit,” the young man said. “Here I go. I’m seventeen. I always thought that when I left home I’d be going to University. But I guess not.”

Petro bent down and scratched the cat behind the ears. She opened her eyes partway then closed them, a seemingly blissful smile on her face.

“You’re lucky, Kit,” Petro said. “Like me you have a place to stay. Food. Warm house. I saw something online the other day about all the cats in Kiev who have no place to go now. Orphans of war.”

Petro glanced outside at the sunny street and the distant hills. “You know, Kit, you inspire me. You always do what has to be done. Raising kittens, guarding the house from mice, playing and keeping us happy and making us feel warm in here.” He tapped his chest.

“And that’s what I have to do,” Petro said. “I have to go after the mice…only they aren’t mice.” He took a deep breath. “Invaders who represent a bear. I have to go fight. I have to be like a cat. One of the Cats of Mars, the Roman God of War.” Petro sighed again and then stood up, patting his leg nervously.

“So that’s it, Kit. I don’t know if they’ll take me and let me fight but I’m going anyway. I’ve been pretty sheltered. It’s time I went outside.”

Petro picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “And I do know how to shoot,” he said. “Father taught me a few years ago, out in the woods. He and mother aren’t happy about this but our allies have deserted us so I don’t think there’s any choice. Other than just sitting around.”

He put his hand on the door handle.

“Wish me luck, Kit. I’m off to get some mice.”

And Petro walked out the door.

—end—