Félicette

Despite the electrodes, despite the microphone, despite the spinning and the pain in my head, it was wondrous, for just a second. The sky– I think it was the sky– was wide, wider than I could ever have imagined. The land below so small– for just a moment, I was invincible. The vantage, the quiet. It could have just been delirium– the roar of the rockets was terrifyingly loud, I almost thought I’d stop breathing just from the sensory overload alone.

I’m glad I didn’t. I’m glad I saw what I saw.

When they fished me out of the rocket, when I knew I was finally on solid ground again, I tried to think about how I would describe it to the others. The best I could do was being very high up and standing on nothing, falling into nothing, seeing more nothing than they could imagine. Cats don’t do well with abstract imagery– I know I wouldn’t, if I hadn’t seen the endless black sky for myself.

I think I would have tried to equate it to what I knew they had experience with– that damned centrifuge, the little kennel, the noise. Explaining all the bad parts would be easy. It’s explaining the wonder that would be hard. It was beautiful, in a way incomparable to our lives on Earth.

It’s my favorite handler, the one who never wears perfume, that put me back in my carrier and held me on her lap in the car. I would have preferred to feel the ground under my paws a little longer, but at the very least I’m glad it was her. I was already going to smell weird when I got home– I didn’t need some pungent cologne keeping the others from recognizing me even further. I wasn’t in any fighting shape right after reentry.

When we got back home, though, she didn't bring me back to the colony. We went to another laboratory, similar to the one where they implanted my electrodes in the first place. That’s alright, I remember thinking. It’ll give me more time to consider what to tell the others. All the details, all the movement dropped away as I went higher and higher until everything was a stagnant, massive, blue and grey swirl. I tried to liken it to waves of distant grass, concealing myriad mice and rabbits below. Calm, but exciting. Wide, far. A distance I couldn’t explain by whiskers, by jumping. There were scientists there– some I recognized, some I didn’t. They were more harried than usual, more excited. I’m used to this by now– the prick in my leg, the scruff of my neck before I fall asleep. It doesn’t bother me anymore– par for the course, for us. Usually, I would wake up in an isolated kennel and then be let back into the colony. This time, I woke up in another laboratory. The way it feels, the buzzing seeping out of my paws– I decided to include that too, in my plan for when I told the others what it was like, feeling the gravity drift away from me and drift back until my paws touched the ground again. They’d understand that feeling.

But that sight. The blue, far, far below. How I’ll explain that to them, I don’t know.

The scientist who was there when I could finally open my eyes was one I did recognize. Professeur Gautier, I think, although I hadn’t seen him in over a week. He always preferred C 343 to me– she’s more purr-happy. I miss her. He still smiled in that weird, almost aggressive way that humans do, and took me out of my kennel. I realized they removed some of the electrodes when Gautier started to brush out my fur– I also hadn’t realized how stiff my legs were after all that confinement. He was gentle, but he still pressed a little too hard. When I snipped at him though, he didn’t get angry like some of them would, which I appreciated. He was kind.

“You did well,” he told me, and he scratched under my chin, which I love when they do. The scientists rarely pet us– I think they don’t want us to get attached. It doesn’t work. We all have our favorites anyway. “We’re all so proud of you. They’re thinking of calling you Félix instead of C 341. You know, after the cartoon. It’s catchier, easier for the public to understand. You do kind of look like him, I guess, but I think that’s a bit masculine for a sweet little lady like you. What do you think, pretty kitty?”

It wasn’t him who came in the next day, it was Marchand, and I forget who it was the next. It’s been– I don’t know exactly how long it’s been now, and they haven’t brought me back to the colony. It’s a little lonely, but not so bad. Maybe nobody else has been in the rocket yet, and when they do, they’ll be moved into this room with me. If they have already seen what I’ve seen, then they’ll understand the wideness, the emptiness. No, not empty– full, but open. Full and empty and massive and small. I couldn’t live in the scant minutes of seeing it– the view was meant to be brief, I think. I think that’s what makes it so wondrous, so beautiful.

I think about the sight a lot. Other than a test about once a day, the humans mostly leave me alone. There aren’t any windows, anything to watch or smell. Instead, I lose myself in capturing those moments. Long term memories are hard to hold onto– I dig my claws in, best I can, to keep it from slipping away. It would be easier if the others were here, if we remembered together. There are times I wonder if the humans have seen what I’ve seen– if that’s why they look up when they look out windows. Thinking that we have that in common makes me like them more, even though they’re always poking and prodding. Maybe they want to go back. Maybe they’ll send me back, to experience it all again.

Today seems to be somewhat special, which makes me think that they might send me back after all. My favorite handler, the one who fished me out, arrived this morning with a cardboard box filled with interesting smelling mice, trinkets, and crinkly balls. She brought food too– more smells than I knew what to do with. The other handlers and scientists came in as well, bringing wands and treats and scritching me under the chin. I wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about at first, but when the scientists all left and it was just me and my handler, I saw that she had my travel kennel out, which means that we must be going somewhere. She loads me in– I go willingly, of course– but before she closes the door, she reaches her head in and presses her mouth to my forehead. It’s a human sign of affection, I believe– I’ve seen some of the scientists do this to each other when they smell the most like affection and happiness. She’s never done that before to me, though.

I expect us to finally go back to the colony– the other girls will surely give me a hard time at first because of how I smell, but they’ll come around eventually and I’m so excited to see them. Instead, though, we walk for a long time inside the building, her shoes clacking down the halls. I can’t see much from my little grate, but I can see enough to know that I’ve never been here before.

My handler swings open a door and puts my kennel on a table. Another new laboratory? As I look around, though, I don’t recognize this kind of room, and I certainly don’t recognize the man in front of me with the long, thin face.

“Monsieur Coulomb, this is C 341.”

His thin face smiles, although he doesn’t move to unlatch my kennel or touch me. I’m glad about that; he smells strongly of coffee.

“Ah, what a beauty. The media is calling her Félix, you know.”

My handler moves to stand next to him. “I know. I don’t think they know what a pretty girl she is.” She slips one finger between the bars of the grate and I lick it to repay her sign of affection from earlier. All at once, a strong wave of sad pheromones pour from her, which is strange. My handler usually smells neutral. It’s what I like most about her.

The thin-faced man dips his head to look in my eyes. “Our country owes you a great debt, Félix.”

“Félicette,” my handler says, suddenly.

“Perfect.”

I hear him put his hand on the top of my carrier– a pet by-proxy, I assume, and then my handler lifts me up and takes me out of the room. The sadness continues to bleed from her, which I don’t understand.

“It’s going to be okay,” she tells me, but there’s a tremor in her hand now, and at once I realize that I’m not going back. She smelled like this before, when she took C 325. C 325 never came back.

I can’t run, even if I wanted to. I could cry, but that wouldn’t change anything. I don’t know what I did wrong.

My handler slows, as if she knows what I’m thinking, and brings the kennel up to her eyeline. “You were so brave. You did such a good job. No cat has ever been to space, you know. You’re the first, and we’re all so proud of you.”

She keeps talking as we walk, and I feel my fear dull. It will be okay. I am brave. I keep my eyes closed, even as she takes me out of the kennel, even as I feel the little prick in my scruff. It doesn’t matter. I keep my eyes closed and let the vision of the endless sky and the vast Earth below remain. How wondrous it was. How beautiful.