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Christopher Moore - Cat's Karma


CATS'S KARMA
by CHRISTOPHER MOORE



Chris's Introduction to Cat's Karma
Back in 1987 I had yet to figure out that I was better at writing funny stories than scary ones. I had
been sending horror stories to mainstream magazines who rewarded me with a stack of rejection slips,
many of which included a scribbled note: "A little too weird for our readers."
My next step was to send these stories out to the men's magazines, who included "horror stories" in
their listings in the Writer's Market. Once again I was rewarded with a stack of rejection slips with this
note: "You write very well, but we do not publish any stories that do not include at least three explicit
sex scenes." (By this time I'd papered most of my bathroom with rejection slips.) Ah-ha! I said. I shall
write an erotic fable. Cat's Karma came out of that effort. Actually, after no one accepted the story I
cleaned out the explicit sex scenes so I could show this story to my friends without them thinking I was a
hopeless horndog, and this version is the end result.
Cat's Karma appears here for the first time ever, anywhere. I think it's pretty rough, but it represents a
period in my development as a writer, so I've left it unedited. (Actually, I read that excuse in some other
author's book of short stories and it sounded pretty credible and noble. I didn't edit this because I'm
lazy.) By the way, if you've read my books you might expect something funny in this story. It isn't there.


Chang the fisherman was a poor man, but he always worked hard. Too hard, some said. He was the
first of the fishermen out to sea in the morning and the last into the market at night. He usually brought
in more fish than the other fishermen, but because his were the last in, the fish merchant paid him less
for each fish, telling Chang they were worth less because they were not as fresh. Chang persevered in his
habits of working longer and harder, for he believed that if it did not benefit him in this lifetime, it
would in the next and the fish merchant became richer because of it. Chang, however, always took the
best fish of his catch home to share with his cat, Ling-Ling.
Except for the black she-cat, Chang lived alone. Every night he sat by the fire and shared his dinner
with Ling-Ling, always giving her the liver of the fish to keep her coat soft and shiny. After dinner he
mended his nets. As he worked the rough cord back and forth with the wooden needle, Ling-Ling curled
up against his leg and purred. When weariness overtook him he picked up Ling-Ling and carried her to
his pallet, where he slept with his face against her fur, breathing in her warmth until morning. Chang
loved the black cat. She was the only softness in his life and his only respite from the cold of the sea.
Each morning, hours before dawn, Ling-Ling woke Chang by gently digging her claws through his
blanket into his chest, nursing him slowly awake. Chang rose and padded around the house making tea
and preparing rice balls and fish for the long day at sea. Ling-Ling walked circles at his feet stretching
and rubbing her silky back against his calves as if to remind him that she had not had her breakfast.
Before he left, Chang filled a bowl with fish and another with fresh water and set them out for Ling-
Ling. He always put out too much and many times returned to find the fish spoiled, but he worried that
Ling-Ling would go hungry should a hostile wind make him late.
The people of the village thought Chang quite mad. Cats were not to be kept, but were left to kill

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