Today is International Cat Day, and since I’m a fantasy writer, that immediately made me think of familiars. Not owls or ravens. Certainly not dogs.
Cats.
Now, I should confess a bias. I’m not really a dog person. Dogs always seem a little… needy. Delightful, certainly, but permanently obsessed about pleasing you.
Cats, on the other hand, make you earn their attention. That makes it all the more rewarding when they decide you’re worthy of it.
Over the years we’ve shared our home with three cats: Merry, Pippin and Strider. Yes, those names were entirely deliberate. For a short while our son also owned a ball python called Sam, so there was a brief period when the Fellowship consisted of three cats and a snake.
We’ve since said goodbye to Merry and Pippin, but Strider is still with us at the grand old age of nineteen.
He’s a Norwegian Forest Cat, and if you know the breed, you’ll know they have a reputation for being wonderfully affectionate… and just a little eccentric.
“Just a little” may be understating the case.
Strider doesn’t simply meow. He comments. He narrates. He conducts lengthy conversations consisting of yowls, chirps, trills and sounds that appear to contain punctuation. Usually while walking away, expecting us to follow because obviously he has something of great importance to show us.
Sometimes it’s the empty food bowl. Sometimes it’s a sunbeam. Sometimes I never actually discover what the emergency was.
Fantasy writers have always loved cats, and I don’t think that’s an accident. If you wanted to invent an animal that seemed magical, you’d probably come up with something remarkably cat-like.
A creature that moves almost silently. Appears out of nowhere. Vanishes just as quickly. Looks directly into empty corners of the room with complete concentration. Stares at things you cannot see.
And then, at two in the morning, sings the song of its people for reasons known only to itself.
Cats don’t feel entirely domesticated.
They feel as though they entered into a treaty with humanity several thousand years ago and have been humouring us ever since. Which probably explains why they make such convincing familiars.
The best fantasy familiars aren’t servants. They’re partners. Independent creatures who choose to accompany a wizard because, for whatever inscrutable reason, they find that particular human acceptable.
A dog obeys. A cat evaluates.
And then there are the twitchies. Every cat owner knows them. One ear twitches. Then the other. The head turns slowly. The eyes lock onto a point somewhere over your shoulder.
Nothing is there. Nothing you can see, anyway.
Fantasy writers looked at that behaviour centuries ago and made what I think was the only reasonable assumption.
Cats can see things we can’t. Ghosts. Spirits. Magic. The rest of us insist they’re probably hearing a mouse in the wall. Personally, I think the fantasy explanation is much more satisfying.
Talking cats are another favourite of mine because the best ones never stop being cats. Give them perfect English and they don’t suddenly become tiny philosophers. They’d still say things like:
“You’re in my chair.”
“Follow me.”
“No, the other window.”
“You have stopped scratching me.”
“This food bowl is approximately three molecules below full.”
“I have brought you a leaf. You’re welcome.”
And every so often…
“The invisible thing under the sofa has returned.”
As I write this, Strider is curled up beside me.
These days he prefers that we lift him onto the bed, and we’ve put a little step stool beside his favourite window seat so he can climb up without having to jump. Age catches up with us all—even elderly emperors.
He’s still gloriously black and shaggy, with the silver-white patch on his chest that reminded us of Aragorn’s pendant from The Lord of the Rings and earned him his name all those years ago. When he was a kitten he even had striking blue eyes, although they’ve mellowed with age.
He’s also still absolutely convinced that keeping his humans informed of every important household development is his solemn duty.
Perhaps that’s why fantasy and cats fit together so naturally. Fantasy asks us to imagine that there are hidden wonders just beyond the edge of ordinary life. Cats have been quietly encouraging that belief for thousands of years.
And if, every now and then, Strider suddenly stops, twitches an ear, stares into an empty corner of the room and seems to be listening to someone I can’t hear…
Well. I’ve learned not to ask too many questions. After all, every wizard deserves a familiar. Even if the familiar is secretly the one in charge.
.
.
Available now if you buy directly from me: After the Quieting. (You can pre-order on all other retail sites.)
Newly Released: Veilbound — Firebird Omnibus — Sylvalight