Cat Fantasy Short-Story Contest Winner:
"Resurrection Day" by John Moore
Copyright ©1998 by John
Moore
He was a professor of chemistry at a small college in a medium-sized
town, not very high on the scale of importance (neither the professor
nor the college nor the town), yet the managed to turn every society in
the world upside down with a single discovery. He claimed that it came
to him in a dream, a none-too-complex biochemical formula involving
several amino acids and other organic compounds, all easy to obtain and
all in moderate proportions. He mixed up a flask of the stuff and
performed the experiment from his dream.
The substance came out as a sticky, transparent syrup, smelling faintly
of mint (this puzzled the professor, but could never be explained).
Quick tests showed that, as in his dream, the stuff was an excellent
conductor of electricity. Within the hour he took the next step: a
biology lab provided the corpse of a cat (intended for dissection the
following day), which he carried back to his chemicals and coated
liberally with the organic syrup. The step-down transformer used in
electrochemical experiments was set at the dreamed-of level, a voltage
not much greater than that of an automobile battery, the alligator clips
were attached to the stiff feline at ears and tail, and the power was
switched on. The cat glowed briefly as the conductant syrup absorbed
energy, the shivered and began to yowl as life returned and the
electricity became hurtful. The professor quickly cut power, and the now
frantic cat tore itself loose from the clips and escaped into the hall,
tail flared out like a bottle brush. The professor expressed no
jubilation but a smile, and turned to the telephone to contact a
national news service.
Of course they did not believe him. He finally convinced the reporter to
bring a camera and see, pointing out that if it did not work, it would
still be a humorous story of a "mad scientist". The professor offered to
sign any release forms before he demonstrated his experiment.
The reporter and a cameraman arrived the next day to find the professor
standing by with a team of veterinarians and a corpse of a large but
pitifully thin yellow tabby cat. The professor touched the rumpled fur
gently and signaled the cameraman to begin taping. "This was Max, my cat
and friend of six years. He. . . he died two nights ago from feline
leukemia, an incurable and always fatal illness. I didn't get him
innoculated like I should. . . . " The man seemed to want to say more,
but turned away and waved to the veterinarians, who solemnly examined
and officially declared the cat to be dead. The rigid body was dipped in
a pan of the chemical syrup, the clips were attached, and the button was
pressed. There was a glow and startled hiss, and the reporter stared in
shock as the cat struggled against its straps. The cameraman captured it
all, from the tearful grin of the professor to the gaping astonishment
of the veterinarians to the furious fur-smoothings of the indignant cat.
The reporter managed to do a credible story, tinged as it was with awe
and lingering disbelief, and the wire services carried it globally. The
nations of the world shouted, they applauded, they planned and they
demanded that honors be heaped upon the professor. He accepted each
acclamation with haughtiness, and always with the now fat and purring
yellow tabby in his arms.
At last, the President of the United States held a state dinner for the
professor with all the world's leaders, from old enemies to older
friends, to discuss the future use of the remarkable invention. The
professor seemed doubtful about the discussion and dubious of the
intentions of the smiling men and women around him.
"I am told that the leukemia virus is completely gone from your cat's
blood. Just think, Professor, of all the millions whose lives can be
saved or restored by your incredible process!" the President said
heartily, proud that this man was an American and basking in the envy
and sycophancy of the other leaders.
"I am surprised to hear that the world feels that way," said the
professor disdainfully, feeding the ever-present tabby tidbits from his
plate, "considering all the steps taken to keep the population low."
The President persevered. "You will receive the acclaim of the greatest
men of history, once they are returned to life. Einstein, Pasteur,
Galileo, Shakespeare. . . . "
The professor stared around at the roomful of eager faces, then began to
laugh, stroking the cat in his lap. "Oh my!" he gasped, his laughter all
but uncontrollable. "You didn't think this worked on people, did you?"
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