Synopsis: Mulder is adopted by a kitten on his front steps-- what could happen next? "The Tale of the Cat" by Cynthia Clavey This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. Daffy Duck and other characters mentioned are similarly property of Warner Brothers, and again, used without permission and no infringement is intended. "Pet Cemetery" is property of Steven King and a movie company, and yet again, used without permission and no infringement is intended. "*Feh*" is the best comment ever made in cat literature and is property of Chris Claremont and DC comics. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. All other contents are copyrighted to this author. But as all the disclaimers announce, it's not making me money. However, I will take all the fame and fans I can get. (I'm *not* DD! I love you guys! Bother me!) E-mail me at: Cyn 6x9ELS@aol.com The following work is for the distribution and entertainment of EMXC members only. Any further distribution of this work without the author's consent is in violation of international copyright law. Any story baring this disclaimer is NOT to be forwarded or further distributed in any way (this includes the FTP and WWW sites) without contacting the *author* first. Special thanks to Colleen for ideas that were put in here and dedicated chatters on Sunday and Monday Aug. 24-25th who put up with me and my repeated questions about M&S's pets. Dedicated to Shorty and Harley, two black cats who came and went. Author's foreword: I've been wondering how Mulder, a man who doesn't have a cat, and rumored to have had a dog when he was a kid, trusted and followed the cat in "Grotesque" enough to follow it into the secret room in the murder's apartment. Here's a short flight into why Mulder would "follow that cat!" so quickly. One of the greatest obstacles I've encountered in this story was Mulder's morphing apartment. Just where the dining table is located is an X-file. Ah, the magic of television production. Writing this started 8/24/96. Uploaded: 8/30/96 This story takes place a short time after "Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose" and before "Grotesque." Okay! already, here's the story: _________________________________________________________ The Tale of the Cat MULDER'S APARTMENT BUILDING, SATURDAY EVENING "Yewo!" cried the tiny waif as it whirled around his ankles like contestants he'd seen on the "American Gladiators" show. Mulder considered the kitten. His schedule didn't allow for pets, he was away too much. Dana managed with her dog by sending it to her mother when they took trips. Unlike Dana's mom, he didn't think his mother would take to petsitting for him, especially a cat. Fitting, though, that a black cat would attach itself to him. Surprising none had until now. Someone with the nickname "Spooky" was always assumed to have a familiar and such a beast was usually assumed to be a cat. He could ignore it, he thought. Let it go its own way and he his. Yes, that would be the prudent move. And, god, the money he'd save in treats, litter, cat food... toys... He pushed at the door and gently lifted a shoe planning the swiftest way into the vestibule of the building. Jump, spin, close the door. Easy. The little cat stared up at him with large green-gold eyes. It looked surprised at the ease it had been evaded. "Sorry, the landlord said 'no pets.' And, shoot, I'm never at home. You'd be lonely, believe me." It jumped a few times, scrabbling claws against the glass panes in the lower part of the door. Mulder was about to turn the key to the inner lock when it began making the most horrible distressed sounds. Never in three years of experience with the sounds associated with the paranormal had he heard such a racing scale of yowling and screeching. Like all the lost souls in the neighborhood had perched themselves on the steps to the building. Anytime soon the others in the building would be up and annoyed. "Cut that out! I'm not going to take you in. So just..." If anything could get louder and more insistent, it just did. "Okay, okay! Someone must have written 'sucker' on my forehead today," he said as he thought of the case he'd been persuaded to take a look at this weekend. He reopened the outer door. The cat dashed in and wrapped itself around his ankle. Ten tiny needles sunk into the back of his calf as the cat climbed higher. "Ow, ow, ow! Lego!" His shoulder hit the mail boxes and he started to fall. He didn't care how small it was, how cute it was-- it was a terror as bad as anything that had ever latched itself to him and he shook his leg. The kitten flew off into the wall with a bump. Oh oh, Mulder thought. Too hard. Hope it's okay. He scooped it up and cupped it in his hands. He was mildly surprised to find it was vibrating. The strangest sound, like fizzing soda, was issuing from it's nose. It's purring? All that and it's purring? Mulder wondered in surprise. I might have found a kindred soul after all. Strangely, when it opened it's mouth to meow yet again, no sound came out. I think, he though morosely, I hurt it. Now I have to keep it overnight and take it to the vet. It didn't seem too hurt as it began rubbing its chin on his thumbs. "Erah, Erah," it began meowing again while purring. He sighed. He switched the furry blob to one hand and fumbled for his keys to the lobby door. Scully's apartment Saturday evening. The phone rang twice before she picked it up. "Scully." "Hey, it's me. I found a cat outside my building. I need some advice on what to do with it." "Is it hurt?" she sat on her sofa, dreading that she might have to play vet. "No, it seems fine. It just keeps following me around. Meowing," Mulder replied. "Did you feed it? It's probably just hungry." "What do you feed a cat?" "Cat food, Mulder," she said patiently. "I don't have that. Will it eat fish food? That's about all I have." She sighed and gave the phone the-- 'god, Mulder, do you want my help or not' reproachful look. "The pet store I and Queegqueg go to is closed by now. Don't you have any tuna?" she asked on the verge of a uncharacteristic giggle. "No milk, though, that just usually makes them sick. And find some flat pan with low sides in your kitchen stuff and shred some newspapers up for it, if you don't have cat litter. Oh! And pick up any loose laundry you have around." "What is this? A ploy to get me to clean up my apartment?" She was enjoying this immensely. "No. I'm just saving you the grief of finding out what small pets do to laundry. Just pick it up." "Uh, okay, thanks." She smiled and bit her lip to keep from laughing. This was so funny. Mulder and a cat. "And, Mulder, be careful of its claws. They're sharp," she told him quickly. "Believe me, I know about the claws," he said ruefully glancing down at the pulled threads in his suit pants. The tone of that reply nearly broke her reserve. Once she put down the phone, however, she'd indulge herself in a long laugh. Just to meet him with a straight face in the morning would be tough, she suspected. "I'll come by tomorrow and take you shopping for supplies," she told him reassuringly. "Uh... Scully, I'm not keeping this thing. I need to find it a home. A real home with people who like cats." Scully was quiet for a moment. "Tell you what. I'll call you in the morning and we'll find the number for a no-kill cat shelter. Good night, Mulder." Mulder's apartment He hung up the phone. The blatant implication she'd made in that pause was that by morning the little bugger would be so firmly established in the soft spot in his heart he'd hate to give it up. Well, he wasn't so sure this would go the way of Scully's dog. He wasn't 'given' this little animal, he didn't want it. He resolutely marched into the kitchen and searched for a saucer from the plates his mother had given him. He last seen them on an upper shelf. He'd never had a use for saucers that weren't extraterrestrial. He opened the can and *that* set off some kitten ankle rubbing ritual he'd been previously unaware of. The cat stretched towards the counter using his leg as a prop. Mulder scooped a dollop out and mashed it onto the plate. Just as long as it doesn't latch on to me again, he thought darkly. Kittens, Mulder mused, are as messy eaters as he remembered dogs to have been. The kitten felt it was essential to take each piece and chew it on the floor, eating only half, and taking another piece from the plate-- leaving little pieces on the tile. Mulder turned the can upside down in a bowl and set it in the fridge. He pulled out some sandwich meat and bread and set to making himself a meal. Picking up the plate Mulder began walking out of the kitchen. Startled by the movement, the cat dashed out of sight under the refrigerator. Mulder never thought anything could move so fast, or fit in so small a space. He returned his plate and bag of chips to the counter and pressed himself to the floor to gain a view into the cavity. "Spppsh, spppsh. Here kitty, kitty. Come on out of there." He snaked a hand into the hole. The little fluff ball would have none of it. The kitten took a swipe with its needle claws and he snatched back his hand. His propensity to getting injured did include animals, it seemed. "This is what I get for feeding you?" Mulder asked indignantly. "This is gratitude?" He was suddenly glad Scully was not here to see him. Him prone on his stomach, still in his office clothes, trying to coax a kitten out from under his kitchen cabinets. She would be laughing... Imagine the Lilliputians when Gulliver came to call. Retreat might be the best recourse. Went into his bedroom and set his sandwich on table the bed and turned the TV on. He sat on the edge of the bed and took a bite of the sandwich. Gees, I'm in suits so often, I get to forgetting I don't have to wear them at home, he sighed. He stood and leaned into his closet to find some casual clothes. Halfway into his sweatshirt, he heard a noise behind him. He turned to see a furry black lump next to the plate on the bed. "Hey! Get away from that!" Zip! Under the bed went the cat, dragging a scrap of lunch meat along with it. Sourly examining the remains of his sandwich, Mulder sank down and leaned against the headboard to watch the 6 o'clock news. Maybe there'll be a story about a lost cat... After awhile Mulder noticed perky ears appear above the edge of the bed. He carefully leaned upright and saw the cat staring up at the television screen, its head shifted occasionally to follow one of the brightly colored cars in a commercial. Mulder munched a few more potato chips and watched the cat sniff and wander around the back of the TV stand. Oh oh. "Hey, come out of there." He stood and looked behind the TV. Yellow eyes peeped out of the wiring massed there. With the memory of the refrigerator incident fresh in his mind, Mulder left him there. The little blighter was fed, so food was no longer a sufficient bribe to get him out. Hmmmm. He crossed his kitchen to his junk drawer. I wondered what I'd ever need old shoelaces for. "If you don't come out, you'll never get to see the thing I'm making for you," he said lightly. His homemade toy was quite a success. He was soon leading the cat around the apartment with the strings. For target accuracy, I would give him a 50% or so, sighed Mulder. Not a very good shot at all. A for effort. When Mulder got tired, he left the toy in the bedroom with the cat and settled himself at the dining table. Just before he left for the day, another agent from the VCD had given him a file and asked Mulder for advice. He opened his briefcase and took out the case notes and pictures. A very strange case, but then, wasn't that always why people came to him? People were turning up fatally stabbed. All were marked on some part of the body with knife cuts of an unusual nature. It was a serial killer who slipped away from the most stringent investigation. They needed a solid lead before more people died. The sibilant shift and slide of papers and photos soon attracted the cat back into the dining area. Mulder watched the chairs around the table rock on the uneven floor as the cat struggled to devise a way up to the tantalizing sounds. Mulder jerked back when tentative paws tested the footing possibilities of his thighs. The cat retreated back to the seat of the other chair. "Wana help, huh?" he asked the cat. With a twist the cat squeezed himself into the space between the chair back and table edge and hopped up. "Veerough?" the cat eagerly glanced around this new potential playground. "Yeah, sure. Just-- sit." He went back to writing notes. Surprisingly, the cat did sit. It was on a stack of photos and reports, but that could be remedied later. He glanced up to see the cat carefully settling on top. He watched in mild amusement as the cat folded front feet underneath and flipped his tail around the outside of this arrangement. The head lowered a slight bit after a moment and eyes closed. Two hours later, he was startled when a black paw shot across the page and targeted his pen. He gently pushed the kitten back and tried to continue working. He could see the little body bundling up and rocking side to side. The cat's eyes turned black just before the cat made a second leap at an imaginary object somewhere under the stack of paper at his elbow. Fwap! went the papers against the floor. Poomph! Sawtta, swatta. The cat followed the papers as it skidded uncontrollably off the table, landed on top of the heap and scattered the floor with papers as he scrambled out of the dining area. Anger at having the paperwork upset warred with amusement at the sight of the kitten fleeing the room with every hair of its hide standing straight out from its body. "That'll teach ya," he muttered as he scooped up the disorderly pile. All the incident had seemed to do was engage some kittenish energy overdrive. He listened to the little demon rush into and out of rooms, catching only glimpses of the cat. Padda, padda, pause. Thud, padda, padda, pause. Padda padda, pause. Thunk, thunk, pause. Thunk, sploosh. Sploosh? I don't think 'sploosh' is a usual sound for a kitten to make. Mulder stood and looked into the living room. Further furtive sounds drew him deeper into the room. The shine of water on the floor by the fish tank caught his eye. "God damn cat! What have you done now?" More sloshed under the edge of the lid. Ohmygod! He vaulted the coffee table and stuck an arm into the tank. The cat can't be in here. How did it get in? He pulled out a sopping, much thinner looking cat. Great, now I have a wet cat. A very still, wet cat. Uh... "Aw, cat don't do this to me," he pleaded. It limply hung over his fingers. He rushed it into the bathroom and snagged a towel from the shower curtain rod. "The way you act, you probably have used up all those fabled nine lives of cats," Mulder muttered. He rolled the cat in the towel and began rubbing. "Come on baby, Dr. Scully isn't here and she never got to the lessons about cat CPR in the phone call I gave her earlier." With a mighty cough and a rapid series of sneezes, the cat began to breathe again. It looked up at him miserably from the soaked towel. "Why couldn't you be a stupid, happy-go-lucky black lab?" Mulder wailed. "A gentle, stupid puppy, huh? One that I could berate for chewin' my shoes and the carpets, but would stay on the floor level, and not scare me so much? Why did you latch on to me? I am now a dog guy," he stated, "no more cats!" The cat blinked sorrowfully and then shook itself spraying water droplets all over the room and Mulder. Sighing, Mulder took another towel and rewrapped the cat. He carried it with him back into the kitchen. He held it in his lap and tried to get back to the case notes. It didn't stay still for more than ten minutes. Mulder let it loose and watched it a moment as it wandered disolutely around the kitchen, pausing to shake a leg every couple of steps. It eventually settled by the refrigerator. Mulder felt sorry for the poor guy, the cat now seemed determined to lick every hair on it's body. It had the air of being really put out by it's dip in the tank. He was mildly surprised to check his watch and find it wasn't much past eleven o'clock. Time for a midnight snack, Mulder decided. This time he gave the cat a more sizable portion of tuna. Grabbing a bag of sunflower seeds, Mulder returned to the table. After a time the pop and crunch of the sunflower seeds enticed the cat from it's sulk. Mulder again felt the feather soft tap of paws against his knee. He smiled and glanced down. With a mighty hop, the cat jumped up to his lap. Gently, afraid to startle the cat, Mulder stroked the silky fur. The cat turned in circles a couple times and settled for a moment. It looked up at him with half closed green-golden eyes, purring. Mulder was surprised at this sudden demonstration of trust. It's cold nose poked his hand and Mulder rubbed the cat behind the ears. The cat rose to its feet, pressing against his hand as Mulder rubbed. Mulder sighed. "I'm not really getting anywhere with this case," he told the cat. "Merowh?" The cat rubbed his hand again before jumping on the table. This time he crossed the notes and photos and sat on the far side. "I'm as stumped as the rest of the team working on this." Mulder picked up his pen again. "Something's here. I have a feeling that all of us have missed the obvious." As Mulder continued working, the cat kept pawing at the photos in front of it on the table. As each one interested the cat, Mulder had drawn them out of its reach and set them on another pile. Soon, it seemed the cat lost interest in them and just sat there swishing it's tail back and forth, back and forth; a gentle curve across one photo of a victim with the strange marks carved into his back. The movement was mesmerizing and irritating at the same time. And yet... Mulder watched the sweep one more time. When the tail crossed the picture it's slight curve completed the carved marks on the victim in a recognizable way. "You could be on to something there," he breathed softly drawing the photo out from under the cat. "Feh," replied the still damp cat. Mulder placed a piece of paper over the photo and traced. When he added a curving circle to the other lines, it became the symbol of yin- yang. Which, of course, opened a world of possibilities for the investigation. "By George, I think you've got it," he exclaimed to the cat. "And a name, too. George." Mulder smiled at the sudden vision he had of the furry yeti monster stroking Daffy: "I'll hug him and squeeze him and call him George." Mulder judged that 12:15 on a Saturday night was not too late to inform the agent in charge of his findings. Never too late to call when people were dying. He picked up the phone. There was no dial tone. Puzzled, he picked up the cord that lead to the wall. It was shorter than he remembered. He examined the end. It had been chewed through. "Arrrgh!" He stomped back to where he had laid his coat when he came home and snatched up his cell phone. "This better work," he warned the cat, voice promising dire consequences if it was broken by cat means. Thankfully the cell phone was all right and he got though to the agent just fine. The agent was incredibly grateful for the information. So much so that, over Mulder's protests that he didn't need payment, the agent offered him tickets to a baseball game. As Mulder hung up the phone, he wondered if he'd have a use for a pair of White Sox's tickets, but one never knew. They be of some use in coaxing Danny into a trade for information, one never knows. "Let's call it a night," he told the cat. Mulder found it surprisingly easy to fall asleep. The nightmares came, as they often did after the completion of a big case. For every success he attained, Mulder had suspected there was some psychological counterbalance in his head. In some way he feared his success and perversely reminded himself of his greatest failure in his life-- Samantha. No matter how he tried, he'd never been able to diffuse that vicious circle. He'd lived it for so long. If he did something important and rode the feelings of accomplishment the dreams came to berate him with how it wasn't part of his greater mission to find Samantha. Mulder jerked awake, confused a moment by the furry lump resting against his ear. The lump began to purr soothingly and he drifted back to sleep. A more peaceful sleep, untroubled by the dreams, because he was not entirely alone. Scully's apartment, Sunday Morning On each call she made Sunday morning the phone just rang and rang. He couldn't still be out running, not after ten in the morning, Scully thought with worry. Unanswered phones were on the top of the danger list for working with-- hell, just knowing-- Mulder. With visions of Mulder being the kind of person to have picked up a cat like that in "Pet Cemetery" foremost in her mind, Scully snatched her car keys up. Thankfully, Sunday morning traffic was light and she made the best time ever for racing from her apartment to his. Parking, of course, was another story. She just double parked and rushed inside. Scully turned the key. She expected to see Mulder's twisted form covered with blood, one hand clutching his gun. "Hey, Mulder, it's me," she called. There was no reply, no sound came from inside the apartment. As she peered past the edge of the door, she was relieved to find see him peacefully sleeping on the couch. She slipped quickly past the door and shut it. Where was the cat? she wondered. Must be really shy. She crossed the room and touched Mulder's shoulder. "Mulder?" He gasped and came awake. Blinking sleep-swollen eyes at her he asked, "What're you doing here?" "It's after ten and you didn't answer your phone. And where did you leave your cell phone this time? I tried that too," she berated him with a slightly aggravated tone. "It's on the table." He sat up quickly and crossed to the kitchen table. The phone was on the floor, turned off. "Cat must have played with it, he said and glanced around the room. "Where is George?" "George? So you did give him a name," she said smugly. "He must have ducked past you when you opened the door. He's very quick." "No, I didn't see him rush out. I'm used to that trick, Queegqueg tries that all the time." He began searching the apartment specifically looking under the fridge, sofa, and behind the TV. "He must have snuck into the hall," he told her. Mulder rushed out and began searching. Not finding the cat anywhere in the hall, he and Scully searching the apartment a second time carefully room by room. No cat was found. Asking neighbors didn't turn him up either. Scully soon had to drag him back to the apartment and cobble together a lunch, they'd been at it so long. "Two FBI agents with years of experience tracking the unknown, and we can't find a cat," she mused as she stirred her coffee. "He has to be in this building," he moved to stand and start looking again. She put a hand on his wrist. "Sit down. Mulder, cats come and go as they please. Sometimes they just sneak out." "How? I closed windows last night specifically to keep it from jumping out." "Maybe you missed one." She eyed him over the rim as she took a sip of coffee. "Why are you are upset? You said you weren't keeping it." "Upset? Me?" he growled. "I'm not upset." "I'm sorry you lost it, too. I still have the number for that shelter, if you're interested in another cat," she said. "We could get you all set up with supplies today and go stop there tomorrow after work." "No thanks," he said gruffly. "They're too much trouble." "I find the story you told me remarkable. You say the cat helped you on a case that's arguably as important as your success with John Barnett and the next day it vanishes without a trace." She paused. "You know pets are wonderful releasers of stress." "What are you getting at?" he asked. "I'm not stressed out." She sighed. "Okay, okay. I have been taking a few too many cases from the VCD agents lately. What are you saying? That dealing with this cat relaxed me and-- and-- allowed me to see the pattern others missed? You weren't here! Dealing with that cat ran me ragged, Scully. It wasn't 'relaxing.'" "Really? You'd slept better than you had in months. You didn't hear me enter the apartment and didn't wake until I shook you." "That's because the cat slept with--" he began. "See? And you doubt the power of a pet?" she said triumphantly. "Mulder, I am saying it was just the unique talents of your unconscious mind filling in the missing part of the symbol. The cat had something to do with it but not what it seems to you. The cat just really, really relaxed you this weekend and it helped you." "Scully..." "I'm surprised you haven't told me by now it was some spirit sent to help you. Some ghost of a victim of the killer in the case you were working on." "Scully..." he protested. "I know, I know that's your line. It's quite a change for me to be laying the blame on a ghost." She grinned sweetly. "Perhaps you should open an X-file on the cat." Mulder knew she was teasing him horribly. A.D. Skinner would have his badge if he opened a file and use taxpayers money to investigate a kitten. It was incredibly odd that he hadn't thought it was a spirit-- "I thought that a spirit sent to help me would be coordinated enough not to fall into a fish tank." Scully smiled and her gentle reply was, "God works in mysterious ways." The end.