Fluffy’s Revolution

By Ted Myers

Chapter One – Welcome to the World

Fluffy was furious. Her tail bristled and twitched as she paced up and back on the professor’s long desk. Above the desk the big screen showed a web page with a news article: 10,000 GAB PETS EUTHANIZED IN MUMBAI. “Euthanized? Euthanized? Why don’t they call it what it is?” said Fluffy, “Murder, clear and simple.” Her voice emanated from the computer speakers, even as her words unfurled across the bottom of the screen like a news crawl.

Lately, Fluffy had been surfing the web every day, reading article after article about the efforts of humans to eradicate GAB (Genetically Altered Brain) animals and diatribes written by animal revolutionaries advocating a GAB uprising.

The professor looked at the article and shook his head sadly. “They’re doing the same thing here,” he said, “but Epps controls the media, so we don’t hear about it.”

“There’s a big demonstration in Haines Park tomorrow. Can we go, Dad?”

“No,” said the professor. “It’s just what Epps and his thug cops want: an excuse to beat and arrest more people and animals. Don’t you see, Fluffy? Government by the corporations is failing. The Triumvirate needs this trumped-up terrorist scare to distract the public. The GABs are a great target because they’re not human. There’s been no terrorism. They haven’t done anything beyond rhetoric, some vandalism and theft, and a few protests.”

“Well, maybe we should,” said Fluffy. “Maybe our only hope is to rise up against the human oppressors and fight for our rights.”

Fluffy was an exceptionally intelligent feline, even by 2135 standards. She had a lovely white face that peaked in a star in the center of her forehead. The rest of her was mostly gray-and-black tabby, but her chest, paws, and underbelly were pure white. She had long, thick fur, a bushy tail, and inquisitive green eyes that were outlined in black as if she were wearing eye makeup. Professor James Riordan, the human Fluffy called Dad, was a once-handsome, graying man about sixty with rheumy blue eyes and a ruddy complexion.

“Humans are scum, Fluffy. Make no mistake about that,” said the professor. “But don’t try to match them in violence; no other species on the planet is as vicious. Don’t try to beat humans at their game; make them play yours.”

“But what is our game, Dad? I don’t want bloodshed, but the humans are killing my fellow GABs by the thousands. And what about all the human supporters? We don’t even know what’s happening to them. I can’t just sit by and watch.”

“GABs have unique skills,” said the professor. “Hone them, make yourself invaluable to humans with your powers of telepathy and telekinesis.”

It was only four o’clock in the afternoon and the professor was already in his cups. He had his reasons for drinking and being bitter. Once a prominent and respected writer and the most popular teacher in the English Department at Kingston University, he had resigned in disgrace when his colleagues, solely out of envy for his dynamic and innovative teaching methods and the love of his students, had set him up to be caught in a compromising position with a female student. They had hired the girl to entrap him, and to his eternal regret, he had gone for the bait.


It all started with the mouse brain experiments, way back in 2015, 120 years ago. Scientists had implanted elements of human DNA called enhancers into the brains of unborn mouse embryos. The resultant mice were born with brains that were twelve percent larger than the normal mouse brain. These new mice were called Genetically Altered Brain animals, or GABs. This and the many subsequent experiments were all done with the intention of learning more about the evolution of the human brain, and what made the human species evolve with a brain that was so superior to the rest of the animal kingdom. At the time, some people laughingly speculated that this might cause animal brains to become equal to human brains somewhere down the line. Scientists dismissed this as not being a possibility for thousands of years.

But something had happened. When they started enlarging the brains of domesticated animals―dogs, cats, and the occasional pig―and those animals mated and had offspring, the evolutionary process of their brains went haywire, and animal brains started evolving at a frightening rate, much the same as global warming had spun out of control in the late twenty-first century, and turned Kingston, New York into the largest seaport on the Eastern Seaboard.

Their bodies stayed the same as their brains evolved exponentially over the generations. To compensate for their physical limitations―such as the shape of their palates and tongues preventing them from speaking, and their lack of opposable thumbs preventing them from grasping or pulling a trigger―GAB animals gradually started to develop telepathic and telekinetic powers. At first, these expressed themselves as random acts of vandalism, such as moving valuable objects off their shelves and smashing them when they were displeased by their “masters.” But now they had developed these abilities to enable them to open doors, feed themselves, and turn electronic devices on and off.

Humans, egged on by their corporate rulers, responded in a predictably human manner: with fear and hatred. They figured if these animals continued to proliferate while the human population was declining, they would soon take over and subjugate the humans, just as humans had done to animals for so many thousands of years. The Triumvirate, the troika of the world’s most powerful corporations who ruled the planet, decided to round up and suppress the “troublemakers,” outlawing animal access to computers, denouncing animal activists as terrorists. Ultimately, they instituted a worldwide policy of exterminating all GAB animals found without a human guardian.

When computers became thought-activated, the animals used it to blog, proclaiming their equality to humans and demanding their freedom. When voices became available, enabling GABs to speak out loud through computer speakers, Fluffy chose the voice of Katharine Hepburn, a film actress who had lived 200 years ago, because she sounded “defiant.”


Fluffy and the professor lived in the fashionable Upper East Side of Kingston, on the 150th floor of a high-rise overlooking the Kingston harbor and the bay beyond. The professor’s late wife, a woman of means from an old New York family, had bought the apartment, and the professor had inherited it when she died five years ago.

Since then, the professor had led a solitary life, and rarely interacted with other humans. And, at five years old, Fluffy had never interacted with anyone other than the professor. They had been each other’s sole companion since she was a kitten. Every day he would continue her education, recommending books, which she read on her own small tablet: great literature, modern fiction, memoirs, biographies, and history. Neither of them was too keen on math or science, but Fluffy studied biology and genetics to learn the history of her kind. Today, about a third of all the mice, dogs and cats, and about an eighth of all the pigs on Earth were GABs.

At night when the computers went off, Fluffy and the professor reverted to the traditional non-verbal relationship between man and cat. Fluffy would spend long hours purring in his lap while he brushed the tangles out of her fur or petted her and stroked her head in just the right way. She loved it when he read her Shakespeare’s sonnets, or her favorite poem—that one about the tiger by William Blake. But best of all were the movies. They both loved to watch the old movies made in the early twentieth century. The professor would run them before going to sleep. Fluffy would sit beside him on the bed and stare in fascination at these visions of an ancient black-and-white world, where people lived wildly, passionately, where cars and trucks and trains made loud noises, and where the only place animals spoke was in cartoons. When it was time to go to sleep, she would nuzzle up into the crook of his armpit and fall asleep breathing in that reassuring essence. To Fluffy, it was the smell of safety.

The next day, they watched the demonstration in the park on the big screen. Pro-animal rights people marched, carrying signs that said things like ALL BEINGS ARE EQUAL and STOP THE KILLING! And GAB animals marched without their tracking collars, levitating signs over their heads, that said things like IF I CAN DO THIS, I CAN LIVE FREE. Seeing animals do these things on TV scared the hell out of the ignorant masses. Soon, the riot cops arrived and turned the peaceful demonstration into a riot. They tear-gassed the crowd and rounded up as many protestors as they could catch. They stuffed them into big trucks, animals in some, humans in others, and carted them off to god knows where.

The professor turned off the screen and they sat in silence. At length, Fluffy spoke.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Jack lately.”


Fluffy looked at him. “My brother, Jack… the one you didn’t take.”

The professor looked sheepish. She was right, of course. He should have taken Jack, even though he thought they were just ordinary cats.


Five years earlier, the professor had purchased Fluffy in an open-air flea market from a dirty-faced little girl, a poor kid of about seven. She was huddled against a fence behind one of the stalls with a box of newly-weaned kittens. She had two left; both looked like little balls of fluff. Riordan thought he’d get one for his wife, who was bed-ridden with terrible headaches.

“How much do you want for this one?” he asked, picking up Fluffy.

“Two dollars.”

“Okay,” said the professor, handing her the money. “I think I’ll call her Athena, after the goddess of wisdom and heroism.”

“It’s Fluffy,” insisted the little girl.

“Okay, Fluffy.”

“You have to promise to keep it Fluffy or no sale. Promise?”

“I promise. What’s the other one’s name?”

“Jack. He’s the runt of the litter. Nobody wants him.”

“Too bad. Well, good luck, Jack,” said the professor, giving the last little furball a pat on the head, and he left with Fluffy tucked into the pocket of his coat.

The professor’s wife died of a brain hemorrhage a few days later, and Riordan channeled his grief into raising Fluffy as if she were his child. It wasn’t long before he realized he had purchased a genuine GAB.

He got her a little red rubber ball to bat around. This amused her for about a day. After that, she would stare intently at the ball for days on end. Finally, she got it to roll around without touching it. A few days after that she got it to levitate off the ground. She quickly discovered that, when she let it go in midair, it would bounce, and the higher she lifted it, the higher it would bounce. Pretty soon, she was getting her kicks by bouncing the ball into the professor’s soup during dinner.

So, the professor tried an experiment. He bought a coloring book with pictures of animals and a set of crayons. He took the crayons out of the box and colored in the first page for Fluffy―a lion. Then he left her alone with the book and the crayons. Within a day she was able to lift a crayon and make marks on the paper. By the second day, she could color inside the lines with one crayon. By the third day, she could color an entire page in different colors. From there, it progressed to learning her ABC’s, reading, and ultimately writing. One day, the professor woke up and found a page from the coloring book on the floor. Fluffy had colored a picture of a cat. She made it look like her. Under it was a single word written in crude block letters in red crayon: JACK. Fluffy had written the name of her lost brother.


“I keep thinking Jack is calling out to me,” said Fluffy. “Like he’s in trouble of some kind.” She had spoken of getting psychic communications from her brother for years, but the professor thought she was imagining it.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t take Jack when I took you, alright? I made a mistake. In any case, there’s nothing we can do to help Jack now.”

Fluffy was silent. She just moped around the house and didn’t speak for the next few days. She even stopped watching the old movies and slept on a chair in the living room. The professor was worried. At last, he insisted she tell him what was on her mind.

“I have to find my brother.”

“Fluffy, you’re not thinking of going out there?” The professor indicated the bustling city below.

“Yes, I have to. I know he needs me. And I want to find other GABs and join the resistance.”

The professor stood up and threw up his hands in exasperation. “Fluffy, that’s crazy. Your chances of survival are nil. With your experience of the world…”

“I’m going,” she said.

He walked to the balcony and gazed down at the city. “Then I’ll go with you.”

“No, you’ll just attract attention and get us both in trouble. No, I have to do this alone.”

“Fluffy, you don’t have any idea what it’s like for an animal alone in the world. The Animal Control people are everywhere, scouring the streets for strays, sucking them up by the dozens, and taking them off to the extermination centers.”

“I have to chance it, Dad. This is just something I have to do.”

“But how do you expect to find him? There’s a huge, crowded city out there.”

“He will guide me to him.”

The professor hung his head. He thought for a long moment. “I guess I can’t stop you. You’re all grown up now. So, when are you leaving?”

Fluffy looked at the floor. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt her dad, and she knew she was about to do it. “Now. Can you please take off my tracking collar?”

Every GAB animal was required to wear a collar which enabled Animal Control to see their exact location at any moment, anywhere in the world. The professor unclasped Fluffy’s collar. He had tears in his eyes. “I’ll move it around the house every day, so they think you’re still here,” he said. “Do you want me to take you down in the elevator?”

“No,” said Fluffy. “I need to practice my telekinesis. Let me try to get out by myself.”

Fluffy rubbed up against his leg, the equivalent of a hug. Riordan impulsively scooped her up, hugged her to his chest, kissed her on the head, then put her back down. She looked intently at the front door of the apartment, turned the locks, then the doorknob, and pulled the heavy steel door open. Then Fluffy was out in the hallway. She turned and looked back at the professor. Riordan thought he could see sadness in her eyes.

“I think I’ll use the stairs,” she said. “It’s a long way down, but safer than getting caught in the elevator. Goodbye, Dad. I love you.”

Fluffy opened the door to the stairwell, and then she was gone.


The sun was just going down and it was beginning to rain. It rained nearly every day now that the hundred-year drought was over. Making up for lost time I suppose, thought Fluffy. She found a hedge where she could hide near the path that led through the landscaped gardens in front of the building to the promenade above the harbor. Her feet hurt after that long walk down, and she needed to rest. The feel of the drizzle wetting her fur was a new sensation, and not a very pleasant one. Once it was dark, she scurried from one covert to another, around to the landward side of the building, and headed west, into the heart of the city.

Every fiber of her being, every warning sensor, was on high alert. Her heart beat madly. She tried to process the flood of new smells―plants, garbage, other animals, the wet pavement―all of it was foreign to her. The hard, wet sidewalk made her feet cold and damp.

At first, the streets were dark, lined with elegant apartment buildings and trees. It was easy to hide in the shadows, crouching under parked cars, ducking under hedges. She kept getting non-verbal pulls. She knew they were from Jack. He seemed to be guiding her in a westerly direction, away from the harbor and the posh East Side. Then, from behind her, she heard an ominous sound. A giant truck with a huge cylindrical tank on its back came whooshing up the street. It had laser eyes that swept either side of the street about a foot off the ground, and a big, robotic vacuum hose on each side that could extend up to 100 feet and follow and suck up any lone animal it sensed. Fluffy darted under a hedge and froze. When the red beam approached, she jumped straight up into the hedge and dug her claws in. The laser passed beneath her. As the truck lumbered slowly by, she read the words ANIMAL CONTROL on the side.

The second cross street she came to was dark and deserted, so she started across. But all at once a car came careening out of an alley and two headlights were bearing down on her at a frightening speed. She was right in the middle of the street. She couldn’t decide whether to turn back or keep going, so she froze. Just as she was about to be run over, there was a screeching of brakes. The driver laid on his horn and Fluffy took off running. “Stupid cat!” she heard him yell. She had no idea cars could travel that fast.

After that, each time she crossed a street, she looked both ways to make sure no lights were approaching and then sprinted to the other side.

After several blocks, the houses started to look seedy and run down. Up ahead, she could see a big bright avenue with heavy traffic. As the cars stopped at the light, the ghostly whir of a hundred solar fusion turbines whispered. There was no way she would be able to get across without being seen. She retreated into someone’s front yard, surrounded by a hedge, a few houses from the corner. A lone tree stood in the yard. As she sat behind the hedge and tried to think what to do, there was a horrible sound behind her. A big black dog rushed out of the doorway of the building, barking furiously, and charged straight for her. Fluffy didn’t have time to think; she scrambled up the trunk of the tree and managed to gain purchase on a sturdy branch about twelve feet above the yard. The dog stayed under the tree, looking up at her and barking to raise the dead. She was certain that someone would soon come out and discover her, and her adventure would be over before it began. She inched her way out on the branch, which extended over the sidewalk and the street. Now she was at the end of the branch, as far away from the dog as possible. Cars and trucks passed below her, headed for the big avenue. When the light turned red, a line of cars stopped. There was a small truck with an open back beneath her.

In the truck bed was a tarp, which looked relatively soft. There was nothing else for her to do: she jumped off the branch and into the truck. Luckily, she landed in a spot on the tarp with nothing hard underneath it and she was not hurt. She quickly crawled under the tarp. There were cardboard cartons under there in various sizes and a metal thing with wheels and a handle. In a moment she felt the truck start up again.

After the superstorms and tidal waves of the late twenty-first century, New York City had to be abandoned, and Kingston had become the new New York. Fluffy’s truck traversed busy avenues. The noise and lights of the city were frightening. Fluffy poked her head up and watched the city fly by. She didn’t know where she was going but trusted that somehow Jack would guide her to him.

The truck stopped at a light near the heart of the city. Fluffy popped her head up. Lights were blazing; there was music and electricity in the air. There were theaters, nightclubs, and bars. A group of young kids―teenagers, Fluffy thought―gathered on the corner. Then there came the sound of very loud music, with a heavy, thumping rhythm. The ear-splitting noise was coming from a lone boy who approached the group, riding on an airboard. “Wow, Joey,” said a girl, “you got a Miniblaster!”

“Yep,” said Joey, hopping off the board and stylishly flipping it vertical with his foot. He brandished a tiny silver disc that hung around his neck on a chain. All the kids started dancing to the horrible noise. The light changed and Fluffy moved on.

After a while, the truck entered a deserted industrial neighborhood on the west side of town. Fluffy saw gangs of young men smashing car windows with big sticks.

The truck drove down dark dismal streets, slowed down, pulled into a parking lot, and stopped. A large garage door slowly rolled open. The truck drove inside the warehouse. The door lowered and the lights inside came on. Fluffy peered out from under the tarp. It was a large industrial space. The building looked and smelled old. At the far end was a loft with a metal staircase leading up to it. On it was a desk, a computer, some chairs, and a long wooden workbench against the far wall. Over the workbench were some old-fashioned frosted glass windows divided into small square panes that let in some light from the city outside. One thing that didn’t seem old: there was a big flat screen on the left wall.

Two men got out of the truck. The first man was a tall black man in his twenties with a perfectly-shaped head, shaved smooth as a cue ball. The other man was white, shorter, about thirty-five. He wore a knit cap and an olive drab military-style jacket, and had a long scar down the side of his face. He looked scary. Fluffy’s heart was beating so hard she was sure the men must hear it. But they calmly proceeded to pull back the tarp and shove it carelessly aside, and Fluffy stayed under it. She was now crouched in the corner of the truck bed, covered by the rumpled tarp. “Grab the dolly, Rudy,” said the scary white man. Rudy lifted the metal contraption out of the truck bed and extended the handle. Each man grabbed a box, and they started stacking them on the dolly. As soon as both men had their backs turned, Fluffy made her move. She leaped out of the other side of the truck, streaked to the nearest wall, and hid behind some lumber that was leaning against it.

The men finished unloading the boxes, which they stacked neatly under the loft. There were stacks of many similar boxes already there. Most of the boxes said EPSILON on them. Fluffy recognized the name. It was the biggest robotics company and hence the most successful corporation in the world―part of the Triumvirate. The men got back in the truck, opened the garage door, and left, plunging the warehouse into darkness.

Fluffy felt safe for the first time since she had left the apartment. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. She trotted around the place, sniffing all the boxes and crates, and investigating every corner. She smelled the presence of what she thought were other animals. When she went up the stairs to the loft, the scent got stronger. Under the workbench was a row of wooden crates. Each one had a soft, fairly clean blanket neatly folded in the bottom. She hopped into one. It was extremely comfortable. Another creature had definitely occupied this space.

Then came a small voice: “Who’s been sleeping in my bed?” it said in a mock-scary voice, then, in a light and friendly tone, “Hi! You GAB?” It was a funny, high-pitched-yet-masculine voice with a heavy New York accent, and it was inside her head. There’s no sound. He’s speaking telepathically!Unlike the visceral feelings of distress she was getting from Jack, these were actual words.

“Yes. Yes, I am!” said Fluffy. “Where are you?”

“Come out from under the workbench and look above you.”

Cautiously, Fluffy came out and looked up. There on the workbench, gazing down at her, was a little gray creature with black button eyes.

What are you?” said Fluffy.

“A mouse, silly. Haven’t you ever seen a mouse before?”

“I’ve seen pictures, but never the real thing. You don’t look at all like Mickey Mouse.”

“You should see me in white gloves. You got a name, kitty?”

“Fluffy. What’s yours?”

“They call me Hacker.”

“Are we communicating telepathically?”

“Of course. You act surprised. You’ve never spoken telepathically before?”

“Never without a computer giving me a voice.”

“So you haven’t been around other GABs, huh?”

“In all my life, I’ve only talked to my dad―er―my human. The professor.”

“Oh, an ivory tower princess, eh? Welcome to the world, Princess.”

Unused to sarcasm, Fluffy was a trifle annoyed. “It’s Fluffy.”

“Right. What brings you here, Fluffy?”

“I left home to look for my lost brother, and I jumped into that truck… Where am I anyhow?

“It’s a secret.”

“Well, my brother is near here somewhere. I can feel him.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yes. And I’ve decided to join the GAB resistance. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

“Maybe I would and maybe I wouldn’t. Why do you wanna join?”

“Because I can no longer sit idly by while my fellow GABs are being slaughtered.”

“Good answer. What if I told you I could get you into the resistance?”

“What would I have to do?”

“Swear an oath of loyalty and obedience.”

He kind of sounds like John Garfield in The Postman Always Rings Twice, thought Fluffy. I wonder why I feel like just jumping up there and eating him.

“I heard that,” said Hacker. “You wanna eat me ‘cause that’s your instinct. Just like my instinct is telling me to run like hell. But we’re not gonna give into our instincts, are we, Fluffy? We can’t, not if we’re gonna unite and fight the humans.”

“You mean, you…

“Yeah, me―and some others. But you have to swear you’ll never give us away and you’ll sacrifice your life if need be to save our kind.”

“I swear. But I don’t want to hurt anyone. I want to save the GABs, but I’m not sure violence is the answer,” said Fluffy.

“Oh yeah? What do you think the answer is?”

“My dad said we’ve got to hone our skills of telepathy and telekinesis―skills the humans don’t have. Make them need us.”

“Need us for what?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

And that’s when she got the first flash. Suddenly, in her brain, she saw a sign, just like an online popup. It had graphics: an illustration of a grand manor house in a grove of trees. The text read:


“Wow, what was that?” said Fluffy

“What was what?” said Hacker.

“You didn’t see it? I just had a vision. Something about ‘Animal U.’”

“Animal U, huh? What else did it say?”

“Let me try to show it to you.” Fluffy conjured up the vision in her mind and tried to send it to Hacker.

“Yeah, I see it! ‘Hone your skills, dog skills, cat skills’… ha-ha, ‘cat skills!’ I get it, like the Catskill Mountains, right up there.” Hacker pointed his tail in a westerly direction.

“Of course; it was a clue,” said Fluffy. “That’s where Animal U is, in the mountains. I wonder what they do up there.”

“Homework I bet.” It was another voice, a youthful tenor. A white-and-orange short-haired cat had appeared beside Hacker. “Hi, I’m Tigger,” he said.

At this, Hacker, in a somewhat louder voice, in the telepathic equivalent of yelling over his shoulder, called, “She’s okay, girls, you can come out now.”

And, as if by magic, two more beings appeared beside Hacker and Tigger on the workbench: A white mouse and a shaggy, buff-colored dog. “Fluffy, this is my posse: Tigger, Mitzi, and Fang. Posse, this is Fluffy. She wants to join up.”

“How do you do,” said Fluffy.

“How do you know she’s not a D.I.S. spy?” cried Mitzi in a high, squeaky voice.

“Don’t worry, honey,” said Hacker. “I’ve got a sixth sense about these things.”

“Wow,” said Tigger, “you’re a looker! Do you have reproductive organs?”

Fluffy didn’t quite know whether or not to be offended, so she answered civilly. “I-I’m afraid I don’t really know.”

“There’s no eating each other!” Mitzi chimed in nervously.

“I know the rules, but I am getting rather hungry―and you do look frightfully delicious,” said Fluffy, doing her best Katharine Hepburn.

“Quick, show her where the food is!” squeaked Mitzi.

“I’ll get it,” said Fang in the world-weary voice of a young woman who’s seen it all. And she telekinetically dragged a bag of kibble out from under the workbench, then a metal bowl. Fang lifted the bag and poured the food into the bowl without spilling a granule. Another metal bowl containing water appeared beside it. “Bon appetit,” she said.

“Thank you very much,” said Fluffy, impressed, and began to eat. She hadn’t eaten in a long time. At length, she looked up at Fang. “Are you a dog?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m a dog. That’s what I am.”

“Sorry. I’m kind of new to the world,” said Fluffy.

“So I gathered,” said Fang.

“With a name like Fang, I thought you were a boy dog.”

“No, I’m a girl dog. A little joke my humans played when they got me.”

“Oh…oh…ironic humor, right?”

“Yes,” said Fang patiently, “ironic humor.”

She kind of sounds like Ava Gardner in Mogambo, thought Fluffy, this time making sure she didn’t broadcast her thought telepathically. “What’s in those boxes?” she asked. “I didn’t like the look of those humans. Maybe we should get out of here…”

“Relax,” said Hacker. “They’re with us.”

“Really? You mean, all this is yours?”

“Yep, this is our hideout.”

“And the boxes?”

“You’ll see,” said Hacker. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Our partners will be back by then, and we can discuss the plan. Let’s get some sleep. There should be an extra crate for you to sleep in, Fluffy. A while back Animal Control got Sammy.”

Fluffy didn’t ask about Sammy. She was too tired and she already had plenty to think about. She missed her dad. She missed the smell of his armpit. She wished he would brush the fragments of hedge out of her tangled fur, but she cleaned herself off as best she could, and fell asleep.

©2018 by Ted Myers. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

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It's 2135. Fluffy, a super-intelligent GAB (Genetically Altered Brain) cat, leaves the safety of her home to look for her lost brother. On the way, she falls in with a motley crew of animal revolutionaries. Like many dogs, cats, mice, and the occasional pig, Fluffy’s brain is the product of genetic tinkering by humans that started more than a century ago. With their powers of telekinesis, GAB animals can manipulate physical objects without being able to grasp them. They can speak to each other telepathically without audible voices. Now, humans have begun to fear them and to systematically exterminate them. Will Fluffy and her friends survive the perils of this hostile world? Will they find a way to stop the asteroid that threatens to annihilate Earth?

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About Ted Myers

After twenty years trembling on the brink of rock stardom and fifteen years working at record companies, Ted Myers left the music business—or perhaps it was the other way around—and took a job as a copywriter at an advertising agency. This cemented his determination to make his mark as an author.

His nonfiction has appeared in Working Musicians (Harper Collins), By the Time We Got to Woodstock: The Great Rock ‘n’ Roll Revolution of 1969 (Backbeat Books), and Popular Music and Society. His fiction has appeared online at Literally Stories and in print in the To Hull & Back Short Story Anthology 2016. In 2017, his epic and amusing memoir, Making It: Music, Sex & Drugs in the Golden Age of Rock was published by Calumet Editions. In 2017 and 2018, more fiction appeared in Iconoclast magazine, The Mystic Blue Review, Centum Press’ 100 Voices Anthology, Culture Cult Magazine, the Ink Stains Anthology, Vol. 9, and Bewildering Stories. Fluffy’s Revolution,published by Black Rose Writing, is his first novel.

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