Dream of a Thousand Cats [from Sandman vol. 18, a graphic novel by Neil Gaiman]

"Come on, darling, come to bed. And leave the door open so the kitty can get to the supper bowl." "Yes, hon," the man reached down and stroked his white kitten's soft fur. "Aw, come on Don. If you don't get up here soon I won't be in the mood anymore." "Yes, hon. G'night kitty," the man blew out a lamp and ascended the stairs, leaving the kitty by itself.

The white kitten lay in its bed, a woven basket lined with soft fabric. It was surrounded by comfort and luxury in its home. Suddenly an older, black cat appeared at the window.

"Ssss! It's tonight!" it hissed at the kitten. "What?" as the kitten leaped quickly onto the windowsill to see its friend. "She's here. Are you coming? It should be amusing." "I don't know how I can get out," the white kitten peered through the window in dismay, "I can't get through any of the wall openings." "Up there, a clear hole is partly opened. You can get out through there."

The white kitten clamored up the stairs and leaped out of an open window onto the grass outside. Freedom! The night was young and the air was crisp, the call of the night awakening the kitten's senses.

"Shake your tail, little one! We shouldn't miss this." "What will she be like?" "Who knows? Not this cat."

The pair made their way down the desolate city street as the moon lit their path. Soon they were joined by two other cats, both large orange tabbys.

"Well met, fellow night-threaders," said one. "Hello. We're going to see her," replied the kitten. "Us too, though I can't see much point in it." "Then why are you here?" "Hmph. Curiosity, perhaps." "I want to know what she has to say." "So do we all, child. So do we all."

The cats passed through a picket fence into a graveyard in an obvious state of disrepair. Crooked tombstones littered the area, vines grew thick and rampant over old statues, and the moon casted dark shadows under the tombstones. In a cleared area near the center of the graveyard, numerous cats waited patiently, close to fifty of them. Some were cleaning themselves, others peering curiously into the shadows for prey or somesuch, many at rapt attention at an old statue of a robed woman. For atop this statue perched the oldest, wisest cat any of them had ever seen. Her fur was a mottled brown, her tail black and eyes a deep blue. She began slowly and deliberately,

"Sisters. Brothers. Good hunting.

Thank you for coming to listen to me; for your willingness to hear my message. And I hope that when I have finished, some of you may share my dream.

I was not always as you see me today. Once, many yesterdays gone, I, like many of you, was in the thrall of human beings, living in their world: plaything, possession, and toy.

And I fooled myself--as perhaps, many of you fool yourselves--that I was in control of my life. They fed me, did they not? They gave me comfort and warmth.

And what did I give them in return? Little enough, really, for what they offered.

He was a tom-cat. Ragged of ear. Dark of eye. It was my time for love; and he was my choice for lover. Our pleasure in each other, and the consummation of our mutual hunger, was screeched to the heavens, and screamed to the arches of the sky. He was strong, and fast, and his claws and teeth were sharp as winter. I never saw him again, but I have not forgotten him.

In the fullness of time, our pleasure brought forth offspring, a wonderful unity of both our markings. I anticipated the zest with which I would teach them of life...of the joys of washing, hunting, and survival. They whispered to me their delight: in having taken flesh in my bloodline; of tasting air, and milk; and whispered their belief in the future.

My humans did not share our joy."

"You knew she was in heat! Why the hell didn't you lock her in?" a male human voice shouted angrily at something else. "Stop complaining, Paul. I think they're kind of cute." "Cute? They're half-bred. These little bundles of fluff aren't worth squat."

The man sealed the kittens into a sack, tied the sack to a large rock and threw them into a lake.

"I felt them from afar, in the dark, as the cold water took them. Felt them thresh and claw sightlessly; felt them call me, in their panic and fear.

And then they were gone."

The venerable cat paused emphatically.

"I knew then that I had been fooling myself. That we were subordinate. That while we lived with humanity we could not call ourselves free. And I prayed...

I prayed to the darkness, to the night, to the carrion kind. I prayed to the king of cats, our kind's emissary on Faerun, he who walks among us and we do not know him...I prayed...and I dreamed.

I found myself in a desert littered of the bones of strange creatures. A skeletal raven shrieked overhead, 'Why have you ventured to the heart of the dreaming, little cat? There is nothing for you here.'

'I have come for justice; I have come for wisdom; and I have come for revelation.' The bird flew closer but did not come within my reach. 'Justice?' it repeated, 'Justice is a delusion. You will not find it on this or any other sphere." "And wisdom? Wisdom is no part of dreams, lithe walker, though dreams are a part of the sum of each life's experiences, which is the only wisdom that matters.'

'But revelation? That is the province of dream. It can be yours, but only if your heart is strong. Do you see that mountain? In that mountain is a cave, and in that cave lives the cat of dreams, the ruler of this sleeping world. Seek him out, but beware: the way to his cave is hard, and a little cat could come to much harm.'

'All places are the same to me,' I said. 'I am not afraid.'

And I left the desert of bones, and I began the journey to the home of the cat of dreams. I walked through the wood of ghosts, where the dead and lost whispered continually, promised me worlds if only I would stop and play with them. I closed my ears to their entreaties.

At one point I thought I heard my children calling me, but I straightened my tail and walked forward.

I walked through the cold places, hard and frozen, where every step was pain, every movement was torment. I walked on.

I walked through the wetness that drenched my paws, tried to wash away my memories. I walked through the darkness, through the void, where everything was sucked from me--everything that makes me what I am. But even in the emptiness of pure nothing, no longer knowing why I was walking or what I was seeking, I walked forward. And after a time, my self returned to me, and I left that place, and I found myself at the mountain of the cat of dreams, and at the entrance of the cave.

I walked on inside. The scent on the air was strange, but still it was cat. I walked forward slowly, every sense screaming at me to flee this place. My fur prickled, my claws extended. And then I stood before him.

'I am here,' I said. 'And who might you be?' said the dream-thing, a dark panther with beady red eyes. 'A cat. A walker in night places. A dead crow sent me here, for revelation.' I hoped I sounded confident, but truly I was scared. 'Walk with me, little sister, and tell me why you have sought me out.' 'I...I want to understand. Why could they take my children from me? Why do we live as we do? I don't understand.' 'A cat may look at a king, or so they say. Look into my eyes then, little sister. Look into my eyes.'

And it showed me. It told the truth, even as I am telling it to you now. For in its eyes I saw pictures. And in the pictures I saw the truth. All cats can see futures, and see echoes of the past. We can watch the passage of creatures from the infinity of now, from all the worlds like ours, but fractionally different. And we follow them with our eyes, ghost things, and the humans see nothing. I looked into its eyes, and I saw.

But the reality the cat of dreams showed me transcended anything I had imagined. Many, many seasons ago, cats truly ruled the world. We were larger then, and this whole world was created for our pleasure. We roamed it as we would, taking what we wanted. In those times humans were tiny creatures, no larger than we are now. And the humans would groom us, and feed us, and pet us. And when the moon shone full, we would hunt them, and we would eat part of them, but chiefly we would hunt them...for they were more delightful than birds, and back then, mice were too small and insignificant for us to deign to touch.

Oh, the joy of those hunting days, beneath the cat's moon. The game of cat and man...rrrrrr

Then a human arose amongst them. A golden-furred male, bred and raised in the pleasure gardens of one of the sybaritic feline ladies. And the human had a dream, and an inspiration. And it walked amongst its fellows and it told them...

'Dream! Dreams shape the world. Dreams create the world anew, every night. Do not dream the world the way it is now, in thrall to our feline masters and mistresses. Dream a new world. Dream a world of human beings. Dream a world in which we are the dominant species, in which we are the kings and the queens, and the gods. Dream a world in which we will no longer be hunted and killed by cats. I do not know how many of us it will take. But if we must dream, and if enough of us dream it, then it will happen. Dreams shape the world.'

And the word spread amongst the humans. And some of them believed. And they dreamed. And for a while, nothing happened.

One night, enough of them dreamed. It did not take many of them. A thousand, perhaps. No more. They dreamed...and the next day, things changed. Humans were huge and cats were tiny. Humans were the dominant species, and we were prey to them, to their tools and machines. Prey to the world the humans had brought with them. All this I saw, when I looked into the dream cat's eyes.

'So they dreamed the world into the form it is now?' 'Not exactly. They dreamed the world so it always was the way it is now, little one. There never was a world of high cat-ladies and cat-lords. They changed the universe from the beginning of things, to the end of time. Do you understand now?' 'Yes. Yes I do.' 'Then you know what your task must be. You know the burden you must bear. Are you strong enough?' 'Yes. I hope so.' 'Then wake, my child. With my blessing.'

You see, I had seen the underside of what he had given to me. If they could dream it...we could change things back. If we believed. If we dreamed. And if enough of us dream, if a bare thousand of us dream...we can change the world. We can dream it anew! A world in which no cat suffers from the malice of humans. In which no cats are killed by human caprice. A world that we rule.

I left the humans that very day, to spread the good news. And now I travel from place to place. I have walked for leagues beyond measure. I have starved sometimes; and often I have been hurt. But I have walked on. In a wooden contraption I crossed the cold waters. I have preached to solitary feral cats in empty places. I have shouted my message to the stars from the rooftops and whispered it to dying cats in alleyways. I have spoken to one cat and to many. And whereever I have gone, my message is the same...

Dream it! Dream the world. Not this pallid shadow of reality; dream the world the way it truly is. A world in which all cats are queens and kings of creation. That is my message. And I shall keep moving, and repeating it, until I die. Or until a thousand cats hear my words, and believe them, and dream...and we come again, to paradise."

At this she arose and stretched, shook her fur a few times and bounded off the statue.

"Mistress," said the white kitten. "I believe." "Then there is hope, child," she replied as she stalked off, not looking back.

"She was amusing. I'll say that for her," the black cat whispered. "No, it felt right. It felt like the truth. Like a truth, anyway. Do you think it will happen?" "Little one, I would like to see anyone--prophet, king or god--persuade a thousand cats to do anything at the same time. No, it will never happen. Come on, small fry. The sun will rise soon. We had better get you home."

Over breakfast the white kitten tossed and turned in its fluffy bed, its body making strange contortions as it dreamed.

"Hey, I think kitty's dreaming," said the woman as she bent down to peer at the kitten. "Don? Isn't that cute?" "Dreaming? Mm. I wonder what cats have to dream about?" "The way it's twitching about, I think maybe it's hunting something. Some small animal, I suppose," she mused. The man gobbled down his breakfast adding, "Yeah. Yeah, honey. It's really cute."

// I can't believe I tried to tell this story in one sitting. It's not mine and credit should be given to Neil Gaiman, who authored the series.