Sportcat woke up from his sleeping spot on the beach and shook the sand out of his fur. Or most of it at least. He was getting tired of the grit in his coat, but otherwise life on the beach was pretty good. Sportcat stretched and glanced seaward, the waves were nothing spectacular so he decided to head to the boardwalk and have a bite to eat. He left his surfboard where it was, at this point his reputation was well known. Several local toms had notched ears as a result of "borrowing" Sportcat's board when he wasn't around, it wouldn't likely happen again.

When he got to the boardwalk it was uncommonly quiet. Though off in the distance he could hear two toms squaring off, unusual for this time of day. The few cats that were out were walking softly and silently, none would look Sportcat in the eye. Something clearly was up, but what could it be? The law had caught up with him several weeks ago and he hadn't done anything since to warrant their renewed attention, at least not that he could recall. He wandered over to the nearest newsstand, his hunger would wait a few minutes longer.

When Sportcat saw the morning papers he was shocked. The Over Cat was dying. He had been unable to rise from his imperial pillow this morning and showed not the slightest interest in the tastiest morsels or the prettiest queen. It was only a matter of time. Sportcat was dismayed, like most cats he didn't pay much attention to feline politics, but this was different. When the Over Cat died almost every tom in the land (and numerous queens with political ambitions) would compete for the title. And until that issue was settled, no tom was safe. Now he knew why everyone was laying low.

And Sportcat had a more personal interest than most in the Over Cat. Just possibly they were family. Sportcat hadn't thought of his family in years. His mom had died when Sportcat was young and he had little to do with his three terrible sisters, the calicos. He shuddered just to think of it, one calico sister would have been bad enough but three was more than any cat should have to bear. Sportcat did see his brother Littlestripe once and awhile, but Littlestripe was obsessed with his wild (and unpopular) theories about a prehistoric civilization of hairless apes. Sportcat took the accepted view that these apes had been the servants of a prior feline civilization, and he usually found little in common with his brother.

Sportcat had only one clear memory of his mother, Pennycat. She had told him on her deathpillow that Sportcat had been sired by Over Cat. Pennycat had been attacked by one of the last remaining packs of wild dogs, and it was Sportcat's one regret that he would never have the chance to get vengeance upon them. The last wild dogs had been captured while he was still a kitten. Now the few dogs left were in zoos and circuses. Sportcat sighed, he owed it to his mom's memory to go see the Over Cat and obviously he had put it off much too long.

There was nothing to do but head north. Clearly his surfboard wouldn't do, it was hundreds of miles to the Over Cat's home on the west coast. For the first time in weeks he missed his custom jag. Hmm, Sportcat wondered, the police might already be busy trying to keep fighting toms from going too far. He wandered off towards the police station keeping a watchful eye out for ambush. Fortunately no one was as yet cocky enough to challenge him, but Sportcat knew that would be inevitable. His great size and resemblance to the Over Cat had always been apparent, any cat would gain great stature by winning a fight with him.

When he got to the police station it was almost deserted. His car was in the lot and only a half grown Manx seemed to be in evidence. Never the one for the subtle approach when something more obvious was available, Sportcat hissed and charged, leaping the chain link fence in a single bound and bearing down on the startled Manx. Too his credit the Manx hissed and held his ground, but Sportcat was twice his size and in no mood for posturing. He bowled the Manx over and leapt into his car, the top fortunately being down. With a roar and a grinding of gears the jag leaped forward and Sport Cat sped out of the lot. Just like old times he thought as the wind whipped through his long black fur, his shades were still in the glove box even.

Sportcat briefly thought of retrieving his surfboard, but decided not to bother. In a few days someone would venture to take it, but with any luck Sportcat could reclaim it if he was ever back this way. He headed north over the pass and drove like a demon through the great western valley. Several times toms in fast cars tried to challenge Sportcat, and once he even accepted, relieving the defeated tom of his gasoline after chasing him off into the desert. He was however driven by hunger to eat lizard at rest stops, he had forgotten just how bad they tasted.

By nightfall he was approaching the royal palace. It was situated next to a great river in the center of the valley. As Sportcat got closer he couldn't but notice there were toms in the vicinity that honestly approached his own size and stature. Not really having any aspirations to the imperial pillow, he avoided challenges. Soon however he could see that the road was barricaded and he would have to approach by paw. He didn't at all like the idea of abandoning the jag, but maybe it was unavoidable. As Sportcat sat by the road and pondered his options, he was suddenly surrounded by three of the largest toms he had ever seen. "We've been waiting for you to show your face Sportcat." one of them hissed. This was, as Littlestripe used to say, not a good thing.

Just as it looked to get ugly, a dozen of the Over Cat's soldiers came trotting briskly down the road. The three toms quickly slunk away, the Over Cat wasn't dead yet. The soldiers escorted Sportcat and his jag smartly to the palace, to his increasing mystification. Once in the palace he was immediately ushered to the pillow room atop the highest tower in the land. He saw several sad calico kittens in the hallways, all of whom looked at Sportcat with a mixture of awe and fear. Sportcat began to harbor a horrible suspicion.

When he got the pillow room Sportcat's fears were justified. There was the Over Cat, barely alive on his great pillow. He had once been a great black tom, in his prime even possibly larger than Sportcat. Now the Over Cat was shrunken and old, so old his muzzle and ears had turned white, but his eyes were still clear, yellow, and very much alert. And around him, looking ineffably smug, were arrayed Sport Cat's three calico sisters. Sportcat's heart sank, anything involving his sisters was sure to be bad news. However, they greeted him warmly and left the room quickly at a gesture from the Over Cat. One of them even rubbed against him in passing. This must be really bad thought Sportcat.

"So." said the Over Cat "I have been talking with your sisters." More than just talk thought Sportcat, considering the number of calico kittens in the halls, but he wisely kept his thought to himself. "They tell me you are a fine cat and that Pennycat would have been proud of you." This was getting worse, what could Sportcat's sisters be up to? "And they tell me you would make a fine Over Cat," continued the old cat. "And that as my son you would be sure to win the title." There was a proud gleam in the old cat's eyes.

Sportcat's head spun. He had always suspected he might be the Over Cat's son, but aspirations to the pillow? His sister's were mad to think that Sport Cat coveted the imperial pillow. Well, they were calicos, madness was in their blood. Sportcat thought furiously, was there any way of declining the honor? Sportcat didn't want the pillow in the first place, and fighting every tom in the land was definitely something he would rather avoid. Sportcat liked to pick his own fights.

"However" continued the old cat, "As much as it would give me peace knowing that my true son was aspiring to the throne, I must think of your sisters. They have given an old cat much pleasure in his final days and I want them to be happy after I am gone." He coughed and lay still for a moment, but he opened his eyes and went on. "They love you very dearly and would be devastated if you were to be hurt or killed." Sportcat nearly lost it there, his sisters had never shown the slightest concern for his welfare. "So I have decided that my last order will be one that will preserve your safety while still being enough to satisfy your heroic heart." Sportcat braced himself, this was it.

"I want you to go on a quest for me." This was looking better. "Though I know you would rather stay by my side and fight for my pillow when I pass, I must ask you to do this for me and especially your sisters." Sportcat did his best to look brave and accepting without letting the relief show on his face, and being a cat of course he pulled it off rather nicely. "This way you will be on an imperial mission and no one will dare challenge you. Your car is being prepared as we speak." Sportcat was of course incredibly curious to know the nature of the mission, but questioning the Over Cat would be rude. "You will find out the details in the morning, suffice it to say you are going to far north on a mission that could affect the fate of the entire feline race." Great thought Sportcat, out of the frying pan and into the fire, the story of my life. Or into the snow as the case may be, Sportcat hated cold.

"But enough of business for now." whispered the old one. He seemed to be weakened by his speech, but his eyes were still alert. "I want you to lay here with me and tell me about yourself." So Sportcat curled up on the great pillow (by law the largest and finest in the land) and settled in next to the Over Cat. They talked and purred long into the night, Sportcat telling the tales of his life and adventures, only editing out the parts where he had completely circumvented both the letter and the spirit of the law. For his part the old cat talked of Pennycat and the fun they had had together. Both cats were purring contentedly as they drifted off to sleep, I should have done this years ago was Sport Cat's last thought.

In the morning the Over Cat looked even weaker but very content. His cares and worries seemed to have dropped completely away, he looked as happy as a cat can look. He only had the strength to give Sportcat a weak head rub. "May the Cat Gods go with you my son" he whispered, then he closed his eyes and rested again.

Soldiers led Sportcat down to the courtyard where his car awaited. It had been equipped with mud tires, a roll bar, and other accouterments for driving in the wild north. There was a sealed packet with the details of his quest, and the signet that identified him as an imperial messenger with all the rights and privileges thereof. He would look at that later, now he just wanted to be on his way before his sisters thought up even more mischief. All in all this had turned out much better than he had feared.

As Sportcat drove out the gate there was suddenly the wailing of dozens of cats from the tower. The Over Cat was dead. A cold wind blowing in from the north brought tears to his eyes as he sped away. Soon the tower and his sisters were far behind him.