"Wait, slow down. What was that?" Pipsqueak ran to catch up, just barely raising her paws enough to avoid one of the gnarled roots of the not-trees they were walking through. "How come it had a body? I thought everything here just looked like those weird orbs. You said prey didn't come here, and that dead spirits just look like those blobs. What's going on?"

Oliver's tail flicked in annoyance as he slowed down. "Humans and other creatures that come here from the land of the living do look like that. Formless blobs of light."

"But we came from there. How come we don't look like those weird orbs?" Pipsqueak paused to look at one of the gray orbs as it floated aimlessly by, then reached out with a paw to bat at it. The orb wobbled, then went back to floating along.

"Because we're alive, and because we're actually supposed to come here. A dead creature whose spirit comes here will look like those orbs. This place doesn't have a body for them. In other parts of the land of the dead they do have bodies, because that's where they are actually supposed to be, but here they don't, because this was never meant to be a place they would come to." He looked back at Pipsqueak, flattened his ears in annoyance, and stopped to wait for her. "We have a reason to come here, even if we aren't supposed to stay here, so we have a body when we visit."

Pipsqueak stared after the faded orb. "So then that rat... it had a body because it belongs here? Rats are supposed to come here when they die, and that's why it has a body?"

"No. I told you, prey does not come here. That creature was not from the land of the living. And it was not a rat. It was a Native – it has a body here, because this is where it came from. It started here."

Pipsqueak turned to stare back at Oliver. "So that rat... wasn't a rat?"

Oliver sighed and sat down on the ground. "No. Your mother should really have taught you this."

The black cat's fur bristled. "Well, she didn't. So what are you talking about? It looked like a rat."

"Do rats normally dissolve into goo and continue to laugh at you after you kill one?" Oliver narrowed his eyes, then flicked his tail. "It was not a rat. It was a Native. It is just that the Natives in this part of the land of the dead tend to look like rats."

Pipsqueak stared blankly back at Oliver. "...what's a Native?"

Oliver closed his eyes. "It's a creature that actually belongs in whatever part of the land of the dead you are in. In some cases they are nice creatures, like in the place humans and other once-living creatures are supposed to be in. The Natives there may look like cats, or like dogs, or like cows, or any number of things. Sometimes they look like a mix of several different animals, or even like no animal at all."

Some of the annoyance faded from the orange cat as he forced himself to be patient, and he opened his eyes again. "In other places, like this one, they are not nice creatures. They may appear as ugly things, like rats or scorpions, or they may appear as something less obvious, oftentimes even appearing as something incredibly beautiful. Some even appear as cats, even though they are not nice at all. But they are not cats, or rats, or scorpions. They are creatures from these lands." Oliver paused and met Pipsqueak's eyes. "The mean Natives have a deep hatred for every creature that comes from the land of the living. They take great pleasure in hurting us. If you have the option, it is best to avoid them."

"Oh." Pipsqueak's whiskers twitched as she thought. "So that's why that one said those mean things to Roger. It hates him."

"Yes. The Natives living here in particular hate happiness. They want spirits to be miserable. They will attack and devour any happy memories that a spirit may have to try and make it even more miserable." The orange cat looked out at the forest. "They want this place to be this miserable empty forest, because nothing can ever really be happy here. And if a Native escapes this place and makes it to the land of the living, they will try to send more living creatures to this place."

"They can do that?" A look of mild alarm came over Pipsqueak's expression... then it turned to uncertainty. "And that would be... bad, right?"

"Yes, that would be bad." Oliver flicked his tail again. "And yes, they can. That is why the wall is around this place, and why a guard watches over it – a Native who has the form of a giant cat known as a 'panther'. And it is the whole reason we cats can travel back and forth between the land of the living and the land of the dead. It is our job to protect the land of the living from Natives like these – the malicious ones that are trying to do harm – by killing them and bringing them back here where they belong."

"Oh." Pipsqueak stared out at a fading tree. "Then... any of the mean 'Natives' we find in the living world, we should hunt, and then bring back here?"

"Yes." Oliver blinked slowly back at the black kitten. "That is what I just said."

Pipsqueak turned to glare back at Oliver. "Jerk. I'm just not sure I want to come back here."

"You'll want the Natives from this place to be running free in the land of the living even less. Normally you would not have to actually come here. If you were a proper cat, and knew what you were doing, you could stop at the in-between land. Then you could hand the Native off to the panther that guards the entrance and be done with it." Oliver stared at the black kitten a little longer, then shook his head. "But normally it is a challenge to catch a Native in the first place, and you did not know what you were doing. So I suppose it is not entirely your fault that you did not know how to stop in the in-between land, and were instead dragged all the way here by the Native you had caught."

Pipsqueak's ears flattened as her glare grew darker. "How do you know all this?"

"Because I actually listened when my mother told me these things. Unlike some kittens."

The fur on the black cat started to bristle. "And how did she know it?"

Oliver closed his eyes and turned away. "By listening to her mother. And eventually, by listening to the Natives and spirits in the nice parts of the land of the dead. They will happily explain all this to you if you would like to bore them with questions the next time you visit. But right now I have to find a lost spirit in this miserable place, and I don't want to stay here any more than you do. So can we go?"

"Fine." A low grumble came from Pipsqueak's throat as she got back to her paws. "This is a stupid place to rest at anyways."

~

The forest shifted around the cats as they walked. The drab gray trees faded slowly into an open park. A path of packed dirt meandered around the area, while green grass covered the ground elsewhere. In various places the grass gave way to something else – a colorful merry-go-round in one part of the park, a paved basketball court in another, a small building with water fountains along the outside – and a warm breeze ruffled the fur of the cats as they paused to look around.

"Is this another one of Roger's memories?" Pipsqueak paused to look around, then flattened her ears. "There are lots of those floating blobs here."

"Yes. It seems like there is a lot of happiness in this memory, so it has attracted other spirits. But stay alert. The Natives will have also been drawn here." Oliver paused to focus on the tugging sensation at his back, then started walking toward the dirt path. "There. That one is Roger."

Pipsqueak flicked her tail and followed after. "I don't see any rats."

"They are here somewhere. They hate happiness; they will not tolerate a memory such as this one. They will be here soon to destroy it, if they are not already here eating away at it. So we need to hurry." Oliver hopped onto the tennis court and followed the net until he reached the dirt path again. Roger was floating there, and the orange cat sat up to look at the drifting gray orb. "Roger, it's us again. You need to come with us; your lady is waiting for you."

The dull gray orb seemed to flicker, and it drifted down towards the dirt path. "I can't take care of her. She's better off without me."

"But she does not want to be without you. This is not the place for you; you need to go back there and be with her." Oliver turned his head and began licking at the memories on his back. He already knew he wouldn't be able to talk Roger into leaving, so it was a matter of which memory to share next. This seemed to be a place of playing and having fun, so that memory seemed appropriate.

"...we always had fun here. In this park. And this part of it especially." A light green shade began to come over the spirit as it drifted closer to the tennis court.

"You need to go back to her, so you can have more fun. The two of you will never have fun like that again if you stay here." Oliver bit down on the memory to pull it free of his fur, then dropped it on the ground before him.

The ember lit up the park for a half-second... then it solidified and took the form of a well-worn tennis ball. The ball rolled as it settled on the ground, drifting to bump up against the pavement of the tennis court.

Oliver reached for it, but just like the other memory, it was too heavy to move. He flicked his tail in annoyance and looked back at the spirit. "Come touch this. See what you are missing out on by staying here."

The drab orb began to drift towards the tennis ball...

...only to shiver and pull away as Pipsqueak let out a fierce yowl.

Oliver was still turning to see what the other cat was yelling about when a rat shot past him. It struck the tennis ball and began ripping into it in a flurry of teeth and claws. Fabric flew in all directions as the rat shredded the memory.

A vicious growling filled the air around them as more rats appeared. Red eyes filled with hate glared back at the cats as more than a dozen rats crept out of the shadows scattered around the park.

Oliver hissed back at the rats, flattening his ears and fluffing his fur out as much as he could, but he took a step back. "There are too many here. Get ready to run."

"They are food. It might be tough, but we can kill them-" Pipsqueak broke off as Oliver hissed at her.

"They are Natives. They only look like rats. Fighting a single one while it is distracted is one thing, but this is different. This is their world, not ours. We cannot fight this many." Oliver took another step back, moving onto the pavement of the tennis court.

The rat ripped out another chunk of fabric, and the tennis ball collapsed. It seemed to shimmer for a second, then it dissolved into a flicker of smoke that dispersed on the wind. The rat hissed and pointed back at the spirit. "What do you think you are doing out here, playing? Wasting your time on games meant for children? No wonder you couldn't find a job. No wonder you're losing your house. You wasted so much time here, goofing off. You do that, then think you have any right to call yourself an adult? You are just as much a failure at being one of those as you are at everything else."

The green shade in the spirit seemed to drain, fading to a dull blue. The gathered rats looked away from the cats to stare eagerly at the spirit, and something like triumph shone in their eyes.

"Go!" Oliver hissed the word, and he and the kitten turned and ran.

Hate-filled red eyes turned to glare after them, but none of the rats followed. Most of them laughed and gathered closer around the drooping spirit, while the rat that had destroyed the tennis ball jumped onto the pavement and yelled at the fleeing cats. "Give it up, interlopers! You're only wasting your time! This spirit doesn't deserve to go back. Run back where you came from and leave us alone – he's made his choice, and this is where he's going to stay!"

The park shimmered... then it dissolved, and the world returned to the dreary forest. The mocking laughter of the rats grew louder and followed after the cats as they fled.