The Cat Who Saw The World End

Slowly, I woke up to the light of the morning. Its delicate beams filtered through the window, warming the dim infirmary with its soft golden glow. The scent of food prompted me to lift my head and shake off the last traces of sleep. It drifted through the air, teasing my whiskers and coaxing a twitch from my muzzle.

A steward had brought in breakfast—kelp soup, roe, and hardtack, that unforgivingly hard and dry cracker I often joked was more like a sheet of iron than anything edible. The meal was meant only for Sam, who remained asleep, but this time he appeared calmer. Alan, on the other hand, was slumped uncomfortably in the chair, head tilted to the side, having drifted off as soon as Sam had fallen asleep in the middle of her story.

As the nurse checked the boy's pulse and temperature, I inched closer to the bed tray, irresistibly drawn by the smell wafting from it.

“Not for you,” she chided, gently swatting me away. I quickly leapt from the bed onto Alan's lap, startling her awake with the sudden movement.

“What time is it?” Alan asked.

“Just a little past eight,” the nurse replied. “The mess hall is already serving breakfast.”

Alan rose to her feet, prompting me to leap to the floor as she moved toward the door. She took one last glance at Sam before heading down the hall toward the stairs leading to the level below, where the mess hall was located. I followed closely at her heels, feeling famished, my mouth watering at the thought of burying my face in a bowl of roe. And maybe—just maybe—if Gunther was feeling generous, I'd get a little nibble of a prawn.

The mess hall was bustling with activity, noisy with chatter, and nearly every seat was occupied. Those on a morning work shift hurried in, wolfed down their food, and departed as quickly as they came, to catch the boat to Floating City. Others lingered after their meal, drawn into gossip, the latest topic being Sarah and the children. The news had spread faster than fire on oil-slicked waters.

Alan lined up at the service line, ladled a bowl of kelp soup, and added some fish cakes and a scoop of mush to her tray. After a quick scan of the crowded room, she found a secluded table tucked away in the far corner, where only one other person was seated. I padded quietly over and took my usual place by her feet, gazing upward with quiet expectancy, awaiting the moment when she might tear a piece of the fish cake and toss it down to me.

Alan noticed, of course. She always did. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, a small smile playing on her lips. Gently, she tore off a piece of cake and extended her hand toward me, offering the morsel to me in her open palm–unlike the others, who would simply toss it on the floor for me to fetch.

I snatched the piece in one quick motion, savoring its warmth and flavor, though it was gone too quickly. I glanced up, hopeful for another. Her smile softened into something almost apologetic.

“Sorry, buddy,” she said, her voice carrying a warmth that eased the sting of her words. “But I'm hungry too. There wasn’t much left at the line; we got here a bit too late for breakfast.” I sighed, feeling my ears droop as she leaned down to give me a quick scratch behind them, offering another soft apology.

She paused, giving me a reassuring look before adding, “But I promise I'll bring you something nice from the city when I get back."

You're going without me? I meowed, surprised, placing a paw on her leg. I never imagined she’d go off to the city and leave me behind. She usually took me with her whenever she could. I knew she liked having me around—not just to keep an eye out for her, but also as a trusted friend, someone with whom she could share whatever thoughts crossed her mind. I was the only one who truly listened. I thought we were partners!

"I won’t be gone long; it’s just a quick day trip," she replied. Then, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard by the person sitting with her or those at the nearby tables, she added, "I need to visit the apothecary and find out who sold the poison."

Then you need me! I protested. You can't go without me. I was the one who found the vial. I was the one who had sensed that Sam was still alive.

I paused and took a deep breath before continuing my little spiel– Or else, he would've been wrapped up and prepared to be thrown into the sea, just as Dr. Willis is doing now with Joe and Anne.

“You’re incredibly chatty today,” she remarked with a soft smile. “Would you like to come along with me to Floating City?”

What a question! Indeed, I would be most delighted to accompany you.

“Alright, I'll take you with me. But remember we'll be on duty, so we've got work to do there. No wandering off.”

Alan reached down once more, her fingers gliding to the familiar spot just behind my left ear. She knew exactly how to find that perfect spot and scratched in just the right way, sending a ripple of bliss through me. But I was still a bit hungry. I wandered through the mess hall, moving from table to table, occasionally pausing to gaze up at a diner, hoping they might offer me a small piece of fish or shrimp.

Some diners were generous, offering me scraps of fish or shrimp. Others were less accommodating, barely glancing at me before grunting and shooing me away with a dismissive wave of their hand or a nudge of their foot. But it was the kids who truly tested my patience. They teased me mercilessly, holding a tantalizing fish cake just inches from my nose, only to pull it back at the last second.

Before I could even react, one of them scooped me up into an awkward hug, my hind legs flailing in the air as I dangled helplessly, the coveted fish cake still frustratingly out of reach. I squirmed and wiggled, but their grip was firm, their laughter ringing in my ears as I stared longingly at the treat that seemed miles away. The adults around them were deeply engrossed in their own conversation, oblivious to everything else.

“The poor Kelping children,” one said.

“I heard one survived.”

“Who?”

“The little one–Sam.”

“Sadly, they are not the first family to be claimed by the sea. This life… it’s not for everyone.”

“Truth be told– it's not for anyone.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group before they lapsed into silence. Their eyes grew distant, gazing into the void as their thoughts drifted far beyond the horizon.

After wriggling out of a child's grasp, I found myself drawn toward the bustling kitchen, where the sounds of clattering pans and the rich scents of cooking filled the air. Gunther and the other cooks were already busy, slicing, stirring, and seasoning in preparation for the lunch rush. Curiosity got the better of me, and I leaped onto one of the counters, hoping for a closer inspection—and maybe a little taste.

"Gunther!" I called out, my ‘meow’ cutting through the clamor.

The large, muscular man with a thick black beard turned from his task of whisking a mysterious green concoction in a bowl. The moment he saw me, a broad grin spread across his face, softening his rugged features. But it didn't last long; he put on a stern expression, his voice playfully gruff as he scolded, “Off the counter, you naughty little cat!”

Even as he spoke, the warmth in his eyes betrayed his amusement, and I knew he wasn’t really angry.

“Are you hungry, boy?” He asked.

My stomach grumbled.

Yes, I am, indeed! What delectable offerings do you have, good sir? A bowl of roe, perhaps? Or is it caviar? Maybe even steamed lobster, dripping with butter?

Gunther nodded with a wink. “I'll whip up something for you.”

My tail swayed excitedly from side to side as I watched him stride over to another counter. He picked up a small bowl, added a powdery substance, and filled it with water. After stirring the mixture with a spoon, he placed it in front of me. I sniffed the lump of wet, brown mush in the bowl, then glanced up at Gunther, questioning if this was truly the best he could offer.

He raised an eyebrow, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “What? Don’t get all snobby on me now. It’s all we’ve got until I head to Floating City later today for another supply run. You can wait until then.”

I glanced over at his kitchen crew, busy stirring and whipping up ingredients in their mixing bowls, and wondered if it might be wiser to wait and see what they were preparing for lunch. My eyes wandered around the kitchen, searching for any stray roe or perhaps a shrimp—anything that could serve as a small, satisfying bite, even if it was just the tail.

Gunther caught my wandering gaze and chuckled. “Don't get your hopes up, Page. Lunch is nothing fancy—just hardtack, seaweed salad, and plain old porridge.”

I sniffed the brown mush again, my senses recoiling at its unappealing aroma. A part of me wanted to hold out until I could catch the next boat to the city, where a better meal awaited, but my growling stomach demanded to be fed right now. With a resigned sigh, I reluctantly took a small bite. The mush was uncomfortably wet—Gunther had clearly added too much water—and its blandness only made it harder to swallow.

As I forced myself to stomach the mush, the cooks began discussing the fate of the missing scavengers. Some were convinced they had met their end during the violent storm that had struck a year ago. Others speculated that the scavengers might have encountered a rogue band of seafarers—a rare but not entirely impossible event—meeting a grim fate, either killed or taken prisoner.

But, despite differing theories, most agreed on one sad truth: they would likely never see them again. Of the hundreds of expeditions the scavenging crew had undertaken, they had always returned within the expected time frame—never a day late. But this time was different. Seven hundred days had passed, and still, there was no sign of them.

Gunther quickly motioned for the cooks to quiet down as he noticed Alan approaching the kitchen with her empty tray. The others exchanged knowing glances, their grins widening as they shared an unspoken understanding. A few, however, simply rolled their eyes. Straightening up, he greeted her with a respectful nod, taking the tray from her hands and placing it on a counter already cluttered with trays and dishes by the sink.

“Good morning, Officer Alan,” he said with a cordial tone, flashing her a sideways grin. “Do you want any snacks to take with you to your cabin? I think we've still got some seaweed chips in the pantry. I can take them up for you.”

“Oh, I came here to get the little guy,” she said as she reached down to scratch me behind the ear. My heart swelled with relief, and I looked up at her with gratitude. Without hesitation, I rushed into her waiting arms, more than happy to leave behind the mush.

“But I do have a question for you about fish,” she added.

He grinned with a hint of pride. “Sure, ask me anything. I know quite a bit about fish—how to cook them, how to catch them, and, of course, how to enjoy them.”

“What do you know about pufferfish?”

“Pufferfish? Those cute little creatures—I like to call them blowfish.”

“Blowfish?”

“If you tease them or threaten them, they blow themselves up like a balloon. But don't let their cuteness fool you; they're incredibly poisonous. They're more lethal than cyanide. Still, that doesn't stop some people from risking it all to enjoy them.”

Alan's eyebrows shot up in disbelief as if she’d just heard something impossible. “People actually eat them?”

I was also surprised. The idea of someone willingly eating something so deadly was just so baffling! It seemed to defy all logic and common sense.

Gunther nodded. “They sure do. Some people love to flirt with danger. Even in the old days, before the Great Wrath, pufferfish were considered a delicacy. Only chefs specifically trained to handle this deadly fish could prepare it.”

“Do you know any cooks who prepare or sell pufferfish?”

Gunther scratched his head, pondering. “Hmm, I know a guy in Floating City who serves blowfish on the menu. He’s the only one I can think of; no one else would dare to try it.”

“What’s his name?”

He shrugged. “No one really knows. People just call him the Blowfish Man. He’s ancient, they say—been around longer than most can remember. Before the Great Wrath, he was supposedly a renowned chef. And back then, blowfish was his specialty, the thing he was known for.”

Gunther paused, his gaze shifting to Alan with a flicker of curiosity. “So, what’s got you so interested in blowfish? Are you thinking of giving it a little try?”

“I'm not sure about eating something that could kill you.”

“It's not as bad as it sounds! With the right seasoning, it's actually quite delicious.”

“You've tried it before?” Alan asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Just once,” Gunther admitted, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “The Blowfish Man really knows his way around the kitchen, though I swear I felt a bit of tingling in my face afterward. But I'd be willing to risk it again. If you're up for it, I could take you to the restaurant sometime–”

Alan glanced at the wall clock and said, “I’d love to stay and chat, but I need to hurry and catch the boat to Floating City.”

With that, she hurried out the kitchen, cradling me in her arms. We arrived too late to catch the boat. We missed it by just a minute. As we reached the main deck, the stewards were already pulling up the side lift that had been used to lower passengers aboard.

Alan sighed in frustration with herself as I slipped out of her arms. I then propped myself up on the bottom rail. The boat, crowded with people, was already speeding away, disappearing into the distance as it headed toward the city, its silhouette a wavering blur on the horizon.