“To those of us who have always suspected that our cats understand our words more than they let on, The Catalysts is a story told with humor and heart. It also taps into the universal what-if: what would our cats say if they could talk back? The result is a fun and charming tale for readers of all ages.” —Michael Ayoob, author of In Search of Mercy
From the Publisher: “Red is a shelter cat adopted by the Gioppolo family. Fatty is a nameless stray who wanders into Red’s backyard and begins a tentative friendship with him. She’s had a horrible encounter with a human before, so she’s wary of joining the family. After seeing that Red appears to have a pretty sweet life, however, she relents and becomes a housecat. Everything is going perfectly well and normal for the Gioppolos until the cats slip up and reveal their startling secret — first to Luca, upending his school life, then to Vic, who becomes aware of the cats’ gift at the worst possible moment.
Fatty’s previous human interaction occurred with an elderly man named Franklin Betters. Franklin is a good man whose life has taken a dark turn since the unexpected passing of his wife years earlier. The incident with Fatty will not be the last time these two cross paths.
Addressing themes of acceptance and redemption, The Catalysts is for animal lovers of all ages and for parents to read with their children.”
More info About the Author: Joseph Guzzo’s debut novel, Mousetrap, Inc., was published in 2021. His short work is included in the 42 Stories Anthology, and his new novel, The Catalysts, is out now. He is currently working on a sequel. He resides in the Pittsburgh area with his wife. They have one adult son and have shared a home with numerous stray and shelter cats over the years.
Author Site
Orville was lonely. He was never alone—there was endless fighting and hissing to annoy and sometimes entertain him—but, as usual, he was lonely. If even one of his remaining mates had the gift, the shelter would have been almost bearable.
He spent his days bestowing names on the others: Sunset, who was orange like him, but ornery and prone to low growling; Coal and Midnight, sweet-tempered black cats whom Orville assumed were brothers; Jerkface McBully, a tuxedo cat who had a habit of eating everyone else’s food.
There were currently 83 cats in the shelter. Orville had names for all of them. And while he was always happy when one of his pals was chosen and whisked away, his little heart broke every time he was overlooked.
“Why not me?” he would think. “I’m a handsome bloke. I’m friendly. And if only they knew…” He was right. He was handsome and friendly. His orange-and-white coat was shiny. His striped tail was long and complemented his lean, athletic body. Yet, every time, he was disregarded. It had been months now. Would he ever get out of this place?
He became tired of the drill. The humans would look around. They often had a mini-human with them. The cats instinctively knew it was showtime. Even Sunset would hide his nastiness and pretend he was house-worthy. Orville would play it cool and try to be his handsomest. Yet they’d pick Smarmy, the smug calico. Yeah, she was cute, Orville would admit. Or Mr. Whiskers, a dude with exceptionally long whiskers. Sure, he was unique. Orville understood.
And whenever a family picked Sunset, Orville wanted to yell, “Ha! Bad move! See you back here in a week!”
And every time he was proved right. Sunset was a good-looking cat, but he made four return trips to the shelter. Let’s just say he wasn’t an ideal pet. And each time he returned, he grew a little bit meaner.
“He’s a lifer,” Orville would say to himself while often giving Sunset wide berth.
At least the volunteers were nice to him. They were nice to everyone. Orville often dreamt that one of them would break him out of here. But he knew from their conversations that they all had cats of their own. There was no room for Orville.
The volunteers left at 5:00 and wouldn’t return till 8:00 the following morning. The nights and early mornings were so long. Orville tried sleeping the time away, but it was always difficult with the constant hissing and running that would fill the dark hours.
There were even a handful of cats who had managed to burrow under the drop ceiling and take up residence there. They would look down on the others, apparently hoping to spot a gazelle or unattached zebra.
Orville had to admit he found this entertaining. Every night they would shoot across the shelving units, where food and supplies were kept, reach the top of one of them, and disappear into the ceiling, only to emerge a few seconds later, spying down on everyone else as if they were getting away with a jewel heist. About an hour later, they’d casually jump down, acting as though they had acquired secret knowledge.
Eventually, he’d hunker down with Coal and Midnight, dreaming of his forever home and the joy it would surely bring him.
+ + +
She was on alert. It felt good to get out of the cold, but she knew that the two-legged was home. And she didn’t want a repeat performance of what happened the last time he found her hiding in his basement.
As fearful as she was of another encounter, she just couldn’t bear being outside on such a cold night. And since the two-legged hadn’t fixed the hole in his window well—or, more likely, wasn’t even aware of its existence—she figured it was worth the risk.
It was easy to hide amidst the debris of the two-legged’s mess of a cellar. As long as he slept and didn’t venture down here, she could get some much-needed rest before escaping back out at sunrise.
Her life was hard, and it took all her energy just to stay alive. If she wasn’t hunting or scrounging through the occasional garbage can in search of tasty morsels, she was trying to find a safe place to sleep. And she was always vigilant—for territorial cats or other animals or the ill-tempered two-leggeds, some of whom seemed to hold such disdain for her type.
Occasionally, she would come across a house and see one of her own sitting in a window. The first time she encountered such a sight, she almost fainted. The cat in the window looked so calm and well-fed. And warm! Maybe not all the two-leggeds were so awful. But she knew some of them were. She had to keep up her guard.
Yet she wondered. How do I end up like one of those window cats? Do I walk up to a house and start scratching on the door? What if that angers the two-legged? Do I jump up on a windowsill and get the attention of the cat? Maybe housecats don’t want to share the good life. Do I make a ruckus outside in the wee hours of the morning? No, that’s probably not a good idea.
Her days were monotonous yet spiked with fear. She was always hungry and often cold. Any attempt to strike up a friendship with a fellow cat never worked, even though she was a sweetheart. She was on her own, surviving by her wits.
Still, that night, she slept well. The two-legged barely made a noise, and the old rug she found and promptly climbed beneath provided the warmth she coveted. She dreamt of becoming one of those happy housecats in a home filled with nice two-leggeds. They would all be friends, and she would have all the food and attention she ever dreamt of. And she would have happy, fearless sleep every night.
Alas, the sun rose, and she had to face her harsh reality: Undoubtedly, the two-legged would come down to the cellar at some point, and so she stretched, doffed the rug, and hobbled out the way she had entered, with the two-legged being none the wiser.
The day was barely warmer than the night had been, but at least it was sunny. Maybe she would find a warmish spot to have a nap or come upon some discarded two-legged food or a slow rodent. It was the best she could hope for. And when the sun set, she would probably sneak back into the two-legged’s basement. As risky as that was, it was better than dealing with mean cats, raccoons, and whatever else the cold night had in store for her.
Friday had led a good existence. She came into Victor and Claudia’s life through a coworker of Vic’s, who discovered the frail stray one morning in her backyard and asked if someone was interested in taking home a cat.
Vic and Claudia had recently moved into their home and had been considering acquiring a pet. The story of the scared kitty struck a nerve in Vic, and the little tuxedo cat had found herself a home.
For 16 years, she had been their faithful pal, always happy to see them when they came home from work and always happy to snuggle on an available lap. Though she wasn’t crazy about visitors—every knock at the door prompted her to shrink herself an inch lower to the ground before scurrying upstairs to take refuge under her peoples’ bed—she adapted well when baby Luca arrived some years ago. She instinctively knew that the boy was family and that he was to be treated as such.
She endured his toddler years, when he would grab her tail and giggle. Vic or Claudia would tell Fri that Luca didn’t know any better and admonish her not to lash out. And though she didn’t understand the words they were saying, she could tell by their loving tone that the little person meant no harm and that perhaps the best course for her would be to keep her distance.
Blessedly, Luca wasn’t two forever, and she eventually grew to love the boy as much as she did the boy’s parents.
Now, though, the end of her life was near. The vet said that she was terminally ill and that nothing could be done for her. Her humans made sure she was as comfortable as she could be in her final months, and one Sunday morning, her eyes refused to see another day.
Months passed. They all missed their little friend, and every time any of them reached the bottom step heading into their home’s foyer, they would instinctively pause, expecting Fri to fly across their path, as she so often did with such exquisite timing each day of her life.
While Vic had promised Luca that come spring they would think about getting another cat, when spring arrived, Vic was half-hoping that Luca had forgotten about the promise because he wasn’t sure he was quite ready to replace Friday.
Luca was too sweet a boy to directly ask his parents about getting a new pet, but he mentioned missing Friday enough that Vic got the hint.
So, one Saturday morning, after Luca’s wet, muddy soccer game in April of 2012, the three of them stopped by an animal shelter five minutes from where Luca’s game had been. Vic had made the appointment a few days before.
“Where are we going, Dad?”
“Well, Luca, your mom and I thought it might be time to take home a new friend . . . if that’s okay with you.”
Luca’s smile answered affirmatively, and the three of them, soaked and cold, were about to cross paths with a cat who would forever change all their lives.
It was wintertime. Sundown came early, and soon the stars would put on their beautiful show. But a clear night meant a cold night, and so she made the small trek back to the nasty two-legged’s basement, where the rug she snuggled under the night before was in the same place, as if awaiting her arrival.
She quickly dashed under it and immediately fell into blissful sleep. She had spent hours on the hunt and was successful enough only to stave off complete hunger. And she barely had found time to nap—or a sunny spot in which to do so—before the sun called it a day. Her sleep was so deep, in fact, that she never heard the two-legged descending the creaky staircase, and she had no idea her tail was extending outside the rug.
She didn’t hear him when he yelled, “So, you’re back, huh?!”
She didn’t hear him when he swore loudly and picked up the nearest heavy object, which again was a rusted candleholder.
Fortunately, the rug absorbed most of the candleholder’s impact, and before the two-legged had time to reload, the brown tabby bulleted out the window and back into the cold night. In the minute she paused to assess what had happened, she heard him nailing an old piece of wood into place to cover the hole that was her escape from the cold.
The canopy of stars gave her little solace, but at least she was alive. Now, though, she would have to find a new nighttime hiding spot. Maybe it was time to take a bold step and find a way to become one of those housecats that she came across every once in a while.
How did that even happen, she wondered again. And sometimes she would catch a glimpse of a two-legged with a cat, which completely confused her. The two-leggeds were mean, right? But at least some of them were nice to her kind?
Maybe it was a trick! That had to be it. Her kind were lured into dwellings, and there they became prisoners of the two-legged! And who knows what went on then.
At least she had her freedom. But it was cold. And it was only December. It would be frigid for months. Food was scarce. Her semi-safe night spot was no longer safe.
The poor girl found a pile of leftover leaves and nestled beneath them.
The sun would soon awaken, and with it would bring the hopes of a new day and a better life.
This excerpt is published here courtesy of the author and should not be reprinted without permission.
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