David Proust was experiencing a very wretched day.

It began when the alley cat outside his apartment insisted rubbing against his legs the second he exited his front door. It yowled up at him, its fetid breath rising the five foot height difference to assault his nostrils. He ignored the beast as usual, grumbling at the mess of short orange and white hairs now embedded in his charcoal trousers. His encounter with the stray was soon followed by missing the express, a chew out by his boss for arriving late, and the realization he'd left his tuna fish sandwich on the kitchen counter.

He had no lunch and no prospects of food until his evening dinner with Laura, from accounting. His day began to take a turn for the better until Laura stopped by his cubicle after lunch hour to cancel in favor of spin class. He wondered again why kept seeing this woman; despite her fantastic spin induced bottom, she was a cold fish in bed. Half an hour before his mind numbing shift drew to a close, a massive stack of priority claims landed in his inbox, declaring in no uncertain terms his Saturday would be spent here, and possibly his Sunday too. Following the inevitable down slide of the day, the sky cracked open, soaking him thoroughly before he missed the express home.

A sodden, miserable mess by the time he reached his front door, he had no patience or compassion left in his being for the wet cat who greeted him with another rub against his ankles.

With a snarl, he kicked the bedraggled creature away, annoyed by its pained shriek as he stormed into his apartment. It reeked of spoiled tuna. David craved a beer, but he'd drunk the last one the other night. He would have to settle for an early turn in.

Outside, the cat curled up in a sodden cardboard box, licking its bruised ribs before falling into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of endless fish pouring from the man's apartment.

A sigh echoed in the night.

Two golden orbs peered through the damp gloom, observing the human David Proust trudge about his living room. The Malkin had witnessed many callous acts over countless years but he was experiencing a wretched day. Therefore, he took exception to this human's heedless cruelty. There were many tedious tasks to perform this night but perhaps there was time for a small lesson.

The Malkin approached the sleeping cat, his massive paws silent on the wet pavement. The tiny creature shivered in its sleep, barely past kitten hood. He bent down his great head, bathing the youngling with a few licks, chasing away the cold until it purred under his ministrations. He stepped away, his breath a clinging fog that enveloped his charge with warmth to last the night. The light went off in the human's bedroom, shrouding his apartment in darkness.

A sneer of feline disdain curled his black lips. Yes, there was time. He shrank down, condensing his form to pass through the window. Doors and walls did not exist for the Malkin; like all divine creatures, he existed as both reality and dream, as tangible as shadow when he so chose.

David Proust had already dropped off into a fitful slumber, sprawled on his back. Even so, he did not wake as the Malkin sprang onto his bed. Nor did he wake as the great cat made its way up the length of his body, clambering on his chest. Proust did not rouse once as the Malkin settled down, kneading its claws in his shoulders, and sinking into his dreams.

Hot sunlight pierced through his eyelids. David flinched, raising an arm to shield himself when the crack of a lash crashed through his ears. He ducked, the world coming into sharp focus. Men and women surrounded him, clothed in swathes of yellowed linen, their kohl lined eyes fixed on the spectacle before them. He peered through the crowd, seeing a man's pale back slashed with seeping lines of red. A hooded figure raised a length of bloodied reed, striking the man again and again.

David started forward, trying to push through the motionless crowd. A woman at the front caught his eye, cradling the limp body of a cat. What was happening? Was he dreaming? The air pressed on him, hot and humid, fragrant with the marshy stink of nearby water, like the breath of a giant beast pouring from the sky. Something brushed against his back. He turned and stumbled back as a tail the size of a tree trunk curled over his leg.

"Enjoying the show?" The voice reminded him of deep, dark places, the pockets of wild where man was nothing more than an easy meal. With a swallow he kept turning until he face two golden eyes, each one larger than his head.

The cat was bigger than minivan, with smoky midnight fur that accentuated the burnished gold of its massive eyes. He stared until it lifted its lips in a grin. The sight sent a trickle of warm down his leg.

"Am I dreaming?" He whispered. The creature snorted, its tails, two of them, twined along its sides as it sank to its haunches.

"Now, David, it wouldn't matter if this was reality or dream. The Malkin walk in both realms and affect one as much as the other."

David whimpered when the Malkin spoke his name, clinging to the idea he could wake up anytime he wanted. Yes, any time, like right now. Wake up, David. His gaze slid back to the Malkin, still wearing a toothy smile. What the hell was a Malkin?

"What do you want?" He finally asked, wincing at the continued thrashing behind him.

The giant cat tilted its head, ears twitching. "Merely to impart a lesson, a reminder if you will."

David felt a surge of annoyance. He shouldn't have gone to sleep without dinner, it obviously gave him freaky nightmares. How do people wake themselves up, with a pinch? He dug his nails into his foreman, willing himself awake. A rat darted between his legs, brought to an abrupt halt by an enormous paw smacking it into the ground. The Malkin flipped the rat up into the air, catching it like a piece of popcorn. He pinched himself harder to no avail. Sweat trickled down his neck.

"Ah, where was I? Yes. Do you know what I saw in passing this evening, David?" The Malkin asked, cleaning its paw in lazy long licks.

The human froze, realization warring with disbelief. "This is about that damn stray?"

The cat's pupils shrank to narrow slits, treating him to sneer that made his muscles clench. "Humans," it snarled. "so quick to forget. We were once revered as gods and their heavenly servants ! We were vessels of the Divine, protectors of the hearth and home, portents of fertility and good fortune." The Malkin bore down on him, until those golden eyes were all he could see, flashing with sights from an age long gone.

"Do you know what the penalty was for taking a cat's life?" It's velvety voice slid along his skin, banishing the warmth of the sun. "A cat was worth far more than a man."

The air rushed past his ears, disorienting him. He caught himself on the ground as his knees buckled, a second before his back exploded in agony. David gasped, looking up at the watching crowd, their faces masks of silent aggression. The woman in front now held the limp body of the stray, her eyes burning with satisfaction as the lash came down across his back.

"They were beaten to death." The Malkin hissed.

"No, no please," David choked, trying to brace himself for the next blow when the ground disappeared below him. He plummeted, end over end, landing in of pile of sharp jutting edges that scraped his arms and legs. He blinked, staring into the empty eye sockets of a broken skull. He landed on a mountain of bones. Scuttling back, he slammed into the Malkin's legs.

"How easily you turn on us, convince yourselves we spread death and sickness like some common animal. We are the reapers of vermin. Kill us and you will slowly be overrun."

The bones shifted and rustled, giving way to a wave of dark furry bodies, swarming over each other as they closed in on him. The Malkin's warmth vanished from his back as the first wave of rats hit, claws cutting, and teeth nipping at his flesh.

"Stop, stop!" David yelled, trying to fend them off, but there were too many, swarming over him, biting him over and over until he screamed.

The rats and bones vanished, leaving him in darkness. He couldn't see his shaking hands in front of his face. He felt raw, exposed, bloodied all over.

"Am I dead?"

"Perhaps." The Malkin's golden eyes lit the darkness. "It is the duty of my kind to guide the souls of the dead to their destination in the underworld. Where do you think your path would lead David?"

"For crying out loud, I kicked one cat!" David shouted at it, beyond fed up with this nightmare.

"Oh? Think back on all the casual little cruelties you've performed human. Do your acts of kindness and generosity outweigh them?"

The Malkin's words gave him pause. He couldn't recall any acts of kindness, none at all. The sweat returned, pouring down his back. This was a dream, just a dream.

"What once was could be again," the cat said, padding toward him. It's eyes glowed, illuminating the room, his room. David stood beside his own bed. The Malkin perched on the end. "Civilizations rise and fall, this one will too. We shall remain, and we remember worship. Sometimes we almost touch it again in the twining of fingers through our fur.

It rose, slapping him back onto the bed with one large paw. "We will certainly remember you and all your cruel, careless moments." The Malkin pounced, shoving him onto his back as it sat heavily on his chest, nose to nose. Its claws dug into his shoulders. "I will remember you. Try, do try hard, to remember me."

David woke with a gasp. He blinked at his dark bedroom, reading the blurred red numbers on the clock on his nightstand. Three in the morning, still nighttime, and still raining outside. What a nightmare! He lifted an arm to wipe the sweat off his brow, feeling a sharp ache in his shoulder. Frowning, he staggered to the bathroom, flipping on the light. He stared in the mirror.

Two identical sets of claws marks decorated his shoulders, deep but scabbed over, as if they'd been there a while. His pants also stank of urine.

David walked through his unlit apartment, unlocked his front door, and stepped out into the rain. He didn't stop until he stood beside the crumbling cardboard box, lifting the soaked cat into his arms. He stroked between its ears as he carried it inside.

The Malkin watched from the shadows. Satisfied, it went on with its nightly business.

The cat became a fixture in his home. David fed it, and groomed it, and spent many hours petting it. Often he would whisper an apology against its soft fur, unaware the little cat forgave him long ago. One in a while, the cat would stare up at him with golden eyes instead of their usual green. He would shudder, reminded of the Malkin's words, and continued to pet it.