The Catswold Portal
by Shirley Rousseau Murphy
An adult fantasy novelNAL/ROC hardcover, 1992; paperback, 1993
EOS paperback, 2005
HarperCollins ebook, 2009
There is a door in an artist's garden: an elaborate carved passageway into a realm ruled by a dark sorceress queen. There entities strange and wondrous roam the Netherworld--yet none as astonishing as the shape-shifting Catswold. Melissa, raised by the old witch Mag, discovers a perilous secret. She has more than one form--human girl and magical cat--and once inhabited two worlds. And it is her destiny to do battle for her people's liberation and the crown that is rightfully hers.
A man beset by tragedy, painter Braden West is intrigued by the calico cat who has charmed her way into his studio. But his "guest" is more than she seems, and Braden's very existence will be radically altered as he follows Melissa from the Hell Pit into the dread perils of an evil ruling court, thrust into the heart of a magical conflict with more at stake than he could possibly have imagined.
Purchase this book
The book can be purchaed at Amazon, Amazon UK, Barnes & Noble, Apple Books, and Kobo.Quotes from the reviews
"You don't have to love cats to appreciate this fantasy novel in which a race of shapechanging cats are the key to the fate of a Netherworld. . . . Ms. Murphy's characterization of Melissa is truly remarkable, making the reader fully alive to the vibrant, sensual world of the feline. Masterfully orchestrating this cat's cradle plot, Ms. Murphy will make you take a second look at the next cat you see." --Romantic Times"This delightful fantasy posits a Netherworld located under modern California and peopled by humans, mythological creatures--including Harpies and Griffons--and shape-changers such as the Catswold, who can shift between cat and human forms. . . . Murphy . . . balances her rich, detailed Netherworld with a vividly characterized earthly realm. Her cat people, in particular, ring true." --Publisher's Weekly
"A captivating feline fantasy. . . . Characterizations are dynamic, whether human or otherwise, and the growing relationship between Braden and Melissa--as cat and as human--is ingeniously handled as is Melissa's Catswold heritage. Murphy has carefully created two well-realized, disparate worlds linked by the dramatic struggle to defeat the evil queen. Romantic fantasy with plenty of action and sure appeal." --Booklist
"Murphy's true sorcery is in her deft juggling of two different but inextricably related worlds . . . and a cast of exotic beasts, outlandlish creatures and intriguing characters caught in a compelling turmoil that swirls them between those worlds. . . . Some of the finest moments are Murphy's convincing portrayals of the problems faced by a creature who is a cat and a woman. . . . The Catswold Portal is an enchanting, inventive and ingeniously plotted fantasy, and Murphy's insight into feline nature is remarkable. A word of warning: Don't pick up this book in the evening, intending to read yourself to sleep. You'll be awfully tired the next day." --Cat Fancy
"Rich, descriptive imagery is found on every page, making this underground world come alive. And in the end, the power of art, magic, images, and love help Melissa as she overcomes the malevolent queen." --School Library Journal
"Braden West mourns the recent death of his wife. . . . He's mysteriously drawn, as was his wife, to a vivid sculpture of cats carved into the door of his house--a sculpture that turns out to be the portal into the cat world, through which he is drawn. But the bulk of the story is given over to 17-year-old Melissa . . . whose real heritage as the 'Queen of faerie' has been hidden from her through black magic. . . . The interweaving between real and fantasy worlds is well done; the implied notion, intriguing if arguable, is that women are like cats inside--cool, independent, and a bit mystical. Murphy . . . [is] a writer to watch." --Kirkus Reviews
Excerpt from the story
Dawn. Melissa woke lying next to Braden deliciously warm curled on the blanket. Outside the bedroom window the sky was barely light. She stretched lazily, her toes touching the foot of the bed and her fingers tracking across the headboard. She jolted awake filled with panic: she wasn't a cat anymore.
She stared down at herself, at her rumpled dress. How close she lay to Braden, nearly touching him. His hand lay across her hair. She watched him, stricken, terrified he would wake. He slept sprawled naked, tangled in the blankets, blankets and sheets tumbled away from his bare back.
How long had she lain beside him as Melissa? She had felt no pain at the changing. Unless it was pain that woke her. Carefully, slowly, she slid off the bed.
He didn't stir. She tiptoed to the door, but then she turned back and stood watching him. Seeing him from the viewpoint of a woman was very different from seeing him through the eyes of a cat. The cat had seen height and strength and security, had been aware of his kindness and restraint, had seen a human she could be comfortable with, and one she could tease and manipulate when she chose. But now as a woman she saw him differently, and different emotions moved her.
He was strong and lean; she liked the clean line of his jaw and the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. She liked his deeply tanned face against the white pillow. He had a smear of green paint on his left ear; she wanted to wipe it off. She could still feel the heat of his body where she had slept against him. She knew his scent sharply, as the little cat had known it.
Beyond the windows, red streaks of dawn stained the bay. He would wake soon. He would look out at the sunrise then roll over and plug in the coffee. If she was still sleeping on the bed as the cat, he would stroke her and talk to her, and she would purr for him. If he found her gone he would call her, then pull on a pair of shorts and go into the studio to look for her, calling her.
He stirred suddenly and rolled over almost as if her thought had woken him. She fled down the hall and through the dark studio to the glass door. She was fumbling with the lock when he called, "Kitty?" Kitty, kitty?" She wanted to giggle. He had never named her, just kitty, kitty. She heard his footsteps. Panicked, she got the door open at last and ran for the bushes.
She crouched down in the little space under the bushes at the end of the terrace, her back scraping against the branches. She wanted to change back to cat. But she didn't know how to change.
She didn't know why she had changed to a girl; she knew she had
been a girl before, but she could remember nothing except being a cat.
She remembered traveling through strange, hostile country, and before
that a dark, smelly man shoving her into a leather bag. She remembered
the smell of diesel fuel as she fought to get out of the bag. Then the
diner. She remembered traveling, miserable and hungry, her swollen eye
hurting her, and her swollen paw sending pain all through her body. She
remembered the stray cats and the fights and the blazing eyes of the rat
as it crouched to leap at her.