Felidae
(1989/1994, MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY)
10/5/18
WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF ANIMAL CRUELTY AND THEMES OF RELIGIOUS FANATICISM, RACISM, AND GENOCIDE. READER/RESEARCHER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
I once read a phrase in a book years ago that has stuck with me ever since. This is because it perfectly sums up a sentiment I have regarding pets: “I’m not anti-dog, I’m just pro-cat.” I don’t dislike dogs, but in general they’re a little too hyper for me, while cats are calmer and more peaceful. But there’s another reason I love cats. Now, I am not a historian or an animal expert, but from what I understand, cats seem to have contributed much more to world history, mythology, and culture, from the illustrious cat worshiping practices of ancient Egypt, to the ridiculously popular cat memes and videos that dominate the internet today. Though cats are already placed on a high pedestal for their intelligence, grace, and beauty, what if there is still more to them than meets the eye? Are cats truly no different from other animals that seem to live only to eat, sleep, play, and mate until they die? Or do their minds hold secrets and mysteries more wondrous—or terrible—then we feeble-minded humans could ever have imagined?
Much to his eternal dismay and chagrin, Francis, a domestic housecat in 1980’s Germany, is forced to move with his well-meaning but dimwitted owner, Gustav—again. However, this quickly becomes the least of his problems. In his new backyard he comes across a grisly sight: the body of a fellow cat, his throat brutally slashed. And this is not the first; several cats have been turning up dead for weeks. While this could easily be dismissed as just another senseless killing by a human, Francis, being the observant, detail-oriented intellectual that he is, is not so sure. Certain that a feline serial killer is on the loose, he begins to gather information from the other cats of his new neighborhood: some kindly, some crazy, but all broken in some way. And as Francis digs ever deeper into this blood-soaked mystery, he comes to realize that the answer may not only threaten the survival of his kind, but challenge the very cycle of life itself.
Though I watched Felidae long before I read it, I watched video reviews before even that. It wasn’t until I read the book that I realized how easily the adaptation can be seen as little more than a strange and obscure German film for fans of cult horror or adult animation. While the movie is certainly one of the better and more faithful book-to-film adaptations that I’m familiar with, this is one time when I think it really is best to experience the book along with it to really get the story’s full effect.
One of the film’s most striking traits is its surprisingly light and pleasant animation for a plot this dark and disturbing. Movies like A Scanner Darkly, Akira, or Fritz the Cat may be cartoons, but their styles and presentations still have a very adult aesthetic. In contrast, I still find it weirdly unnerving to see these Don Bluth-esque cats laying mutilated in their own gore. Definitely a unique, if questionably palatable, choice on the film-makers’ part.
Needless to say, this talking cat detective story is far from cute.
The cats of this universe are depicted as being just as intelligent, if not more, than humans. But this is not the only way Akif Pirinçci makes his cats look superior. He also endows them with a sort of holiness in their speech and social customs. For one, the cats refer to each other not as “cats”, but as “brothers” and “sisters”. And it’s established that the real reason cats don’t talk to humans has nothing to do with language; simply put, to do so is sacrilege. As Francis quotes on page 261:
“The untouchable may not exchange a single word with the impure, even if they’re in danger of dying.”
Of course, this doesn’t mean they are above using the same crass and sarcastic vocabulary as many human adults. One prominent slang term they use is “can opener”, to describe humans whose only supposed “function” is to open cat food cans. These cats are more than well-versed in human objects, trends, and concepts. Our especially clever and inquisitive narrator, Francis, often peppers his witty remarks with pop culture or history references to get his point across:
BOOK:
- “In comparison to this maltreated creature, even Quasimodo would have had a realistic chance of becoming a male model.” (pg. 18)
- “He was gone! He had disappeared into thin air, had long ago parted for the Yellow Submarine Land from which he may well have come.” (pg. 151)
- “From hippie life on Crete to yuppie stress in Manhattan, from coca-leaf chewing to Calvin Klein jeans, Archie had already done it and much more, except perhaps not joining the NASA boys for their moon landing, which, to be honest, does disappoint me.” (Pg. 24-25)
FILM:
- “This parquet freak and professional trend-setter is Archibald Philip Magenta, known as Archie. He was at Woodstock.”
- “Have we come to the house of an art collector, or a pimp?”
- “What I was watching wasn’t exactly a scene out of The Aristocats.”
I think Francis’ chemistry with local cat Bluebeard, his new “partner”, as it were, also adds to the noir vibe. Personality-wise, Bluebeard strikes me as the Daisuke Jigen to Francis’ Lupin III: blunt and quick-tempered, with an ironic sense of humor, but also possessing a cynical, yet pragmatic wisdom that can sometimes make Francis seem almost naïve and idealistic by comparison. Yet despite a harsh attitude that matches his severely disfigured façade, Bluebeard proves an invaluable guide and loyal friend to Francis:
BOOK:
‘Another cold sack?’ I asked him, not wanting to beat around the bush.
I caught him by surprise, but in seconds he had already composed himself, assuming his stoic Humphrey Bogart look.
‘A cold sack,’ he confessed after a brief pause.
[. . .]
‘What member of our god-fearing community got it this time? Stop, wait a minute. It was a guy, wasn’t it? Just like the other four corpses.’
Now he showed open astonishment.
‘How the hell did you find that out?’
‘Just a guess.’
[. . .]
The monster limped into the room, snorted, then crouched down beside me with a worried expression on his face.
‘This time it was good old Deep Purple who said his last good-bye. His neck looks so bad you’d think someone used it to try out his new ice pick. As far as I’m concerned, they could have turned that dimwit [a**hole] into dog food, but all these dudes kicking the bucket is beginning to give me the jitters. Who knows, maybe the guy with the strange hobby will someday have the pleasure of sinking his teeth into my own neck.’
[. . .]
‘Where’s Deep Purple’s corpse now?’
‘In Peter Fonda’s garage. Do you want to go on with your clever investigation?’
‘If you have nothing against it. How about showing me where it is?’
‘Why not,’ he said, yawning, his inimitable coolness having since returned [. . .]. He turned to go, but before he could quite get into gear, I caught up with him with a quick leap and looked deep down into his one uninjured eye, the eye that sparkled all the more brightly because it was the only one he had left.
‘You never did tell me your name, wiseass,’ I said. He smiled wearily, then brushed lightly past me out the balcony door.
‘Bluebeard,’ he said outside. ‘But don’t ask me now who my can opener is, otherwise I’ll be the one who’ll have to puke.’ (Pg. 32-36)
FILM:
BLUEBEARD: Agh!
FRANCIS: Another killing?
BLUEBEARD: (In gruff surprise.) How the hell did you . . . ? Yes, there’s been another one.
FRANCIS: Let me guess. This latest victim’s also a tom. (Lifts a leg to scratch himself.) Just like the other four stiffs.
BLUEBEARD: Smartass. How the hell did you know that?
FRANCIS: A guess, but it’s an educated one.
BLUEBEARD: Anyway, this time it’s tight-ass Deep Purple that’s taken out his last rat. (Run his claws across his neck to demonstrate as he speaks.) His throat looks exactly as though someone decided to test an ice pick to see if it works.
[. . . ]
FRANCIS: Where is Deep Purple’s corpse now? Can you show me?
BLUEBEARD: (A smile in his voice.) Sure, why not?
FRANCIS: (Curiously.) Hey, what’s your name, smartass?
BLUEBEARD: Bluebeard. And I’ve had more babes in my time than Henry VIII. (Bursts into wheezing laughter.)
But as logical as Francis is, he is not spared from the nightmares that plague him as the murders multiply. Whether they are as bloody and demented as anything Clive Barker could dream up, or so strange and ethereal as to shatter the heart, neither in the novel nor the movie does Pirinçci hold back on the creativity, the viciousness, or, most importantly, the symbolism. Throughout Francis’ quest for the truth, in his visions as well as in real life, a key question is raised: What if, due to all the centuries of domestication, mankind destroyed more within cats than just their ancient primeval instincts? What if they have fallen from grace the way Adam and Eve did?
BOOK:
“‘At last I have found you,’ I said. In my excitement and joy, I was on the brink of tears.
‘Naturally,’ [the murderer] said with an unfathomable deep sadness in his voice. [ . . .] I am the one you’ve been looking for all this time: I am the murderer, I am the Prophet, [. . .] I am the eternal riddle, I am the man and the beast—and I am Felidae. All of these I am in one person and more, much more.’
[. . .] The veil of mist lifted to present the white murderer anew in all his splendor. He rose in slow motion from his seat, turned toward me, and gave me a faraway look, as if he were gazing at me from the mysterious depths of the universe.
‘Everything that ever was and ever will be no longer has any meaning, Francis,’ he said, and his sad voice echoed into infinity. ‘The only thing that’s important is that you now change sides and come to us, come with us.’
[. . .]
The huge army of my brothers and sisters in the background affirmed in unison:
‘Come with us, Francis! You’ll find something better than death everywhere!’
The murderer turned away from me and floated over to the others. Then he became a tiny part of the crowd and looked back once again.
‘Come with us, Francis,’ he insisted. ‘Come with us on a long, wonderful trip.’
Now they turned their backs on me and wandered leisurely into the thickening mist.
‘Where are you going?’ I called after them.
‘To Africa! To Africa! To Africa!’ they called out with one voice until they gradually disappeared into the mist.
‘And what will we find there?’ I still wanted to know.
‘Everything we lost, Francis, everything we lost . . .’ I heard them whispering. But they were now lost to sight; they had already become one with the magical mist.
Slowly, an unbearable sadness filled me, because I had not followed them, because I had been afraid to set out on the long journey, because I was now completely alone. Africa! It sounded so alluring, so mysterious, so exciting. Everything you ever dreamed about was there, my unerring instincts whispered to me. Africa! The lost paradise, El Dorado, the Promised Land—where once, long ago, everything had its beginning. Yet Africa was so unimaginably far away, and I was only a comfort-loving, four-legged animal used to thinking in terms of short distances. The nocturnal songs of the gods were strange to me; so, too, the hot wind of the savanna. Never had I slept under a canopy of stars, and never had I set foot in the sacred jungle. Africa! But where was Africa? In any case, not in me, not in my yearnings, not in my heart. It was somewhere else, very far from me, irrevocably far from me.
And yet:
‘Take me with you.’ I wept quietly to myself. ‘Take me with you, my brothers and sisters . . .’” (Pg. 173-174)
FILM:
(The Dream Cat/Murderer turns to look at Francis.)
FRANCIS: (Excitedly.) I’ve been searching for you!
DREAM CAT/MURDERER: (Softly.) Yes, of course, clever Francis. I’m the Prophet. I’m the human. I’m the beast. And I am also . . . Felidae. Come with us, Francis. All that has been, all there will be has no meaning anymore. Come with us, Francis.
DREAM CAT ARMY: (Simultaneously, as one by one they transform into tiny lights and float away towards the sky.) Come with us! Wherever you go, you find something preferable to death.
DREAM CAT/MURDERER: (As he, too, turns into a light and joins the others.) Come with us, on our long, wonderful journey.
FRANCIS: (Sinking into the clouds he’s standing on.) What will we find when we arrive?
DREAM CAT ARMY: Everything that we’ve lost, Francis.
But perhaps even more prominent: what if cats, or any animals, really, due to man’s abuse and supremacy, became more like man, to the point where they essentially became man, in all his sick, stupid, and tainted glory?
While it may be easy to compare this to works like Richard Adams’ Watership Down or George Orwell’s Animal Farm, Felidae stands out from other non-sugar-coated critiques of mankind’s faults through the eyes of intelligent animals. On a much deeper and more complex level than I’ve seen in either a gritty crime drama or an animal adventure tale, it frames the concept of racial superiority in the form of questions regarding the supposedly inherent nature of a given species, and even the very nature of God and a living creature’s place in the universe. Felidae is an enthralling detective story with many more mysteries than simply “Whodunit?” Not the least of which is: Do we own our pets . . . or do they own us?
CREDITS:
All images, audio, and links belong to their respective owners; no copyright infringement is intended.
MAIN THEME:
“The Call” – Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
Much to his eternal dismay and chagrin, Francis, a domestic housecat in 1980’s Germany, is forced to move with his well-meaning but dimwitted owner, Gustav—again. However, this quickly becomes the least of his problems. In his new backyard he comes across a grisly sight: the body of a fellow cat, his throat brutally slashed. And this is not the first; several cats have been turning up dead for weeks. While this could easily be dismissed as just another senseless killing by a human, Francis, being the observant, detail-oriented intellectual that he is, is not so sure. Certain that a feline serial killer is on the loose, he begins to gather information from the other cats of his new neighborhood: some kindly, some crazy, but all broken in some way. And as Francis digs ever deeper into this blood-soaked mystery, he comes to realize that the answer may not only threaten the survival of his kind, but challenge the very cycle of life itself.
Though I watched Felidae long before I read it, I watched video reviews before even that. It wasn’t until I read the book that I realized how easily the adaptation can be seen as little more than a strange and obscure German film for fans of cult horror or adult animation. While the movie is certainly one of the better and more faithful book-to-film adaptations that I’m familiar with, this is one time when I think it really is best to experience the book along with it to really get the story’s full effect.
One of the film’s most striking traits is its surprisingly light and pleasant animation for a plot this dark and disturbing. Movies like A Scanner Darkly, Akira, or Fritz the Cat may be cartoons, but their styles and presentations still have a very adult aesthetic. In contrast, I still find it weirdly unnerving to see these Don Bluth-esque cats laying mutilated in their own gore. Definitely a unique, if questionably palatable, choice on the film-makers’ part.
Needless to say, this talking cat detective story is far from cute.
The cats of this universe are depicted as being just as intelligent, if not more, than humans. But this is not the only way Akif Pirinçci makes his cats look superior. He also endows them with a sort of holiness in their speech and social customs. For one, the cats refer to each other not as “cats”, but as “brothers” and “sisters”. And it’s established that the real reason cats don’t talk to humans has nothing to do with language; simply put, to do so is sacrilege. As Francis quotes on page 261:
“The untouchable may not exchange a single word with the impure, even if they’re in danger of dying.”
Of course, this doesn’t mean they are above using the same crass and sarcastic vocabulary as many human adults. One prominent slang term they use is “can opener”, to describe humans whose only supposed “function” is to open cat food cans. These cats are more than well-versed in human objects, trends, and concepts. Our especially clever and inquisitive narrator, Francis, often peppers his witty remarks with pop culture or history references to get his point across:
BOOK:
- “In comparison to this maltreated creature, even Quasimodo would have had a realistic chance of becoming a male model.” (pg. 18)
- “He was gone! He had disappeared into thin air, had long ago parted for the Yellow Submarine Land from which he may well have come.” (pg. 151)
- “From hippie life on Crete to yuppie stress in Manhattan, from coca-leaf chewing to Calvin Klein jeans, Archie had already done it and much more, except perhaps not joining the NASA boys for their moon landing, which, to be honest, does disappoint me.” (Pg. 24-25)
FILM:
- “This parquet freak and professional trend-setter is Archibald Philip Magenta, known as Archie. He was at Woodstock.”
- “Have we come to the house of an art collector, or a pimp?”
- “What I was watching wasn’t exactly a scene out of The Aristocats.”
I think Francis’ chemistry with local cat Bluebeard, his new “partner”, as it were, also adds to the noir vibe. Personality-wise, Bluebeard strikes me as the Daisuke Jigen to Francis’ Lupin III: blunt and quick-tempered, with an ironic sense of humor, but also possessing a cynical, yet pragmatic wisdom that can sometimes make Francis seem almost naïve and idealistic by comparison. Yet despite a harsh attitude that matches his severely disfigured façade, Bluebeard proves an invaluable guide and loyal friend to Francis:
BOOK:
‘Another cold sack?’ I asked him, not wanting to beat around the bush.
I caught him by surprise, but in seconds he had already composed himself, assuming his stoic Humphrey Bogart look.
‘A cold sack,’ he confessed after a brief pause.
[. . .]
‘What member of our god-fearing community got it this time? Stop, wait a minute. It was a guy, wasn’t it? Just like the other four corpses.’
Now he showed open astonishment.
‘How the hell did you find that out?’
‘Just a guess.’
[. . .]
The monster limped into the room, snorted, then crouched down beside me with a worried expression on his face.
‘This time it was good old Deep Purple who said his last good-bye. His neck looks so bad you’d think someone used it to try out his new ice pick. As far as I’m concerned, they could have turned that dimwit [a**hole] into dog food, but all these dudes kicking the bucket is beginning to give me the jitters. Who knows, maybe the guy with the strange hobby will someday have the pleasure of sinking his teeth into my own neck.’
[. . .]
‘Where’s Deep Purple’s corpse now?’
‘In Peter Fonda’s garage. Do you want to go on with your clever investigation?’
‘If you have nothing against it. How about showing me where it is?’
‘Why not,’ he said, yawning, his inimitable coolness having since returned [. . .]. He turned to go, but before he could quite get into gear, I caught up with him with a quick leap and looked deep down into his one uninjured eye, the eye that sparkled all the more brightly because it was the only one he had left.
‘You never did tell me your name, wiseass,’ I said. He smiled wearily, then brushed lightly past me out the balcony door.
‘Bluebeard,’ he said outside. ‘But don’t ask me now who my can opener is, otherwise I’ll be the one who’ll have to puke.’ (Pg. 32-36)
FILM:
BLUEBEARD: Agh!
FRANCIS: Another killing?
BLUEBEARD: (In gruff surprise.) How the hell did you . . . ? Yes, there’s been another one.
FRANCIS: Let me guess. This latest victim’s also a tom. (Lifts a leg to scratch himself.) Just like the other four stiffs.
BLUEBEARD: Smartass. How the hell did you know that?
FRANCIS: A guess, but it’s an educated one.
BLUEBEARD: Anyway, this time it’s tight-ass Deep Purple that’s taken out his last rat. (Run his claws across his neck to demonstrate as he speaks.) His throat looks exactly as though someone decided to test an ice pick to see if it works.
[. . . ]
FRANCIS: Where is Deep Purple’s corpse now? Can you show me?
BLUEBEARD: (A smile in his voice.) Sure, why not?
FRANCIS: (Curiously.) Hey, what’s your name, smartass?
BLUEBEARD: Bluebeard. And I’ve had more babes in my time than Henry VIII. (Bursts into wheezing laughter.)
But as logical as Francis is, he is not spared from the nightmares that plague him as the murders multiply. Whether they are as bloody and demented as anything Clive Barker could dream up, or so strange and ethereal as to shatter the heart, neither in the novel nor the movie does Pirinçci hold back on the creativity, the viciousness, or, most importantly, the symbolism. Throughout Francis’ quest for the truth, in his visions as well as in real life, a key question is raised: What if, due to all the centuries of domestication, mankind destroyed more within cats than just their ancient primeval instincts? What if they have fallen from grace the way Adam and Eve did?
BOOK:
“‘At last I have found you,’ I said. In my excitement and joy, I was on the brink of tears.
‘Naturally,’ [the murderer] said with an unfathomable deep sadness in his voice. [ . . .] I am the one you’ve been looking for all this time: I am the murderer, I am the Prophet, [. . .] I am the eternal riddle, I am the man and the beast—and I am Felidae. All of these I am in one person and more, much more.’
[. . .] The veil of mist lifted to present the white murderer anew in all his splendor. He rose in slow motion from his seat, turned toward me, and gave me a faraway look, as if he were gazing at me from the mysterious depths of the universe.
‘Everything that ever was and ever will be no longer has any meaning, Francis,’ he said, and his sad voice echoed into infinity. ‘The only thing that’s important is that you now change sides and come to us, come with us.’
[. . .]
The huge army of my brothers and sisters in the background affirmed in unison:
‘Come with us, Francis! You’ll find something better than death everywhere!’
The murderer turned away from me and floated over to the others. Then he became a tiny part of the crowd and looked back once again.
‘Come with us, Francis,’ he insisted. ‘Come with us on a long, wonderful trip.’
Now they turned their backs on me and wandered leisurely into the thickening mist.
‘Where are you going?’ I called after them.
‘To Africa! To Africa! To Africa!’ they called out with one voice until they gradually disappeared into the mist.
‘And what will we find there?’ I still wanted to know.
‘Everything we lost, Francis, everything we lost . . .’ I heard them whispering. But they were now lost to sight; they had already become one with the magical mist.
Slowly, an unbearable sadness filled me, because I had not followed them, because I had been afraid to set out on the long journey, because I was now completely alone. Africa! It sounded so alluring, so mysterious, so exciting. Everything you ever dreamed about was there, my unerring instincts whispered to me. Africa! The lost paradise, El Dorado, the Promised Land—where once, long ago, everything had its beginning. Yet Africa was so unimaginably far away, and I was only a comfort-loving, four-legged animal used to thinking in terms of short distances. The nocturnal songs of the gods were strange to me; so, too, the hot wind of the savanna. Never had I slept under a canopy of stars, and never had I set foot in the sacred jungle. Africa! But where was Africa? In any case, not in me, not in my yearnings, not in my heart. It was somewhere else, very far from me, irrevocably far from me.
And yet:
‘Take me with you.’ I wept quietly to myself. ‘Take me with you, my brothers and sisters . . .’” (Pg. 173-174)
FILM:
(The Dream Cat/Murderer turns to look at Francis.)
FRANCIS: (Excitedly.) I’ve been searching for you!
DREAM CAT/MURDERER: (Softly.) Yes, of course, clever Francis. I’m the Prophet. I’m the human. I’m the beast. And I am also . . . Felidae. Come with us, Francis. All that has been, all there will be has no meaning anymore. Come with us, Francis.
DREAM CAT ARMY: (Simultaneously, as one by one they transform into tiny lights and float away towards the sky.) Come with us! Wherever you go, you find something preferable to death.
DREAM CAT/MURDERER: (As he, too, turns into a light and joins the others.) Come with us, on our long, wonderful journey.
FRANCIS: (Sinking into the clouds he’s standing on.) What will we find when we arrive?
DREAM CAT ARMY: Everything that we’ve lost, Francis.
But perhaps even more prominent: what if cats, or any animals, really, due to man’s abuse and supremacy, became more like man, to the point where they essentially became man, in all his sick, stupid, and tainted glory?
While it may be easy to compare this to works like Richard Adams’ Watership Down or George Orwell’s Animal Farm, Felidae stands out from other non-sugar-coated critiques of mankind’s faults through the eyes of intelligent animals. On a much deeper and more complex level than I’ve seen in either a gritty crime drama or an animal adventure tale, it frames the concept of racial superiority in the form of questions regarding the supposedly inherent nature of a given species, and even the very nature of God and a living creature’s place in the universe. Felidae is an enthralling detective story with many more mysteries than simply “Whodunit?” Not the least of which is: Do we own our pets . . . or do they own us?
CREDITS:
All images, audio, and links belong to their respective owners; no copyright infringement is intended.
MAIN THEME:
“The Call” – Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
EPISODE SONG:
“Frances” - George Ellsworth
“Frances” - George Ellsworth
All book excerpts are from Felidae by Akif Pirinçci (1993 English hardcover edition; published by Villard Books).
All other music and sound clips are from the English dub of Felidae (directed by Michael Schaack; production by TFC Trickcompany Fontana; distributed by Senator Film Distribution).
OST SONG:
“Mendel’s Waltz”
Download the full 15-minute episode here!
Felidae (novel) on Wikipedia
Felidae (film) on Wikipedia
Akif Pirinçci on Wikipedia
Felidae, the biological family, on Wikipedia
Watch Felidae (original German dub with English subtitles)
Watch Felidae (English dub)
Felidae (novel) on Goodreads
Felidae (series) on Fandom
Felidae (novel) on Fandom
Felidae (film) on Fandom
Felidae (film) on IMDb
Felidae (film) on Rotten Tomatoes
Felidae on Tv Tropes
Buy Felidae (novel) on Thriftbooks
Buy Felidae (novel) on Amazon
Buy Felidae (film) on Amazon (Region 2 only)
Buy Felidae (novel) on Ebay
^^ Back to Adaptations, Retellings, and Old Tales in New Light
All other music and sound clips are from the English dub of Felidae (directed by Michael Schaack; production by TFC Trickcompany Fontana; distributed by Senator Film Distribution).
OST SONG:
“Mendel’s Waltz”
Download the full 15-minute episode here!
Felidae (novel) on Wikipedia
Felidae (film) on Wikipedia
Akif Pirinçci on Wikipedia
Felidae, the biological family, on Wikipedia
Watch Felidae (original German dub with English subtitles)
Watch Felidae (English dub)
Felidae (novel) on Goodreads
Felidae (series) on Fandom
Felidae (novel) on Fandom
Felidae (film) on Fandom
Felidae (film) on IMDb
Felidae (film) on Rotten Tomatoes
Felidae on Tv Tropes
Buy Felidae (novel) on Thriftbooks
Buy Felidae (novel) on Amazon
Buy Felidae (film) on Amazon (Region 2 only)
Buy Felidae (novel) on Ebay
^^ Back to Adaptations, Retellings, and Old Tales in New Light