Not always is there truth to the stories the shore elders tell of Jersey legend and lore. The old men sit in the pavilions that dot the famous boardwalks, each one swearing his story is gospel, and most who listen nod their heads politely and smile while not believing a word. In any case, as the elders tell it . . .

Many years ago an old woman took in a stray black cat, a seemingly ordinary creature of indeterminate age whose only needs were shelter and food. The woman called her new pet Grimalkin and before long the feline became the witch's familiar, an especial favorite among the old woman's tabbies and privy to her darkest secrets. At her mistress' feet the cat learned the ancient black arts. The precise nature of the feline's mysterious abilities have been lost during these many years of her story's telling, and it is possible she knew magic long before being taken in. Those who encountered her swear Grimalkin was a creature unlike any other. Her powers were neither good nor evil. They simply were.

One never truly possesses a cat, although one may easily be possessed by one. Some say the crone grew jealous when the cat’s abilities surpassed her own, and she banished the feline from her sight. Others claim Grimalkin had learned all she could from the woman, and growing bored set out on her own. To this day no one can say from precisely where she came nor how far she traveled. But arriving at the Jersey shoreline she selected as her new domicile a small crawlspace beneath the famous boardwalk back when the city by the sea was still in its glorious infancy.

There it was Grimalkin delivered her first litter . . .

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Please do not feed the boardwalk cats!

Their health and safety are maintained by the municipality of Atlantic City and their population is controlled through non lethal means by C.A.T., the Cat Assistance Team of South Jersey.

- Sign located near Sovereign Avenue and The Boardwalk Atlantic City, New Jersey

(2) SCOUT : THE BLACKEST CAT

Beneath the promenade the cats slept in multicolored clusters, undulating mounds of soft fur. Even in great numbers their accumulated breaths amounted to little more than a series of gentle exhalations, quick whooshes of air capable only of ruffling whiskers and easily nullified by the cool morning breezes coming off the Atlantic.

The blackest was already awake, had been for some time. Pushing himself from his female he did not rouse Tam nor any of her little ones, stretching upon his feet until one bone in his hind leg lightly cracked like a snapped twig. He was not old, although life had not been entirely kind and he no longer felt young.

Scout strolled into the sunshine that washed the beach, always the first to venture from his crevice although it was already late morning. His sleek fur proved advantageous when darkness fell and he nestled with his mate amid the shadows. Exposed in the daylight upon the ivory sand, however, he took more precautions while foraging, and if an occasional stranger kneeled to stroke him he had learned to quietly keep moving, his tail curled to the sky showing he could not be bothered.

The beach had not yet filled with the many human visitors who found enjoyment reposing in the sun. Even the best scavenger would discover no food during this time of day except maybe for a few crumbs inside some of the numerous receptacles along the sand. But there would be prospects. A good hunter could determine where they were and lead the others to his findings. Scout was a good hunter.

He needed to be, for today there were many mouths to feed. Tam recently had dropped another litter and there were more young ones than the last time. All were healthy, of course. Tam was a strong female and wise enough to keep herself hidden from the prying eyes of Man. But her young were hungry and the daily morsels of chewy gruel left for them were not enough.

Scout headed toward the surf catwalking past a young human male and his female. Because his animal senses detected no food here the two held little interest for him. Soon the sand would become very hot and uncomfortable, burning the pads of his feet. It was much better to keep moving before one of them noticed him and wasted his time.

Nearer the surf the sand felt cooler. Scout relished the sensation, aware it might not last long. Often someone would chase him when he wandered this close to the water. Sometimes it would be a child who decided the beach was not big enough for both of them. More often an adult did the chasing. Strange cre atures these were, unnecessary at best and bothersome at worst, that left tidbits for you one moment, then later threatened you for trying to eat. Half the time they shooed you off only to call you to them moments later. Long ago Scout might have followed one of them hoping for the warmth of a shelter and the possibility of easy nourishment. Now it seemed best to avoid them.

A dead sea gull lay in the sand. Water soaked, it must have recently washed to shore because it showed no signs of having been picked at by any of the beach's many marauders. Scout sniffed the remains, quickly determining there was nothing here for him. But he noticed the bird had caught some sort of shelled sea creature, a fairly large one that had not escaped the clench of the gull's beak even after the captor had died. Perhaps the bird drowned before completing its kill, or maybe the creature plummeted in mid-flight, its life simply having run out. Scout did not care. Only one thing concerned the cat. Here was food.

He tugged at one of the large claws of the crab-thing, managing to free the gull's final meal from its long beak. He allowed himself the pride befitting a feline, for on this morning his mate's young ones would eat well. Scout strode along the sand with his trophy held fast between his teeth.

Dignity proved short lived. One sharp claw of the crab-thing struck out, clamping down upon the cat's nose with a terrible ferocity. The sea creature was not dead, and it did not relish a second capture. Scout shrieked his injury, rolling on his back to slap at it with his paws, struggling to release its hold. But the crab-thing tightened its clamp until thick bubbles of blood dripped from the cat's burning wound. He slapped the creature into the hardened sand near the surf. Finally it released its grasp and crawled off with the first onrush of the ocean, leaving Scout whining in terse stop/starts at the water's edge. He dipped his nose into a small puddle of salt water but this caused it to sting even more.

If he could bring that crab-thing back to shore . . .

If he could have one more chance to do this over, to prepare himself another time for the snapping claw . . .

Scout stared at the heaving waves of the surf, his eyes taking on a incandescent glow that seemed to catch the reflection of the sun. He gave his brain a little push because he was not with the others now and he had to rely on his own ability to do this. Setting a crimson bead on the rolling surf he did not stop gaping at the single spot. With a precision that only a cat can manage he remained for many moments without shifting his head, a feline sculpture of black marble imposed upon the white sand.

[Here . . . to me . . . Here . . . Here . . .]

From the ocean the dripping crab-thing returned. It crawled in a direct path as it made its way to the dry sand and toward the cat. The sea creature stopped just short of Scout's paw and remained there motionless.

The cat hissed at the thing, raised his paw and brought it down with a snap. His claws clicked on the thick shell. He did this again, then again, bouncing the creature before finally managing to puncture it. The crab thing burst open like a festering wound spilling salt water and goo.

Scout stole a furtive glance behind him. The beach had become more crowded and it would not be good if any of the languishing humans noticed what he had done. He had been especially careful never to use his special ability on anything that stood upon two legs, even if it would have meant more food for himself and the others. A little push from each of the cats working together might succeed in getting some of the men to leave larger portions for them each morning, although it would have been risky to try. The ability was useful against four legged intruders, but no cat practiced this power where any man could see. Using his skill upon a small sea creature was different, and Scout's pain had caused him to go claw to claw without thinking. This was not foolishness, of course. A cat was incapable of that, although he studied the beach to see if any eyes watched him.

[No . . . nothing . . . nothing to fear . . .]

Scout nudged the crab-thing to assure himself that this time it was dead. Feeling it safe to reclaim his catch he made his way across the beach back to Tam and her young. He moved more quickly as he approached the promenade because of the sand's heat. Finally he darted in a full run to the boardwalk, the dripping shell creature's two claws dangling from his teeth like odd mandibles.

The other families of cats surrounding him were mostly awake, small dark denizens meandering about in the shadows of the boardwalk. Golden Tam was with the little ones in the cool shade beneath the thumping of the footsteps just above. The kittens' small mouths opened as they sniffed what treat Scout had brought. The spotted one, Tin-Tin, struggled to his feet but wobbled and fell back down, standing on all fours a skill he had not quite mastered. Scout dropped the crab-thing alongside his mate, bit off a small portion of the meat inside for himself, and stepping back enjoyed watching Tam and her little ones feed.

A sharp hissing sound from behind distracted him. He turned to see the large orange striped cat who had wandered under the boardwalk one rainy afternoon not long ago. Cuff was not among those who had slept there since birth, and he wore a strange object around his neck suggesting he once had made his home among the same creatures who filled the beaches. Although he scavenged little food for himself the other boardwalk cats had not chased Cuff off, but he never seemed one of them. Scout had often watched the large tomcat sniff around Tam, and he did not like him. Now he felt the fur on his back bristle, and he hissed at the interloper to demonstrate that if Cuff desired food from the sea he would find none here.

Scout targeted his gaze as he had done with the shell creature. Should the intruder require a little push he could see to it. His eyes glowed like fiery stones, and the large orange cat twitched, struggling to release himself from some annoying muddleheaded funk.

[Leave . . . Not one of us . . . Not welcome here . . . Leave . . .]

Cuff backed off still hissing. When the animal had withdrawn a satisfactory distance Scout resumed his attention to his female and her brood. The entire incident passed unnoticed by them, each too busily tearing apart what remained of the crab-thing. Scout stepped forward to join in the feeding and quickly forgot the brief episode with his adversary.

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(3) ORANGE STRIPED CUFF

I'm sorry to have to do this to you, pal. But there's a new baby in the family now, and you haven't exactly been sociable toward her. Jim slipped the "My Name is STRIPE" identification tag from the cat's thick neck but kept the collar intact. "Something to remember us by, okay?" he said, and swung the car door open. He knew the large tabby was too matured and ornery to be adoption material at the animal shelter. Three weeks there and it would be the big sleep for him. At least on his own the animal had a fighting chance.

It looked like rain and Jim knew he could have picked a better day to give his older daughter's pet his walking papers. But, like the saying went, if it were to be done it was best it were done quickly.

"So long, pal. You're a tough old bastard. You'll make it okay."

Jim did it quickly.

*****

[ . . . Not one of us . . . Not welcome here . . .]

Cuff had got the sable cat's message, all right. He had been down this road before. Pacing the boardwalk, he settled near the pavilion where the old folks sat, his bushy tail slapping furiously at the wooden planks, his anger giving him strength. With strength came boldness.

A small girl approached holding a hamburger dripping catsup. She called to Cuff, and he recognized the sing-song "Here kitty kitty!" Her words echoed those of another little girl he remembered, and he had learned to hate the expre ssion. But picking up the scent of savory meat he turned to her. His first instinct was to scratch and run, but sniffing the beef he reconsidered. Glowing like agate marbles his eyes caught hers, and the child held the entire burger out for him. Too late a woman came running toward him muttering angrily. Cuff swallowed the last of the ground beef as the woman pulled the girl away.

His hunger satisfied, he turned his attention to a small figure on the sand . . .

. . . where another child is building a lumpy castle. Noticing the large cat near the railing the boy stops what he is doing and gets to his feet, seeming to examine what he sees. He bee-lines determinedly to the water's edge and wades out into the surf where a huge breaker promptly turns him upside down. A blonde lifeguard manages to pull the boy to shore where his frantic mother waits. Once it seems he is okay, the woman promptly tears her kid a new ass hole.

The striped cat watched from the promenade, newly aware of cause and effect. Cuff had picked up an amusing talent from his feline companions, and from a safe distance had played with the child on the beach as a lesser cat might toy with a rubber mouse. Curious to determine what he had learned from the others with whom he had made his new home, he now had his answer.

[ . . . go to the water. . . go to the water . . .]

With only a little push the boy had done just that. Cuff had not felt this good in a long time, for getting his own way had proven much easier than he had imagined. He could not remember having experienced such a strange sensation of . . .

. . . of what?

He had almost forgotten the notion of power and dominance, of getting whatever he wanted by the sheer force of his determination, but the memory returned to him now. He thought of his ebony rival whose back always rose at the sight of him.

[Not welcome here . . . Not one of us . . .]

The black cat probably was off looking for food, and beneath the boardwalk Tam and her young nestled alone sheltered in darkness.

Tam . . . Alone . . .

[" . . . herekittykittyherekittykittykittykit . . ."]

Cuff held that thought, his pace quickening. By the time he reached the beach he was running.

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(4) SPOTTED TIN-TIN AND GOLDEN TAM

In her concealed furrow Tam felt hungry and disturbed. Her most recent litter had excellent appetites, but the few dishes of soggy pellets each morning would not do for her family’s growing numbers. The gutted shelled creature lay before her, and still her brood cried for more. Scout and some others had returned to the beach to search for additional food, but Tam felt doubtful they would bring back very much. Some of the others’ smaller ones had already starved, and with new litters the danger was much worse. The amount of provisions brought by the men had not changed although there were new mouths. Like many females, Tam had nested in a secret niche of the boardwalk piling where no man could detect her or her young. Such security had its drawbacks.

[Find food . . . find now . . .]

At first the thought seemed her own and Tam shook it off, for she would not leave her small ones unprotected. She noticed the spotted kitten was awake, and although unsteady, Tin-Tin finally had made it to his feet.

Two tiny moonstones glowed in the kitten's eyes.

[Food . . . now . . .]

She tried a weak push of her own to serve as discipline. Tam's maternal concerns would allow no more.

[No, little one . . . Go to sleep . . .]

Another push, more insistent.

[Hungry now . . . food now . . .]

Tin-Tin's ability to get his way proved remarkable. Tam found herself in the open sunlight hoping to locate something near the boardwalk food stands. She did not have much time because her feline instincts told her rain was coming. Pickings turned slim when it stormed, for cats and water did not mix well. Mistrusting anything on two legs, Tam darted among the trash cans terrified should any person move toward her. She was not an unfriendly animal, but unacquainted with Man's ways she kept her distance.

A young man caught her attention. He was uttering some high pitched gibberish meant to entice her and holding out something for her. She could smell what it was, and she wanted it.

Tam stepped forward tentatively.

He was offering food.

In the pavilion sits Abraham Ringwold with his teenaged grandson. "Storm's coming, Dennis. Bad one." Having lived in the shore town his entire life Abe knows about these things. The kid looks to the horizon without taking his pizza from his mouth. "What're you talkin' about, Grampa? There's not a cloud in the sky. Nothing in the forecast says..." "Screw Willard Scott. Storm's coming, I tell you. See that yella cat rushing about like someone stole her tail? Cat running 'round means change in the weather's on its way. Learned that from an old sailor when I was a kid out fishin' for flounder in Barnegat Bay. Same old salt who used to tell me stories about Grimalkin. He knew all about them witchin' cats."

The kid hides his grin, but he watches the gold cat dart from one trash bin to the next. "She's just scavenging for food, is all, Grampa. There's no forecast of rain this whole week. It'd be cool if you were right, though. Shitty weather means some extreme surfing."

"Then you'd best be waxing your board, boy. Storm's approaching, sure as shinola. Just ask that tabby. 'Course, she's more likely to come if you don't pay no special 'tention to her. Those animals hate eye contact, you know. 'Specially if she's one of them boardwalk cats avoids people altogether."

"Do you know as much about cats as you do about the weather, Grampa?" This time the kid's grin is out there. Regarding the boardwalk felines Dennis has heard every story from Abe ten times over. He holds out his pizza slice for the yellow cat. "Here, puss-puss. A little pepperoni, puddy-tat? Are you really a witch or just a plain old pussy?"

The cat moves tentatively towards him, then bolts down the stairway and under the boards.

"She's a boardwalk cat, all right," Abe says. "And I'd be careful 'bout getting any of that brood too spooked, boy. No telling what them mangy bitch kitties can do."

"Maybe she'll turn me into a frog, huh?" The kid is smiling like some gap toothed Cheshire Cat, but his elder doesn't see the humor.

"You cockshit whiz kids know ever'thing, don't you?"

Dennis knows every chord to "Smells Like Teen Spirit." He can roll one bomber of a joint in ten seconds flat. But he knows squat about the true story of the cats that live under the boardwalk. Of course, any fool visiting this stretch of beach can see the felines are real enough, even if they aren't the furry freaks of nature old Abe believes. But their story is easy to check out if a guy has the balls to goose the little fuckers out of their holes.

Dennis swallows the last of his pizza, his smile gone to full tilt.

He has the balls.

(5) the boardwalk cats

Night differed little from day beneath the boardwalk, but by mid-afternoon dark clouds and thunder grumbles made it difficult to tell the difference everywhere else. Already a sweeping wind had kicked up and the ocean danced with whitecaps. Light rain was falling and the sky turned charcoal, a guarantee conditions would worsen.

The beach emptied early. Scout had uncovered scraps of food inside discarded lunch bags here and there, but nothing worth carrying back. Although his nose throbbed he was fortunate to have discovered the shelled sea creature before the storm hit. Pinpricks of drizzle pockmarked the sand while he headed back to Tam, rolls of thunder hurrying him as he slithered underneath the boards.

The familiar angry hiss stopped him cold. Scout hissed back at eyes that pierced the darkness, watching his mate shivering with fear even while her litter slept peacefully by her side. He noticed the orange striped cat had positioned himself proudly before Tam.

Cuff's eyes burned with fire.

Dennis is very careful to avoid the steady rain. Night has fallen and it is unlikely anyone has paid much notice to a kid slipping under the boardwalk. There are enough transients who do the same just to take a quick piss, but the kid has his own reasons for being here and for keeping the contents of his knapsack dry. To be on the safe side he has pulled his slicker over the sack. A guy can't be too careful when he's planning to raise a little hell.

Not many people are out except for a few old farts in the pavilions. Below the promenade the cats seem present and accounted for because those fuckers hate the rain. Dennis expects the felines probably hate lightning and thunder even more. In fact, he is counting on it.

He isn't certain how many grams of explosive materials the cherry bombs, quarter sticks, and block busters contain. Not enough to cause any real damage excepting a few shattered nerves, of course, but he feels positive that whatever crackers he is carrying are illegal in most states.

"It's Independence Day all over again, kitty cats."

He sets a few sticks of Crackling Jack's ground spinners under the pilings just for a little dazzle, and connects them to a long fuse. Moving down several yards he sets another stack, and another, enough to liberate every boardwalk pussy from her hiding place.

Tonight Dennis feels like the cat who is about to swallow a whole flock of canaries.

One feline slept apart from the others in a secret crawlspace. She was the oldest of them, and excepting some gray around her muzzle she was as black as Scout. Most nights she slept soundly, and even through severe thunder storms she had no difficulty remaining asleep. But the feline had a keen sense for when something was amiss, and tonight she sprang awake sensing danger.

All cats understand the nature of evil, but an old cat has a kinship with it. Crawling on her belly the aged female watched the two legged intruder who had ventured deep under the boardwalk. The shadowy figure skulked around the pilings, stopping occasionally at the foundations to drop something that serpentined about several of the walkway's underpinnings. Seeing the spark of a small flashfire of light she knew he was up to no good. Instinct told the old feline she had no choice but to act.

Destiny had selected this moment to make her appearance known.

"Huh? What the--?" Dennis is not easily spooked by the small lumpy shadows surrounding him, but he almost fudges his BVDs when something touches his leg. Only a large black cat stands there. He is glad no one is around to have seen him respond like such an asshole.

"Beat it, or you're kitty litter!"

The old cat doesn't budge.

"Okay. Your funeral."

He lights the long fuse and climbs over the dune into the storming night without the grin leaving his face. He has given himself plenty of time, and from the water's edge he can watch the fun.

On the beach there is enough thunder to fill the world. Dennis turns to notice the old ebony cat climbing the tall dune while looking to the clouds. She studies them as if making a selection, fixing her attention on the darkest. Her eyes catch the brilliance of the lightning. Dennis sees the orbs glow even from the water's edge, hears the heavens respond with thunder.

His grin disappears.

The sky splinters, a twisting bolt of white hot energy targeting the spot where he stands. Touching down with a snap it is the last thing Dennis sees. In the ivory brilliance he does a mad electrified dance like an overwound toy and crumples in the sand.

His blackened flesh smolders even in the pouring rain.

Scout waited until the orange cat slept. If he could not successfully budge Cuff from Tam as he had done before, he would use more traditional means of combat. He crouched upon his belly and advanced toward the slumbering cat, his intent diverted when the bolt of lightning struck the beach.

Cuff awakened to discover Scout standing near. Other cats stirred and many were trembling, but Cuff was the first to react. Among all of them he hated storms the most, for it was before a terrible thunder storm the slamming of a car door effectively ended the only good part of his life. Not very much frightened him, but thunder and lightning did. He sprinted in panic flight past Scout to put distance between himself and further peril, reaching the pile of quarter sticks a moment before the sizzling fuse. Cuff's attention shifted to the advancing flame and he backed against the tall stack of Dennis' 500-gram heavy weight crackers. Searing heat fried his ass but Cuff had no time to respond. The first explosion tore the striped cat into three blood soaked scraps that resembled a shredded wind sock blown from a cannon.

Sparklers and snapping crackers sent screeching cats scurrying to the beach in thick waves. In multitudes they scattered through sheets of rain until the sand turned black with them.

At the water's edge stood a woman adorned in flowing black robes, the sheer material floating as if part of the wind itself. With wispy ringlets of soaking white hair spilling over her face and bare arms stretched to the sky, she was a misty seductress in strobing pantomime. She turned in a slow and unvarying ballet that seemed vaguely sexual, bare feet hovering inches above the sand. Thick bolts of lightning revealed the toothless smile of a hag.

She had seen her cats were hungry, that if she were to act it must be quickly. She had been expecting a sign, something - anything - that would reveal her time had come. Tonight she had received that sign.

"Come! Come!" she chanted to the expanding orbit of felines. "Fate selects this night for us! So much to be done, little ones! So very much!"

Exploding like tiny minefields beneath the boardwalk the fire crackers and sparklers have gotten a rise out of Abraham Ringwold.

"Fool kids," the old man mutters to himself, shaking his white crowned head with disgust. Tonight he sits alone inside the covered pavilion, dry enough but still shaking in the cold wind. His daughter is off drinking herself stupid in some trashy boardwalk bar. And Dennis is God knows where.

The sand dune has blocked a clear view, but Abe sees the scores of cats flee to the open beach. There's a woman down there too who was not there a moment earlier, and now those cats are gathering around like she's telling them some bedtime story. Abe has always known these felines were bewitched. He has seen their little tricks when no one else noticed, subtle bullshitty things no one would look at twice unless he was really watching them bastards close. But go try and make others understand. The world is filled with cockshit whiz kids who know better than a crazy old coot with too much time on his hands.

Of course even a buzzard like himself usually had enough sense to get out of the rain, maybe get himself inside a casino and make Donald Trump richer before the arthritis flared up really bad, then call it a night.

Abe wants to do just that, but those bastard cats won't leave his thoughts. The old woman by the water's edge is still calling those fur balls together as if they're her own children, for Chrissake. And they're coming to her, too, by the hundreds, it seems. Where are the damned cops when you're looking for them? By morning that beach will look like a litter box.

An old man's mind is a wondrous thing. It can't remember what was on the dinner plate three hours ago, but uncluttered with the detritus of life's bullshit it can put together extraordinary thoughts that greater minds would consider nonsense.

For many years Abe has pondered the story about the old witch. Watching the cats his breakthrough moment comes just as clear as day . . .

A woman alone isn't capable of birthing many children in a lifetime. Five, maybe six if she pushes it. But a female cat? Hell, a cat can birth maybe dozens, and those suckers can have dozens more of their own, until you have what is crawling down there on the beach right now. And . . .

. . . Witches are smart, just as smart as the devil, you might say. And cats and witches, they just go together like . . .

. . . like maybe lightning and thunder?

A dim memory stirs.

["When shall we meet again, in thunder, lightning or, rain . . .?"] [Yes! From "Macbeth," when I was a kid! "Bubble bubble toil and trouble . . ." or maybe it was "Double, double . . .?" Christ, I'm gettin' old . . .]

Back then people believed cats and witches were one and the same, that a witch could turn herself into a cat and vice versa. Well, maybe there was a good reason for that. Maybe there was one damned good reason.

[ . . . and maybe I'm lookin' at it right now!]

A clap of thunder makes the old man flinch. On the boardwalk the lamps wink out. Some lights near the pavilion hiss and explode. Abe has to cover his head against the spray of sparks.

"Shit!" he says aloud to no one. "Damned power failure will bring the muggers out for sure!"

-----------------------

"We are the children of the night, Gentle are we - yet feel our might.

Singing, dancing, chanting low. Power building . . . let it go!

We are the spokes of the mighty wheel, This power we raise that all might feel!"

On the beach the old woman sang while every cat's head turned toward the darkened resort town. Even the smallest kittens studied the length of the boardwalk as if a signal had passed among them, each cat riveting attention upon a selected spot and holding his stare. The hordes of boardwalk cats acted in unison, a compelling collaboration of feline minds together sensing strength in their numbers.

The woman raised her arms like the conductor of a symphony orchestra gathered in the sky. She waved at the black clouds, fingers caressing the wind while her robes flapped behind her like bats' wings.

Grimalkin was back. The old witch had never really been gone.

"The time has come, little ones!"

A roll of thunder . . . a wink of lightning . . . "His own kingdom! His own kingdom by the sea! And with the proper minions to serve him!"

A legion of moonstone eyes turned skyward glowing in the darkness.

A little push from each, just a little push . . .

The lightning touched down once, twice, a hundred times and more. It struck the casinos and the piers, and the high rise hotels, each falling dark as if a great switch had been thrown. From the boardwalk came screams, and all through the downpour more shrieks pierced the night. Seen from the beach the shadowy promenade resembled a grotesque puppet show. With each lightning bolt more figures fell.

In the winking luminescence the old witch led her feline progeny back to their nests. Scout, Tam, and her little ones remained close by the woman's side. This night they would spend nestled in Grimalkin's arms, no longer hungry nor afraid.

Beneath the boardwalk, a thousand demons slept soundly.

Tomorrow would bring a new day.

--------------------

Inside the pavilion a befuddled cat the color of snow awakens from a deep sleep. Stretching his legs he has only a vague sense of where he is, but he feels uncertain of much else. He looks at the boardwalk as if seeing it for the first time, although something inside tells him he knows this place.

It is coming on morning. The rain has stopped and there is even the remnant of a full moon illuminating the purple sky. For some reason this comforts him. The ivory cat is surprised at the ease of his movement as he walks out upon the boards that are still slick with rain. He has a dim memory of aching joints, but now he feels no pain at all. Curiously, he senses his every movement has a supple grace that feels almost feminine.

And something else, something that comes as only a pale realization almost not worth noting.

There is not a single human being in sight anywhere along the boardwalk.

There are, however, an awful lot of cats.

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___________________ Copyright 2003 Ken Goldman and STLYGFA.