by Alyza Taguilaso
When this began, I was there in my cage lying cozy as cats are wont to do. Anticipating catnips and fish bits for the afternoon. I wasn’t the type to explore. Even if my humans let me out in the hopes of getting me to lose weight I’d only curl up in a corner and sleep some more. I like to stay where I ought to be: in safe, soft places. Sometimes there is a cage, sometimes a box. Better the comfort of thin metal and the warmth of newspaper than the cold streets where I once used to scavenge not so long ago.
This story is not about me. It’s about Mister Icarus.
Mister Icarus: a peculiar fellow. How did I get to meet him?
One minute I was purring off to sleep, rolling lazily, and then, the next he was there. Peering into my box with his ice blue eyes. He had this yellow fur I had never seen before. There was a slight shine to it, as though it were not fur but gold dust strewn on him. It was as if you could put all the yellows in the world together and this yellow, Mister Icarus Yellow, would win over all of them. He had white stripes at his sides, following the lines where his ribs would be.
Hello. What is your name? was the first thing he said to me, eyes all wide and engaging. His voice was deep. His tail moved back and forth like it was dancing.
Being a stray since birth, I knew nothing about manners and not talking to strangers. My mother, although almost always at my side in those days, never spoke much to me. She fed me and kept an eye out. But she never bothered telling me about the world. My humans, although kind to take me in, were more preoccupied with their own concerns than teaching a cat about manners. O, but they fed me well and would hug me every day because I grew to be so plump. A far cry from the scraggly-thin mimings jumping about the esteros.
Going back to Mister Icarus. I told him my name, after which he said, Ah, what a pleasant name. I am Mister Icarus, he added, tell me child, would you like to have a walk with me?
I was able to find an answer to his question easily. No, but thank you for asking, I replied, my body being fat and unused to motion. I wondered if Mister Icarus noticed that I was inside a cage and obviously would not be able to go out, but I didn’t say anything about it. That would be rude.
O, he said, forehead furrowing from what seemed to be disappointment.
But I would like it if you would stay here and talk with me, I added. I didn’t want him to leave. Like I said earlier, no one talked to me much in this house, and he did pique my interest. As for safety, nothing has ever harmed me when I was in the cage. I offered him some of the dried fish left in my dish.
And what would you like to talk about? he asked.
I… I don’t know. I replied, slightly embarrassed. I really didn’t know what I wanted to talk about. I just wanted someone to talk to. Pacing around my cage for a few moments, I found an answer.
Tell me of the world outside, I said, casually licking my paw to mask excitement.
The world outside? he asked, sly, his wide eyes flooding with sureness.
O, where to start, with the world outside? I could tell you of the great cities — no, not like this paltry place you are in — domed palaces and wide valleys. Cities furnished in glass and alabaster — the finest of the fine, opulent as opulence can be. I could tell you of the sea — for that was the first thing I saw in my waking. A blue blanket stretching on to the edges of the world. Water and monsters overflowing. Its inhabitants spoke in a tongue that tasted like seaweed and coral-juice. Or perhaps the things that fly higher than the sky — yes, there are those, with wings that made the spires of towers look tiny. Or, I suppose, child, the best thing to tell you is of that place you go to each time you lose a life — I was much too wide-eyed by all those things such that I barely noticed one of my humans, Maggie, approaching. She was a girl of eight, chubby and pig-tailed, always avid for something to hug. Maggie was calling out my name. Mister Icarus noticed this and he immediately bade me goodbye, crouched, and then jumped away, escaping my vision.
Annoyed at how Maggie’s arrival caused the abrupt cutting of Mister Icarus’ story, I scratched her a few times when she was trying to take me out of the cage. The child was obviously surprised, having never seen me like this, but she held me close nonetheless. “You evil, fat cat, you!” she said, hugging me even more and calling me baby names.
Maggie left me in her room after a while — her oldest sister had apparently brought home some sort of specimen from her anatomy class, so Maggie went off, pigtails bouncing about, charging at the newest thing in the house. I was partly expecting Mister Icarus to show up, but he didn’t; so I just spent that afternoon the same way I always do when left in Maggie’s room.
I jumped around a couple of things: her toy horse passed down by her two sisters, the pillows. (The hair I shed usually angers Maggie’s mother, but she only does so much as to pinch my fat bits and call me an evil, spoiled cat, as everyone else here calls me). Then I lounged in the bathroom, all cool marble and warm rugs. My favorite place in this house, next to my cage.
Soon, one of the house helpers picked me up and returned me to my cage. In my dish, my dinner for that day was waiting. I ate, only to be surprised and to almost choke on my fish when a familiar Hello meowed from behind.
Mister Icarus was in the same place where he had been before Maggie took me away. He looked the same, with only a slight strain in his smile. I was going to say something between asking if anything was wrong or offering him what remained of my food when he suddenly continued his story.
Of the world, he began in this deep singsong voice, there is this place only our kind can go to — it is a place lined with dreams and endless, motionless fish. In that place, everything is soft and hunger is absent.
I wasn’t interested in dreams but I was very much drawn in by his mention of fish, and soft places would mean good sleep. As for hunger, although I could barely remember my days jumping across gutters and avoiding cars, I knew well that hunger is never a kind thing.
Where is this place? I asked.
He sighed. Alas, child, though I have been there many times I am never certain of its exact location. I just manage to go there each time I think of it, he answered, licking his gold-yellow fur.
Does it have a name? I asked of the place.
No. He answered. What name would befit such a wondrous place? A name would only ruin it, shame it.
Before I could ask anything Mister Icarus drew closer and put a golden paw to my plain white ones.
Here, he said. See for yourself, child.
It was like experiencing all the dreams I’ve ever had — I was dragged downwards into a hole lined with the exact things Mister Icarus mentioned — seaweed, glass shards, shadows of towers, and so much more. The walls had tiny, round picture frames. Within those frames I saw things from the past. To me they felt like things from the past.
These photographs moved within their frames.
In the small frames I saw my parents. Mother, her face haggard and tired as always. In another, I saw my father — the slightest bits of everything I could remember as a kitten seemed to be heightened in this strange tunnel. My mother was not just her usual black-and-white self, but I saw for the first time that her eyes were leaf green, like mine. For the strangest reason, I saw a glimmer of something that felt very sad encased in them. Father looked charming as he walked off in the framed world. He had his chin up, nose sniffing out the scent of food. His golden eyes looked towards the horizon of talipapa stalls. He didn’t seem to notice anything beyond his frame, purring as he headed towards a potential meal.
As I was getting pulled further into the hole, I heard someone call to me You shouldn’t be here! The voice was very soft but certain. It had called me by a name I swear I forgot — the name I had before my humans took me in. Child, go back! Go back! The voice was my mother’s. I saw her scratching wildly at the glass frame seconds before I lost sight of her face.
The frames grew larger as I was drawn in further. Soon I was dragged within the frames themselves — landscapes brimming with cold, white soil, others with endless sheets of sand, and on a few, just sky — bare and blue without an end in sight. I went through them with the same feeling of falling all throughout.
After a long bit of it I was sure I was going to throw up my insides.
At this point I was no longer sure of the things around me. I vaguely sensed the presence of other cats. Wisps of them, all faint but there nonetheless, looking at me as I fell. I couldn’t hear or see them, but I could tell they were there. It’s this odd feeling that they were hiding somewhere: looking, watching — waiting for something to happen.
Then, as if on cue, I heard Mister Icarus’ voice. Interesting, he said, and it all stopped.
I was back in my cage.
Dazed and more than annoyed I drew back and hissed at Mister Icarus. He snickered when I shouted, What did you just do?! My fur was standing at its ends and my body felt cold as ice. I was sure that was the angriest I’ve ever gotten.
I’m not surprised it was all a shock to you, child, he said. It usually is for everyone the first time it happens. Actually, I’m quite pleased you took it this way. Purring, he added, Usually, they take it badly. All screeches and maddened sounds, o, but you— He looked straight at me with pride. You took it with such perfection.
You crazy thing! Did you think that was funny? I’m going to howl so loud, you’d wish—Before I could finish, he suddenly apologized.
Aye, your anger is understandable, little one. I shouldn’t have let you see the place without telling you first. He had a worried look in his eye. As though my anger was something that actually posed a threat to him. I was just much too elated at your… skill, my little friend, and this joy leads to impatience—
I didn’t understand a thing he was saying, so his apology didn’t do much. What in the world did you just do to me?! I wasn’t as angry, but something in me demanded answers.
Well, child, I sent you to that nameless place where our kind goes each time we lose a life.
Despite this explanation, he still wasn’t making any sense to me. What? I almost regretted scratching Maggie now; this strange cat was saying even stranger things, and it didn’t help that my head was still whirring. I would rather be hugged and pinched a thousand times than make sense of what he was saying.
Well, you see, each time we lose a life, we go to that place — soft, fish-lined, where all our memories are — even the ones we never knew we had. Momentarily, we see ourselves as we used to be, or as how we spent our previous lives. Sometimes, he added blankly, we even see our future. By this point I realized I had relaxed my muscles and was just staring at Mister Icarus with my mouth open.
You do know that we have nine lives, don’t you, child?
I retorted, Of course I know that! It’s what every decent cat should know! The truth was I didn’t know anything about cats having nine lives until that point. To prevent this lack of knowledge looking obvious, I quickly asked, What happens after the ninth life?
I was expecting another long-winded answer but instead Mister Icarus stayed silent. For the first time, he looked down, his tail curled and held still behind him.
I don’t know, he said. Head bent, his right paw curled in and traced patterns on the floor. I don’t know he repeated to himself, and then looked up at me, a thin film of tears coating his blue eyes. Then he just turned back and walked off down the hallway to where I could no longer see him.
That whole night I kept mewling at my humans, expecting them to set me free. I normally wasn’t allowed to walk around the house, but they’d let me out in certain rooms. If I was lucky, I’d escape. Usually this was when someone absentmindedly forgot to shut the door or if the strings that tied my cage’s door shut were knotted loosely. For some reason, I felt that I had to talk to Mister Icarus again. More than him just going off without giving a proper explanation — which would have been the polite thing to do, mind you — I didn’t like the thought of him possibly being mad at me for asking that question.
Mister Icarus had become my first and possibly only friend. The other strays I used to scavenge with on the streets stopped talking to me after I was adopted. Only one of them, Nyaw, tried to visit me. She was a gray cat with half a tail who once tried climbing into the window of this house’s third floor. She barely got a greeting out when one of the house-helps caught her and chased her out the way she came.
I wasn’t let out of my cage and Mister Icarus didn’t come back.
I saw him again only about eight days later, when Maggie wasn’t paying any attention to me. The little girl stayed at her older sister’s study more and more these days, awed perhaps at the specimen her sister continually brought home from school.
Mister Icarus seemed different — his gold-yellow fur seemed like it was washed with some whitish material and his eyes were a lighter shade of blue. Dusty and faded. When he spoke to me though, it seemed he had forgotten what had caused him to leave during our previous encounter. How are you today, child? he asked in the same singsong but tired tone. He asked me to walk with him the same way he did just eight days earlier. This time around I was sure not to say anything that might displease him.
I would love to walk with you soon, but not now — I don’t feel that well. Maybe you could tell me more stories to make me feel better? For a while he seemed to think of what to say, wrinkling his light-pink nose, whiskers twitching.
Not knowing if he was feeling displeasure or not, I suddenly added, Maybe you could bring me back to that place I went to the other day. I didn’t really want to go back to that place — the thought of my insides swirling about and my body being hurled to and fro wasn’t at all something I liked. But I didn’t want Mister Icarus to leave either.
His eyes suddenly gleamed once I said this and immediately, he came closer. Just the thing I was thinking of! Such an intelligent child!
This time I was the one who reached out for his paw through the bars of my cage.
The feeling was the same as before — an unseen force dragging me inside again, this time quicker, and more impatient, but after a while it surprisingly let go and I found that I could float on my own. The picture frames were still there, but they were empty. I searched but I didn’t see mother or father anywhere. The place reeked of fish. Perhaps a bit too much fish. Things still felt soft — but a thinner kind of soft, as though something about the softness was made weaker — less tangible. Flimsy. I didn’t feel hunger either, or that whirring in my head — I didn’t feel anything at all.
I felt as if I were a ghost.
I was beginning to wonder if this was really the same place until I saw eight different picture frames floating in front of me when I went deeper into the tunnel. The frames were connected to each other by a single red thread. Each frame contained a single cat inside it, each having a different landscape of its own. These cats looked alike in every way: green-eyed with fur a messy mix of black spots on white. Yet there was something different about each of them — one looked at me with its head tilted to one side, the other constantly groomed itself and was seemingly oblivious that I was looking at it, and yet another one kept twitching its whiskers, as if ready to sneeze.
Stranger still was how I felt I knew these eight cats at some point in some way. I wondered if these cats were those I’d see in my future until one of them spoke to me.
It was the cat in the seventh frame — the one who kept its seemingly unblinking eye at me all throughout. Is it time already? it asked, speaking in a voice that sounded exactly like mine. For a while I stayed floating there, looking at it. Speak, it said sternly, then, calling me by the name my mother gave me, it added, Why? What’s the matter?
Cat got your tongue?
The cat in the seventh frame sneered at me and started laughing; so did the others in the remaining picture frames. I felt surprised, confused, and angry. Mostly angry. I didn’t like being laughed at. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stayed there, seething mid-air. I wanted to get out of this place, away from these laughing, mocking cats. But I found that the beginning of the tunnel had somehow vanished during that whole time I was gawking at these eight cats.
Is it time already? repeated the cat who was earlier gnawing and scratching at the edges of its frame.
Time for what? I managed to stammer.
Louder laughter ensued from the eight. What a stupid, stupid cat!!! said the one with twitching whiskers in between sneezes. It makes me feel so ashamed! This— this— thing, this is what we’ve all amounted to! said another as it spat out a hairball while laughing. They continued mocking me, for reasons I had no idea of — all eight of them, until the seventh one spoke again.
You really do not know do you, child? it said with a raspy voice.
Still angry, I hesitated before answering. No. My confusion had forced me to tell the truth this time.
The cat sighed and so did the seven others.
Why are you here, then? asked the cat in the first frame, which had, as I only noticed now, been keeping quiet the whole time the others were laughing. This cat was the only one who had a scar, deep and red across its belly.
I— well— I… I couldn’t quite answer them — it sounded stupid to say that I was here just because I didn’t want Mister Icarus to go away. The cat repeated its question. I mumbled in reply, MisterIcarusbroughtmehere.
The cat who, until now, kept grooming itself, looked up. It spoke in the same raspy voice as the seventh cat, annoyed. Speak clearly, foolish child.
Finally I said it. Mister Icarus — he brought me here. When I would touch his pa—
The cats didn’t let me finish. They wailed within their frames — furs puffing up, pupils turning into slits so thin they looked like knives. They seemed to look like me when I was angry. Icarus! That fiend! one screeched. The other who was gnawing at his frame dug a sharp claw into it, hissing, its eyes focused into empty space. Even the calm cat from the first frame looked maddened, growling.
I was afraid. These cats were crazy! I drew back, looking in all directions for the exit. I thought the smartest thing to do would be to call Mister Icarus for help, but no matter how hard I tried, my lips refused to call his name. They felt sewn shut.
Icarus! another of them hissed sharply, its voice carving a hole in me.
I didn’t want to show any fear — not in front of these feral things, no. But I couldn’t contain it any longer — I started mewling and whimpering, curling in on myself until my fat bits covered my ears, my only shield from their voices.
When silence seemed to have settled in, I heard one of them say, quite calmly: Hush, now. The child knows nothing. I peeked at the frames again – the cats were still there, but they all looked at me with some kind of sorry look across their leaf green eyes.
Icarus, the first one said, something cold in its voice. He was the only one who made it out after the ninth life. I wasn’t sure if they were speaking of the same Mister Icarus I knew. He did something that shouldn’t be done. He chose to continue living, sighed another. Even after the ninth life, it added. You’re not supposed to stay after the ninth life. You’re supposed to go here, pick up all the lives you left behind, said the cat who never looked away. The ones you used up, the ones that lie in this godawful place waiting for you. You’re supposed to pick them up and move on. Go somewhere even we don’t know. Just not here; go on your way; you and your eight other lives.
I didn’t understand anything they were talking about, so I just said, But Mister Icarus is nice to me!
To which the cat in the fifth frame, whiskers twitchy like blades of grass chuckled. Icarus is kind to anyone he needs something from. Anyone who’s at their ninth life. The most I could tell from all of this was that these crazy cats didn’t like Mister Icarus. Child, how do you think that Icarus continues to survive all these years? I couldn’t even tell Mister Icarus’ age, so I didn’t answer. He needs lives. He needs the lives of those who are at their ninth life. Their last life. He needs them because that’s where he stopped — he left his eight other lives here, waiting; turning them into things worse than ghosts.
And you, the cat said staring me straight in the eyes, are at your ninth life, little one.
This was getting stranger than I imagined it would go. Here I was, in a nameless place, talking to eight other nameless cats in picture frames. Eight cats babbling about lives and things that I could not understand. I would have better luck picking out rotten fish from fresh ones. I never even knew beforehand that cats had nine lives, and now I heard a cat in a frame tell me that I’m at my ninth life?! I’ve barely lived at all — how could I be at my ninth life?
I told them that Mister Icarus had never done anything to hurt me.
Not yet, at least, the one in the gold-lined frame snickered. He needs you to trust him, to love him as one would do to one’s friends. In order to do that he sends his prey to the more agreeable parts of this place. He needs you to see that he can give you good things. O, but he has grown careless; Icarus can no longer tell when this place will be agreeable or topsy-turvy. In fact, I believe he has forgotten why he even keeps living. He needs you to give him what he wants out of your own free will. And when that happens, your other lives are trapped here, waiting forever
Another said, The fool has a limit though. He can only move once his current life’s almost run out. And he has nine days to do it. I daresay the gods are having a ball at this!
I didn’t care what the cats said. The closest ball I wanted to have now was my ball of yarn back at home. I missed my cage. I missed my food. I missed Maggie and her fat, sausage-like fingers. Somehow all the thoughts of missing my cage had an effect. The tunnel started to blur, and I felt like I was quickly being pulled out, its exit now visible once more. Beware of Icarus, child! It is not your time yet! But we will see you again someday! the eight cats seemed to say in unison. They meowed something else but I couldn’t quite catch what it was.
When I arrived back at my cage Mister Icarus was there in front of me, his crooked smile affixed on his face, but his features sharper and his hair thinner. Like he’d lost some weight.
There were eight crazy cats in there! I immediately said. They said you were a bad cat who wanted lives! They scared me so much! Them and their green eyes and black-and-white fur!
Mister Icarus didn’t seem bothered at all by this. Instead, he attempted to comfort me. O you poor thing. I guess I sent you to the wrong place this time. But worry not; we’ll show those crazy cats soon enough! We’ll teach them manners, won’t we? he told me cheerfully. Now, come, we’ll head back there to teach them a lesson for frightening you.
I didn’t know what it was but something told me not to go with Mister Icarus just yet. Could we do that next time? I’m tired. I didn’t want to see the eight cats again, and I was really tired. Something in that tunnel seemed to drain my energy. But I couldn’t deny that what those cats told me stuck in my head. Mister Icarus didn’t look so nice anymore. He was thin. His fur was dull and frayed at the edges.
He wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Nonsense. You’re just dizzy, child. Don’t worry, once you go back there with me, things will be fine as fine can be.
I couldn’t understand why he was suddenly being so pushy. Why don’t you just fix those crazy cats yourself? I’m useless, and they really scare me! I said, to which Mister Icarus replied that those cats in frames wouldn’t show up unless I were there, and that they would continually show up each time I went there, ruining the place.
You felt it too, didn’t you? The place felt different, right? Rotten, perhaps? See. It’s the doing of those eight crazy cats. They’ve been there for as long as I know, and I need your help to get rid of them, he said hurriedly. His tail was impatiently swaying back and forth now. I am old. He sighed, drawing closer. I need your help, child. Won’t you help me?
Mister Icarus was sounding crazier than those cats. I drew back further into my cage.
There was something feral in his eyes this time, and before I knew it, he just passed through the bars of my cage, saying the same thing all over. Help me, child. We need to get rid of those crazy cats, don’t we? Come, all I need is you by my side and things will be fine. Come, I just need you to say ‘Yes.’ He was looking more and more like a ghost.
Come, child! I need your help. Just a little bit of your life and those cat-ghosts will be gone. Deader than dead. Come, little one. The Mister Icarus in front of me looked nothing like how he was when I first saw him. Don’t you trust me? We are friends, are we not? He had this twisted scowl on his face, his teeth sharp and so close to my face, the slits of his eyes thin and pitch black.
No! I said, my paws scratching at the air that was him. Air, I could feel: cold and dead. I wanted my mother. I wanted my father. I wanted Maggie. I even wanted those eight crazy cats. Anything but this.
I felt a force similar to the one that drew me into that strange cloudy place ram me to the railings of my cage. Mister Icarus scratched me with long, jagged claws. I felt my skin being ripped open; although I did not bleed. Come child, stop being stubborn! I kept fighting back but to no avail — he seemed to be so suddenly strong that I was thrown all over inside my cage. There is so much you have not seen yet! Just let me have a bit more! If you let me borrow your life I can send those dreadful cats away, little one; come — there is no use resisting, he hissed. All I could do was blindly scratch back and meow for help.
No! No! No! I continued meowing until Maggie came running to my cage. “O, what’s the matter, silly cat?” she said as she took me out, hugging me. Squishing me with her human warmth. For the first time, I clung on to her so hard, unwilling to be let back down. “Ah I know! Here, little kitty, I’ll show you something!” the child said, carrying me off to her oldest sister’s downstairs study. I looked back at the cage, but I couldn’t see Mister Icarus.
When we got to her sister’s study, I saw the worst thing I had seen in my entire life. There was Maggie’s sister, standing over her specimen on the table.
The specimen was a dead cat skinned. Its muscles were exposed and riddled with different-colored pins. Maggie’s sister seemed to be saying the words to a spell while pointing to a certain pin. “Palmaris digitorum longus,” she would say. A quick “Sartorius,” she said to another, and yet another one “Gastrocnemius”.
I just stayed there, stuck on Maggie’s shoulder, wide-eyed. My fur rising in fear at the sight of the dead cat as it seemed to look back at me — eyes blue and bright.
“O Maggie. Why in the world would you show our silly cat my anatomy specimen?” Maggie’s sister exclaimed, and then, to make things worse, she added, “Hey there, silly little kitty,” petting the back of my head.
“Meet Mister Icarus.”
* * *
For our cats: Waymond Babalowshi, SmolBerry, & the late Serafina
About the Author
Alyza Taguilaso is a General Surgeon from the Philippines and the author of the book Juggernaut (UST Publishing House, 2024). Sometimes she writes fiction, mostly she writes poetry. Her poems have been shortlisted for a Pushcart and Rhysling Award, and other contests like the Manchester Poetry Prize and Bridport Poetry Prize. Her poems have been published in several publications, including Electric Literature, Crazy Horse, The Deadlands, Canthius, Fantasy Magazine, Nightmare Magazine, Strange Horizons, Orbis Journal, and Voice and Verse, among others. You may find her online via wordpress (@