When something unexpected happens, people react in all sorts of ways. For example, if a person in a gorilla suit were to jump out at you in the middle of the supermarket, you might laugh. You might shriek with shock. You might cry, if gorillas scare you. Or you might look at the gorilla suit and think “There’s a person in that suit who must be absolutely insane if they think they’re being funny,” and give the gorilla-person your best expression of disgust, and walk away.
It depends on how old you are, too. Adults most often react with fright and revulsion when they come across something they don’t understand, but younger people are far more likely to smile and be curious. That’s one unfortunate symptom of becoming an adult that every young person should try their very hardest to avoid, because curiosity and friendliness are much better qualities to have than fear of the unknown.
Being only nine years old, Rebecca was not afraid of the cat that had just spoken to her at all. She was simply a little taken aback at first.
“You can talk?” she gasped.
The cat looked up at her, its big green eyes apologetic. “Yes. Sorry if I startled you.”
Rebecca blinked a few times, then shook her head, as much to disagree with the cat’s statement as to clear the surprise out of her mind. “No, don’t apologise. I – I just didn’t know that cats could talk before.”
“Most cats can’t,” said the cat. “I’m a special case, I suppose.”
“How did you learn to talk, then?”
“Hard to say. I don’t really remember how I learned. Do you remember how you learned?”
Rebecca thought for a moment, then shook her head again.
“I think language is something you learn a lot of when you’re too young to know you’re actually learning,” said the cat. “That’s why you don’t remember it.”
Rebecca was astounded. Not only could the cat talk, but it was clever too.
“So, can you read too?”
The cat nodded. “I can.”
“And write?”
“Well, I can’t hold a pen or a pencil.” It held up a paw. “No thumbs, you see. But I can type, if the keys are big enough.”
“Wow,” Rebecca breathed. “That’s brilliant.”
“Thank you,” said the cat, lowering its head again sadly. “But I don’t truly know if I’m brilliant or not. I don’t know of any other cats like me that I can compare myself to.”
“You’re the only one of your kind…” Rebecca instantly felt sorry for him. She was sure the cat was a “he” now. For such a small animal, he had a surprisingly manly voice.
The cat shook his head. “No, I can’t be,” he said, sounding as though he were trying to convince himself of this fact as much as he was Rebecca. “They wouldn’t have had that whole laboratory just for one cat. There must have been others. I just never saw them.”
“You’re from a laboratory?”
“Yes, and it’s not as far from here as I wish it was. Where are we, by the way?”
“Um… well, this is 53 Lewis Street. It’s on the second level of the West Sister Citadel.”
“Hmm, yes,” the cat nodded. “I had a feeling that I hadn’t made it outside. Still, the ecosystem is remarkable.”
“Ecosystem?”
“Oh!” The cat drew itself up. “I do apologise. I don’t mean to confuse you.”
