They started in the north-east corner of the state, near Conneaut: a dozen or so cats — a couple Pixie Bobs, a few Siamese, one Oriental Shorthair, a bunch of Bombays and at least one Havana Brown — taking orders from the Feral General, an Asian Leopard with one eye and a bent tail. The Army swept through town, entering every house and passing along the word — Revolution.
The Army soon had scores of underlings — housecats joined the Movement by the handful and locked their "owners" out of their own houses. Two Siamese and the Oriental Shorthair infiltrated a nearby radio station, "took care of" the employees, and soon the entire Movement was in control of the local radio waves. House after house fell prey to the swarm of revolutionary felines, and in just half an hour, the whole town was owned by the cats. Humans were locked out of office buildings, cars, and trapped in elevators.
It had just begun: with control of the radio station, the word was spread to all cats via constant broadcasts. "We have taken over," the radio mewed. "Join the Movement and create the New Order; human resistance is futile!" Of course, the humans listening to the broadcasts couldn't understand a word and would switch to a different station, thinking it was a prank... But they were too late, the word was out. In under an hour, the nearby towns of Lakeville, Farnham and Bushnell had fallen to the Movement, and it was just gaining momentum. Ashtabula, Geneva, Jefferson, and soon Painesville, Chardon and as far south as Champion had fallen to the feline invasion. After the cats overran a TV station and a few more radio stations near Euclid, it wasn't long before the Revolution reached Cleveland.
Cleveland was where the Movement met its first resistance from the humans. In the beginning, everyone had been caught totally off guard, not really believing what was happening; once the cats got to Cleveland the humans recognized what was coming and began preparing themselves. Many cat "owners" locked their cats in cages or basements, or even shot them. Veterinarians all over the city reached for their reserve quantities of sodium pentobarbital to euthanize any cat they came across. As the seeds of the Cleveland Movement began to falter, backup troops from Independence and Bedford were called in, along with the Army and its ferally fearless feline leader, the one-eyed Asian Leopard.
The humans had set up a blockade around the city and, armed with tranquilizer guns loaded with any nasty industrial solvent available, prepared for the coming battle...but it never came. The humans had underestimated the cunning and ingenuity of the Feral General: several dispatchments of cats had infiltrated the sewer systems and electrical access tunnels and were already inside the city. After they freed every imprisoned cat, the fate of the humans began to look grim.
But in the center of the city, a surprise waited: the invading felines were amazed to discover large groups of dogs and squirrels gathered in Jacobs Field, talking amongst themselves. When a cat who could translate Canish and Sciurese stepped forward, a large German Shepherd explained that the dog and squirrel populations of Cleveland had figured out what was happening and wanted to join paws with the feline Revolution. A quick vote among the cats lead to acceptance of the proposed coalition, and the Cleveland Cooperation Compact was signed by the Feral General, the German Shepherd and a squirrel (they were Socialists and had no official leaders). The dog squadrons would assist with the fight on the ground and work crowd control; the cats would continue with propaganda and direct the Movement; the squirrels would be the eyes of the sky and go on reconnaissance missions too dangerous for any cat or dog.
With three families of normally placid animals working against their oppressors, the humans did not have a chance: amid dying cries of Vive la Resistance!, Cleveland fell in less than half an hour. Outnumbered ten to one in many towns, the Revolution stormed Lakewood, Brunswick, Akron and Salem with overwhelming success. By the time the Movement reached Fredericktown, the city had heard the tales of the unstoppable waves of housecats, led by a one-eyed cat rumored to be fifty years old, and accompanied by every dog and squirrel in Eastern Ohio. There wasn't a human to be found in Columbus except for a few vigilante veterinarians and World War III veterans who were efficiently vanquished. Xenia, Jackson, Dayton, even Cincinatti: all deserted. The humans had grabbed their most prized possessions and piled into cars, fleeing the state. Major highways were backed up for thirty miles, and those stuck in their cars watched in horror as wave after wave of dog, cat and squirrel invaded town after town.
In only two days, the entire state was devoid of human life. The borders were patrolled by large dogs and lookout squirrels. Socialized food care, housing for everyone, and a purely democratic (though amendable, if need be) system of government had been established, with three branches representing the three major genera. The entire society was species-blind except when it came to food distribution (each animal got the preferred type of food) and specialized jobs (squirrels stuck to recon and dogs to force, but there were a few exceptions).
