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Jonesy’s dreams are never simple. When sleep takes him, it’s not the gentle purr of Gateway Station’s filtered air, but the cold silence of hypersleep, the bitter tang of terror, the shriek of things that should not be. His green eyes flicker as memory claws at him; nightmares, yes, but also the warmth of his brave human with the curly hair, who cradled him against her chest when the world split open and monsters spilled out.
He remembers the Nostromo’s dark corridors, the hiss of the alien. Jonesy had been close enough to taste its wrongness in the air, to know that some things hold secrets even cats cannot decipher. But he’d survived thanks to Ripley. His tail flicks and his pupils dilate; a sudden flash of the creature’s arm reaching out, claws grasping for him in the shadows. He had been swift; saved by the quickness of his instincts, the love of his human.
He remembers waking from cryo-sleep, Ripley’s voice soft, hands gentle. In their apartment, he curled on her lap. There was comfort in their shared solitude.
But then, the call came. LV-426. His human was scared. She told him the mission was too dangerous. He blinked, slow and understanding. She found a quiet friend to take him in. Jonesy watched her pack. She knelt, pressing her forehead to his, whispering prayers. “Be safe, Jonesy. Please.” Her voice lingered in the air long after she left. He waited for her, each day a fragile hope that she would return. But as time passed, the silence grew heavy, and the ache of longing settled deep in his chest. He missed her — her smell, her voice, the warmth of her hand.
Time passed. Jonesy grew old. He remembered the friend’s kindness, the gentler pace of life. He dreamed more often, and in his dreams, the shadow of Ulthar loomed; a city of cats, ancient and eternal. He felt drawn even as vivid flashbacks of the monster’s hiss echoed. But equally powerful were memories of Ripley’s laughter, her gratitude for his safety. Jonesy knows he is not merely a survivor. He is of cats, and all cats go where no harm comes to his kind.
As his body weakened, Jonesy felt the veil thinning. He closed his eyes, and the world shifted. He awoke not in Gateway, nor in the cold corridors of memory, but in Ulthar. The air was soft, filled with the purrs and whispers of countless cats, all revered. Jonesy stretched, whole and unafraid, his fur gleaming in the strange but welcome light.
And in that eternal city, he heard his human’s voice, distant but real; a prayer carried on cosmic winds. Jonesy sat in the moonlit square, heart full and ancient, wishing she could know: he was safe, always had been, and always would be.
In Ulthar, all cats are remembered. And Jonesy, brave survivor, curling in the warmth of mystifying eternity, understood he was loved beyond worlds, through his human’s hope echoing through every star.