Cats of the Hermitage

By Hailey Huntington

The air smells like history, old paint, and other cats.

Your stomach flips as you look around the basement, the human who carried you down already retreating back upstairs. Cats of varying breeds mill about, lounge atop antique pipes, and nap in the crumbling nooks and crannies of the hall, a patchwork of colors and sizes. You spot a fluffy, long-haired Siberian and the distinctive, short tail of a Karelian Bobtail. Chirps, purrs, and an occasional moody growl fill the air over the distant footsteps above.

Do you hide in a corner or go explore all the new smells? There’s so much to take in. Your whiskers twitch as a Neva Masquerade cat saunters toward you, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Ah, a newcomer! Welcome to the Hermitage, the second-largest art museum in the world. I’m Elizaveta Petrovna, named after the great empress herself—she first brought cats to the museum, you know.” Elizaveta flicks her bushy cream and brown tail in greeting.

“I’m Aleksandr,” you reply, not quite meeting her gaze. Your voice squeaks slightly—you’re still just a kitten, after all.

“It’s a great privilege to be a Hermitage cat, and our task is not a light one. Let me show you around.” Elizaveta strolls down the basement past the flaking walls, calling out greetings to the numerous cats. You follow her, your tail perking up.

“There are generally between fifty and seventy cats living here at a time,” she explains over the hissing pipes. “The Hermitage is around 233,000 square meters large, but we aren’t allowed in the exhibits. Our basement is twenty kilometers long. We need lots of catpower to cover that much ground. We can’t let the enemy slip in.”

You cock one of your large ears. “The enemy?”

Elizaveta sits, wrapping her tail around herself. “Tell me, Aleksandr, what is the main thing that cats do?”

Sleep, you instinctively think. But sleep isn’t something you actively do…

“Catch rats!”

Whiskers twitching, Elizaveta sniffs. “Indeed. Rats. The enemies of all that is bright and beautiful. The Hermitage has over three million pieces in its collection. The humans’ technology protects the art from other humans. We protect the art and the humans against the rats.”

Your tawny fur puffs up as a feeling of pride sweeps through you. You’re in the basement of the Winter Palace—once the home of the tsars—and you are in charge of protecting the treasures within. How many kittens can boast of that?

“I won’t let them get past me!”

Elizaveta butts her head against you, and her purr is warm and friendly. “I think you’ll fit in nicely here, Aleksandr.”

It’s night now. The echoing footsteps of tourists above are gone.

After talking with Elizaveta, you sunbathed in the museum yard before taking a cozy nap in an unclaimed sleeping basket.

Now, having roused you from sleeping, Elizaveta leads you toward a pair of cats waiting by a dimly lit corner. “Aleksandr, this is Pavol and Yekaterina,” she says, nodding toward the Donskoy and Russian Blue respectively. You take a hesitant step toward them.

Pavol’s eyes twinkle. “Ah, a Peterbald. You and I are distant cousins, little Aleksandr.” He dips his wrinkled, furless head toward you, and his friendliness sets you at ease.

“You’ll stick with Pavol and me while we patrol,” Yekaterina states, running a paw over her sleek silver-blue coat. Her words are more crisp and refined than any other cat you’ve met. “The rats come out once the people are gone, so we’d better start.”

Following her and Pavol, you scamper down the hallway. Dust and a strong scent of ammonia fill the musty air. Your senses switch to high alert, nose twitching and ears searching for the faint scratching of rats. Other cats slink past you, also on patrol.

Nothing about the basement has changed, but you startle when the pipes rattle overheard. Your claws scrap against the cool stone floor. Perhaps you’re a little too on edge.

“Sense anything, Aleksandr?” Pavol asks.

You shake your head, your tail drooping.

“The rats like to hide in the walls,” Yekaterina says, pausing to sniff. “I’m sure we’ll find them soon.”

Time passes quickly. Talking with Pavol and Yekaterina is fun—they have plenty of stories about life at the museum. You can’t wait for Catfest and all the people who will want to pet you.

Pavol’s trying to explain how all the cats have something called a “passport” when you suddenly stop. Your ears prick up, and your short fur stands on end. A subtle stench reaches your nose.

There’s a rat nearby.

Perfectly silent, you creep forward, leaving Yekaterina and Pavol behind. A thick patch of shadows lurks ahead, and a light pink tail is just visible in the darkness.

You pounce.

There’s a squeal and a flash of claws and teeth. A minute later, the rat lies limply at your feet.

Running up to you, Pavol exclaims, “Well done, Aleksandr!” Yekaterina lets out a happy chirp.

Warmth fills you as you stand proudly over your kill. You may be small, but the enemy doesn’t stand a chance against you. A rumbling purr wells up in your chest. The Hermitage’s catalog will be safe under your watchful eyes.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hailey Huntington is a speculative fiction author, penning tales of wonder, hope, and heroes, with a dash of wit. Her stories can be found online and in various print anthologies. When not writing or reading, Hailey can be found listening to her favorite film scores, making homemade ice cream, or spending time with her family.

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