Loren Paulsson

Editor's note: Friendly completed a revision of his previous nine-part autobiography. This manuscript came to us only recently, and we publish it here. He attached this note to readers.   Dear Reader, In this year of my sixteenth birthday, by human reckoning, and in recognition of the long association of our species, dating back to ancient Egypt, I submit this memoir in hopes it will further understanding of the feline way of life, despite the misconceptions portrayed in comic strips, YouTube videos, and Facebook memes. I fear in some ways I've followed the human pattern in tell-all memoirs, directing my acerbic wit at everyone else and confessing things I'm actually proud of, such as possessing an acerbic wit. But I hope this one-part edition will provide a mirror in which humans can reflect on their society...and that this reflection will lead both our species to greater peace and harmony. Sincerely, Friendly My earlies t memories are of my mother, my four litter mate...

Kuren pushed water from his eyes. He tasted sweat. Rain through the trees drowned all sound but his sneakers on the trail.  He steadied his pace: 1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-4-5. The odd number made him run more evenly.  He thought of Zanelle, her ivory skin, her rich red hair, her smile. She sat in the third row most days. Professor Zimblebache hadn't presented “The Annals” as anything other than ancient mythology, studied for its literary value. The symbiosis between the human genome and the V-virus reached back as far into the evolutionary past as anyone could see. It accounted for humans' high protein requirements and the intolerance for ultraviolet light. But “The Annals” imagined time before the virus, when humans walked in daylight, ate plants, and talked to higher beings. His shirt tugged at his shoulders. He smelled the warm clay. He glanced around and listened.  The virus gave modern humans their remarkable ability to regenerate compared to other species, and neurosc...

Faith looked over her shoulder and saw a figure running up the trail. As she continued her climb, the figure caught up with her. Greetings," he said, after coming within earshot. Faith returned the greeting, and the two continued on together. At length, Presumption, for that was his name, said, "Can we not go faster? It feels like we'll never get there at this rate." Faith smiled, explained how long journeys require consistent effort, and warned how easily a person can overrun his or her bearings and become lost. Presumption wasn't satisfied, but he didn't want to leave Faith's company, and he walked quietly for a while. As night fell, they came to the edge of a cliff. Faith's map indicated the trail to the right led to a bridge that would take them on their way. As they walked along the cliff, they came to a tree that appeared to have fallen across the chasm. Presumption immediately assumed this was the bridge, but Faith pointed out ...