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The Cat had a name, of course: a name made of subtle meowing inflections, of smell, and of the shape of their tail. They hadn’t given it to the Companions below, or to the pretty drone, for these strange creatures would have been unable to pronounce it. Now that they were back amongst their own, however, they heard their name — and all that made themselves truly themselves — again.
In the sunny light that comes after morning rain, the Cat had walked back to their world, leaving behind the metal and oil that were below. Their friends and family had wondered, of course, where they had been; the way they nuzzled the Cat showed their joy at finding them again. Cats could speak of many things, in their own way, and the Cat understood the fear and anguish their loved ones had been through. But they couldn’t fathom how to explain what had happened below — the small Zurk that ate everything in the dark, the strange robots who had dreamed themselves alive, and all these forgotten things the humans of old had called technology, but that cats nowadays had become unwary of. The smells in the Cat’s fur had to do most of the explaining, and it was quite unsatisfactory, but it was enough to satiate their friends’ curiosity. While cats, as a rule, are inquisitive, these smells spoke of enough danger and uncanny things that this Cat’s feral community were glad to have them back. Over the years, many had fallen down the rusty pipes along the Wall; the Cat had been the first to come back alive.
After the decaying stench of the Sewers, the Cat enjoyed even more than usual having a nap in the ferns by the waterfall. The acrid taste of Zurk upon their fur was hard to wash away, although the Cat had help, and the Cat relished chasing small things that wouldn’t latch upon them and drain their life away. But something was missing, felt the Cat, and they would often wander back to the Elevator in search of it. But the way was blocked now. But, but, but, they wanted to go, because they missed what, eons before, had drawn their ancestors to the first settlements of human farmers. And the Cat would meow piteously at the closed door; they would scratch the old metal, and still it wouldn’t open for them. After a while, they would leave and enjoy their feline life, the nagging feeling of loss like a thorn under their paw. Outside was good: there were singing birds and warm places to sleep in the sun. But inside had had something else — something quite unknown to the Cat who, before meeting the creatures below, had only ever meowed at kittens.
Some time later — how long, the Cat neither knew nor cared, but spring was changing into scorching summer and shadow was good — the Cat came upon tracks that gave off a whiff of oil. They prudently inspected them. It reminded them of the city below, and so they decided to follow these footsteps that had dug deep, in places, in the rich hummus of the soil.
Only a short while away, the Cat then heard the Companions before catching a glimpse of their dangly silhouettes. They lacked the organic odours that marked each cat as its own, and their voices sounded all the same — a chitter of soothing noise not unlike the murmur of bugs at night. And yet, the Cat recognized one Companion’s tone and attitude; not to speak of the oversized hat that they dreamed of kneading or the long silky scarf that was so fun to chase after. It was the one they had fled the grim prison with. It was the one who had lived where that fantastic cushion lay, right on top of bookshelves perfumed like fallen leaves and soft earth. Clementine, the drone had called her; but the Cat knew her by another name made of all their memories of her. The Cat wanted to run to her. But they were a cat and, while their heartstrings might be pulled by the sight of their friend, the surrounding chaos made them hide in a thicket that was a good observation spot.
The Companions were busy. They were looking at everything, and babbled to each other with great animation. They were caressing leaves, marveling at ants who walked in line — generally being a nuisance that chased any and all wildlife away. The Cat observed them until the sun went down, sometimes moving discreetly to another spot to keep looking without being seen. Then, the Companions settled down in a clearing; Clementine sat by a tree, and they lit a lamp while they all compared notes and samples. When twilight had gone completely dark and the first stars shone, they put their lamp away and whispered at each other in muted tones, taking turns pointing at these pinpricks of light that seemed to enrapture them. The Cat had never noticed the stars: they were something that allowed for nightly walks when there was no moon and no clouds. The Companions’ curiosity for them was another of their quirks, they supposed.
One by one, the Companions drifted away to sleep, their screen faces going blank. The Cat waited again, just to be sure, before scuttling to Clementine. Her hat was folded neatly by her side, so it wouldn’t crease while she recharged; it was absolutely glorious to the paw, although a thread or two got caught in the Cat’s kneading claws. Her metal body felt slightly warm in the falling chill; she didn’t move when the Cat’s curious mustaches inspected every inch of her. Strangely, they now remarked Clementine had her own smell — made of all the places she had been to. Perhaps the Companions weren’t so different from cats, after all. Big, dumb, clumsy like kittens, they couldn’t hunt and were too slow, but the Cat thought they could, perhaps, be told apart with something else than their looks.
The Cat slowly nudged at Clementine’s arm until there was enough room to sleep, and curled up against her side. They had had a long day watching the robots. It was time to rest. In a dim corner of their mind, the Cat already planned the following morning: a quick hunt for breakfast, and then they would show the Companions their world. They would bring Clementine to the rocky field where their friends loved to lounge, and show her the new kittens born some days ago. And they would travel on their shoulder on that fantastic scarf, and find a way to understand each other again.
The Cat smiled as cats do when falling asleep, barely aware that a mechanical hand stroked their fur, and began to purr.