[ WP ] Earth 's number one export in the interstellar trade are sentient , designer house-cats , which are enormously popular as pets across the galaxy . You run a small cattery .

“ Hey human, want to throw a little of that my way? ” 
 
 Claire looked down, although she already knew who had spoken. A rather large orange tabby was sitting near her foot, looking expectant. Claire ripped off a small piece of the ham she was putting into a sandwich and dropped it next to the cat. “ Much obliged, ” the cat answered. 
 
 It wasn ’ t supposed to be like this, she thought as she ate her lunch a few minutes later. Seventy years ago, when the designer cat fad had first cropped up, scientists had attempted to create a cat that could not only have any coat color and pattern, but also one that was smarter than the average housecat. After a few trials, they had succeeded. The first cat created was perfect; any coat you could ever want, and just smart enough to obey simple commands. Unfortunately when bred with another cat with heightened intelligence, the world was soon introduced to cats that could suddenly speak—not physically talk, but communicate nonetheless. Their voices seemed to just arrive in people ’ s heads, strange and high-pitched, and no amount of tin-foil hats had been able to stop the voices from being heard. Not that there was much to say, Claire reflected. All she ever heard was various forms of “ I ’ m hungry, feed me now. ” And despite having the intelligence to remember her name, every single one of her cats insisted on calling her “ human. ” 
 
 When she finished eating, Claire began preparing for her only appointment of the day. A Trocklinian was arriving in the afternoon to pick up his newest cat, a kitten with purple eyes to match the purple rings on his tail. The kitten was still in the warming room and needed to be moved into the reception area. 
 
 Claire ’ s facility was not huge, but enough for her. She had roughly a hundred cats on hand at any given time; only half had been requested. The rest were just happy accidents that she offered for sale at a reduced price for those who could not afford to design their own. All of the cats had free roam of the facility, which was really an old bed and breakfast that she had repurposed. The only room in which they were not allowed was Claire ’ s private bathroom ( one too many snide remarks during her showers ) and the creation room ( especially after George, a precocious black cat with white spots, slipped in and walked across the control panel, producing a litter of tie-dye kittens ). Unlike other catteries, she did not use the cloning method of producing the cats; while effective, cloning resulted in multiple cats with the same mind. Fifty cats all thinking exactly the same things cause the kind of havoc Claire did not want to deal with. Instead, Claire used the slightly less effective method of mutating growing fetuses inside of a mother cat. When the mother cat was two weeks or so along, Claire placed her in a specially designed box in the creation room and pulsed pinpoint radiation at her that has the desired traits coded into it. In most cases, the desired traits are passed to the fetus and it is born as expected, although she did have a few cases of failure ( most notably being Stripe, who was supposed to be the coloring of a tiger, not the size of one ). Currently the creation room was empty and dark; the next session would not begin until next week, when she knew for sure if Marie was pregnant. 
 
 Past the creation room was the sleeping room, where there was a multitude of cat beds and no one sleeping in them. The play room was filled with cardboard boxes and feather toys suspended from the walls; typically only the younger cats played with the toys. At the end of the hall was the warming room, where the kitten was. The warming room was filled with old computers, space heaters, and retired video game consoles. Nearly every device was taken by a cat soaking in the warmth of the machine. The kitten was currently snoozing on an outdated Toshiba. Claire picked him up and walked back to the reception area, what had originally been the parlor of the bed and breakfast. She heard mumbled protests as she walked, but the kitten was still too young and sleepy enough to have fully formed thoughts. 
 
 “ And now we wait for your new owner, ” Claire said to the kitten as she sat at the desk. 
 
 “ We don ’ t have owners, ” said a voice near her feet. A russet-colored cat looked up at her indignantly. “ We only agree to go with people because we want to, not because they ’ re in charge of us. ” 
 
 “ My mistake, ” Claire said. The russet cat stalked off and Claire looked at the sky, waiting for the Trocklinian ’ s ship to touch down. The kitten in her lap yawned and curled into a ball to finish his nap. His thoughts brushed against Claire ’ s mind as colors and pictures before fading into nothing as he fell asleep. 

