They took the Children to the River

(Please note that this story contains violence, and references to violence, against children and animals. Reader discretion is advised.)

Timothy's Mother had warned him about playing down by the river. Strong currents, she said, could sweep a small boy away and smash him against the rocks, where fish would feast on his flesh. But she had also said that all that work in the fields would give them food. The crops had failed just the same. So, what did she know?

Besides, the Cat had told him it was fun down by the river. She had looked at him with eyes like the sun and purred softly when he stroked her soft black fur. He could not say no to those eyes. Cats were nice, Timothy had always thought, so he was always happy to meet new ones. She told him about the river, where many of her cat friends were playing, who would love for a little boy to come and stroke and cuddle them. Then they could skim stones, she said, and look at all the pretty coloured fish. They would show him many cat games that no human knew. If he would only come down to the river.

"But Mother says that the river is dangerous," said Timothy, "I could fall in and drown. She says that it has happened to many boys before."

"Ah, your Mother..." the Black Cat said, "Did you know that I was a Mother?"

Timothy batted at the tall grass with a stick as he walked, but stopped and jumped for joy when he heard that. "You have kittens? Are they down by the River too?"

The cat stared at him again with those fiery eyes. She pawed the ground, "My kittens..." she said, "Oh yes, they are. And there is food too."

Timothy's stomach rumbled, "Food?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh yes," The Cat said. "We cats killed a wild boar. The others held it down while I cut its throat with my claws and teeth. It fought, but there was too much blood and it drowned in it."

"That's horrible!" Timothy said and stopped walking.

"Horrible?" The Cat said. It stopped walking, sat on the grass and tilted its head. "Where do you think your meat comes from? What do you think your hunters do? If you humans, who are the greatest of animals with God-given dominion over all others, do it all the time, how can it be horrible?"

Timothy thought about it. That part about humans being in charge of all the other animals was what the Priest said in church and he spoke for God, so that must be right. He thought about hunters, "My Uncle Robert is a hunter," he told the Cat.

The Cat walked up and brushed herself past his legs. It was so soft and her purring was so sweet. "Your Uncle Robert is not a bad man."

"No..."

"There you are," The Cat said. She looked at Timothy, staring right into his eyes. "Then trust me, little boy. You must trust me. You do trust me, don't you?"

"Of course!" Timothy said.

"Follow me to the Lake, then."

"Is... Is there..." Timothy said, his stomach rumbling again and the pangs of hunger clawing inside his belly and chest again, "Is there really a pig there?" Drool ran down his lips.

"We have roasted it," said the Cat. "On a spit. There is enough for all the cats and you as well, little boy."

Timothy looked over his shoulder and thought of Mother and Father and Uncle Robert and the rest of the village. "I should tell my parents," he said, "They are hungry too."

The Cat ran back into his sight, that little face, that wonderful fur and those eyes, those amber eyes. So pretty...

"After we have played our games," she said, "We Cats will capture many more boar, and deer too. We are, after all, born to be of use to you humans, who are so much more important than us. That is why I have come to get you, you see. We must share with our masters, mustn't we? Our kind masters. Our wise and fair masters. Why, one human is worth many cats. Is that not right?"

Timothy found himself nodding.

"Then come. Eat. Play with us."

Soon, they were at the river. Its currents roared like a great, angry beast ready to swallow him.

"Do not be scared, Little Boy," The Cat said, "We will not let you drown. You are our Master. Many of us may drown saving you, but that is alright, isn't it. Because you are so much more important than us."

Timothy looked around. There was nothing but grass, the howling River and the trees beyond. "Where are all the cats?" he asked, trying not to sound scared. "You said that there would be many cats."

The Cat stared out at the River, then back at him. "This is the first game," she said, "Do you know how to play hide and seek?"

"Of course I know!" Timothy said. "But I... I think it would be better if we ate together first. I am so very hungry and I want to meet all of you before we play."

"Don't be a spoil sport!" The Cat said, "You must find them. Want me to give you a clue? Alright, here it is: they are all on the other side of the River. You can cross over there."

Timothy gulped. "Mother told me-"

"It is safe," The Cat said.

Timothy bit his lip. This was not right. Something was very, very wrong.

He had to be brave.

He stood up as tall and straight as he could, "I order you to tell all the other Cats to come out and meet me," he said, "You must! You said I am your Master."

The Cat arched her back and let out a long, angry sound. "Mrrrrrowroowww!"

"I am your Master!" Timothy said again.

Her tail lowered. She hung her head and padded over to him. "Of course, forgive me. It is just that I was so excited. Of course, you can meet us all first." She looked up at him, her eyes like the fire in his Father's forge. "Perhaps, my Master, you would like to meet my Kittens first."

Timothy winced. It was getting dark. He had to go home, Mother and Father would be worried!

But... Those eyes...

Soft fur. Tiny kittens mewing and rolling about in the grass. As the pictures appeared in his mind, his body relaxed, the thumping in his chest slowed. He felt like he was resting in a warm featherbed.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"Follow me," The Cat said.

He did. She kept looking at him as she trotted toward the River. Something inside him was shouting at him to look away, to run back to the village, but those eyes... Oh, how lovely they were, how kind and gentle.

Before he knew it, he was standing by the River. The current made it impossible to hear anything else, and yet he heard her voice. Her soft, wonderful, motherly voice. "Look down into the River," The Cat said. "Do you see them?"

He looked down, squinted, trying to see to the bottom of the clear water through the twilight.

There were no kittens, but a burlap sack.

"What is that?" Timothy asked. Now he was not looking at the Cat's eyes anymore, all the fear had come flooding back all at once. It screamed within him. Go home! Run! Run!

But his feet would not move.

The Cat spoke again, clear and loud over the rushing water. "They are there. There was no more food in the villages. Bad hunting, but harvests, not enough coin to buy from traders. There were too many mouths to feed."

The voice was different. It was angry, angrier than any voice Timothy had ever heard. The only thing that came close was when he imagined what God had sounded like when he was angry.

"Kittens," The Cat said, "You see, are not as important as human children. So they gathered my kittens, put them in that bag and... And... You see what they did!"

Timothy sobbed. "I... I want to go home!" he cried. "I want to see my Mother!"

"They will not see their Mother," The Cat said, "But they are not as important as you, are they?"

Timothy's feet unstuck. He screamed and turned to run.

But there were so many of them. So many cats. They could not possibly have been here before, there was nowhere for them to hide. The Black Cat sat in the middle of them.

They leapt at him.

As he fell backward into the river, he remembered what his Mother had said about it.