Racecats

Several racehorses the size, shape, and color of Rock's cat Joe were in Rock's back bedroom at daybreak. Rock interviewed their jockeys one by one and heard the same from each, bearing in mind as always that optimism from horserace participants skews their comments to an extent that renders them virtually meaningless.
"We feel good about our chances," they said; the only variable was how their rides responded to whatever medications they were prescribed.
It gradually dawned on Rock that these animals weren't horses at all. They were, in fact, housecats, which raised an infinite set of questions. At first, Rock wondered how racing had conned the public for so long and what sort of visual tomfoolery was required to make ten-pound cats appear as one-thousand-pound horses. How did they carry their jockeys? Why were they not visually dwarfed by the enormity of one-mile racetracks? It seemed as if they would do nothing more than sink into the sand and silt.
After a while, Rock saw other horses around the track, regular thoroughbreds familiar to nearly everyone. He guessed the cats were used for cheaper races, but this was all very confusing. He wanted to call his horse-training friend Lynn Chleborad. She usually had the dirt on everything, but he wasn't sure how to begin this potential story of a lifetime, this incredible, perhaps world-changing story about cats. Rock was indeed frightened by it.