Belling the Cats

Belling the Cats, or

Tatsu Tames the Twelve (Tatsu Story III)

By C

Part I

It was noon in Tatsu's Garden, and in a clearing in the midst of the rhododendrons, an urgent meeting had been called. Basilissa, the most influential of the Plump-Bottomed Warblers, had summoned all her sisters–and such was her prestige that hundreds had come. Most sat around her on the grass, their legs demurely crossed. Ordinarily, they might have savored the cool dampness against their nether parts; but their anxiety crowded all pleasure from their minds. At the cost of great effort, a masking spell had been placed around the clearing. Would it hold? And would Basilissa tell them anything to banish the terror that plagued them?

When she decided the time was right, Basilissa climbed up on a large stone in the middle of the clearing. Like all her confederates, she was beautiful, with long hair, as black as the deepest night, reaching down to her waist, and a matching semi-diamond of black adorning her groin. Her skin was pale; her lips were bright red; her breasts, thighs, and hips were full and achingly curvaceous. She wore a long-sleeved, waist-length tunic of cerulean, with high heels of the same shade–and nothing more. (Warblers were inordinately proud of their pussies, and so they reveled in showing them off to the world. This vanity cost them dearly, for it was not hard for predators to catch their scent–and then catch them!) It took just a few moments for the assembled fays to become quiet and attentive. Confident that everyone would listen closely, Basilissa spoke.

"My sisters! Much that I say tonight will hardly be news. You all remember how we were captured and brought to this garden–this Eden rather, with everything a fay could desire: delicious flowers of every description; a gentle climate; and the softest mosses and grasses–just the thing for amorous repose!" (Here several in the audience laughed.) "You remember as well our terrible, heartbreaking discovery: that blight upon the garden; that canker gnawing at Eden. You remember when we first encountered . . . the cats." (At this, many drew in their breath sharply. None of them cared to say or hear the word "cat.")

"Yes, those loathsome harem cats, those five terrible sons and their ghastly mother! On that first day they took six of us, as well as six Brook Nymphs; and they have taken six of each species every day since. All this you know."

"What you may not know is that we are not reproducing fast enough. We thrust our tongues into each other's pussies with commendable alacrity, but it makes little difference. It seems the anxiety that torments us all has somehow made us less fertile. Fewer and fewer of our eggs are hatching." (This statement was met with gasps of horror.) "Yes, we are failing to fulfil our foremost duty: to fill the world with Plump-Bottomed Warblers. Instead, if present trends continue, our lineages will soon disappear." ("Say it isn't so!" someone shouted.)

Basilissa motioned for silence, then continued. "Even if we were not confronted with a reproductive crisis, the scourge of the harem cats demands some response, some action. That scourge is even worse than you may think." She turned now to a Warbler standing a few paces behind her: a redhead, even more buxom than the Warbler norm, dressed in pale green. "Hostia, tell them what you've discovered."

Hostia curtseyed and stepped forward. "Ahem," she said. "I'm . . . Hostia, Basilissa's personal assistant. And I've seen . . . I've seen the place . . . . " The girl then lost her composure, and her breasts and lower lip began to tremble visibly.

"Would you spit it out?" someone shouted. "Let her talk!" snapped Basilissa.

"I've seen the place where they take their victims!" Hostia cried. (More gasping from the audience.) She rushed on. "They always line up the Brook Nymphs they catch . . . right by the water (you've all seen that); but our girls–nobody could figure out where they take them. Well, I was there! It's a clearing in the pine wood to the north! I saw it! You all know how they p-pounce out of nowhere; how they like to go for the . . . the breasts. Then they . . . carry the girls off. But what happens after that? Well, they take them to this clearing . . . and they line them up in a row. When I found the place . . . there they were: six girls. I hid behind a tree . . . I wanted to run, but I had to watch! Well, there the girls were . . . on their backs . . . there was blood on their tunics. And then it was just like the Brook Nymphs: they . . . nipped them . . . nipped them . . . on their p-pussies!" ("No! No!" several in the audience cried. More than one covered her groin protectively with her hands. Brook Nymphs were one thing; but these were Warbler pussies that had been violated.) "Yes . . . that's what they did. And the girls screamed, and cried, and begged. 'Please don't hurt us!' they said, 'Oh dear God please!' . . . but they just . . . nipped them again . . . and again. And the girls were bleeding . . . and kicking. (I've never seen so much kicking!) Then . . . then, they licked them . . . with their big hurty tongues! Soon they were spurting honey! And they kept licking them . . . until . . . until they were still."

The fays just looked at Hostia in horrified silence. She spoke again. "So . . . I'm h-here to tell you exactly what happened. And something else, that I think is more important: I think they figured out . . . that I was there, 'cause it seemed . . . that they got inside my head. And the mother cat seemed to say: 'Later, pretty redhead, later. You'll know the day . . . when you get a tingly feeling . . . at the bottom of your tummy. I'm all set for today, but I really want to taste your little red slice of pie . . . and I will, on the day you get all . . . t-tingly. That's the sign . . . that my kind and yours are about to get acquainted.' That's what she seemed to say. So I think . . . if they can talk to us in our thoughts, maybe they can read our thoughts, too. That could explain a lot: how they always find us--always. And how it's always six each day . . . who get kicky." (This was a fairy euphemism for being captured.)

"And one more thing. I w-woke up this morning . . . and . . . my tummy was tingling! And my knees were all weak. And my breasts were sore. And my . . . my pussy . . . was honey-damp! I've been like this all day long. And I've a notion . . . that another five . . . are feeling the same way!" Hostia fell now into a fit of helpless sobbing. Basilissa took her gently in her arms and made her sit down. Five other girls had begun to cry as well, and would not be comforted.

"Well," said Basilissa, "there you have it. "These . . . creatures seem to have powers such as we'd never have guessed. And the way they dispatch their poor victims! Something must be done!"

At these words, Martina, another influential Warbler and an imperious blonde beauty in red, stood up. "What can be done?" she asked. "And even if something can be done, suppose they really do read our minds. Can't they foil anything we come up with?"

"Maybe," said Basilissa. "Maybe not. As soon as Hostia gave me her disturbing news, I shielded my thoughts with the strongest masking spell I knew. I didn't bother going to the Brook Nymphs; you know how rude mermaids are! Instead, I quickly went to all the other Warblers whose magical talents are comparable to mine (there are ten of them)." (She nodded to a group of fays who stood a short distance behind her.) "They masked their thoughts, just as I had mine. Then, in concert, we formed a plan and have already gone far towards implementing it. We soon realized, however, that we alone do not have the energy to consummate this plan. We need every one of you. So that's why I summoned you all. At a terrible cost in energy to the eleven of us, we have made you invisible to outsiders; what's more, we have masked your thoughts, your sounds, and (perhaps most important) your scent–all so that we might meet in relative safety."

"Enough build-up!" said Martina. "What is this plan?"

"I'm sorry to say we can't destroy the harem cats," said Basilissa. "We're just not strong enough. But, with your help, we can hex them in such a way that we'll always be warned of their approach. We'll hear a loud noise–something like a siren–well before they can pounce. The hex will also allow each girl to mask her thoughts–nothing else–when the time comes to lay her eggs." (Warblers were very nearly helpless when laying, so a siren then would do them little good.)

"And that's all we can do?" asked Martina.

"I'm afraid so."

"Well, it's better than what we've done so far, which is nothing. Tell us how to make it happen."

"All of you raise your arms toward the sky," said Basilissa. They did so. Then she began to intone the charm on which she and the others had worked:

"Harem kitties, strong and slick,

No more will you make us kick.

When a sneaky cat comes near,

A siren's scream will rend the ear.

Warblers' tears are turned to mirth;

Harem cats bite down on . . . earth.

Harem kitties, strong and slick,

No more will you make us kick."

When she had finished, Martina spoke again. "When will this go into effect?"

"Sadly, it may take a few days. I'm sorry, Hostia." (Hostia just kept on weeping.)

"Chock-full of good news today, aren't you?" said Martina. "I have another question."

"Now there's a surprise," said Basilissa. "What do you want to know?"

"What about that gardener?"

"The mopy-looking old man?"

"Exactly. He seems to be allied with the cats."

"What of it? He doesn't appear to be very bright, and he's certainly not fast enough to catch any of us on his own. Let's concentrate on what should really worry us."

"I just don't like loose ends," said Martina. She looked unhappy, but she left it at that.

It was now time for the meeting to disperse. The eleven had done their job too well. The harem cats had scanned the area with their powerful senses–both natural and supernatural. The complete absence of any spoor–even a residue from previous weeks–puzzled them at first. At last, they divined what must be up. When the fays stepped out from their protective cover, six hungry kitties were waiting. Hostia got very kicky, as did the five girls who had wept along with her.