The Flying Flea, Callie and Me

by Bill Wallace

  To my second grade class of 1996-97: Jamie Burnes, Chip Collins, Tracy Couch, Amanda Curtis, Rollo Dickenson, Nathan Gorham, Erica Heath, Jessica Hill, Mimi Huber, Damon Logue, Keith Mangus, Michelle Rose, Douglas Sanders, Cassie Stanley, Ben Still, Emily Summars, Tiara Thomas, and Christopher Wentz

  CHAPTER 1

  I strolled toward the porch with my trophy. My feet and tail were wet from the morning dew. The night hunt had been a good one. I climbed the steps and dropped the remains of the last mouse on the mat. The House Mama would be so proud of me when she found it. From the porch I could see the hayfield where the mice played every night. Most of them were sleeping now, but when it got dark I would return for another hunt.

  The leaves of the apple tree near the driveway shook from the gentle summer breeze as I walked down the sidewalk away from the house.

  My whiskers twitched when I saw Mockingbird fly back and forth from the pasture to the apple tree. I sat down to wash my front paws. She seemed to be working very hard adding twigs to the pile she was collecting on a branch.

  I trotted toward the woodpile under the apple tree. As soon as Bird flew off to the pasture once more, I hopped up the stacked logs to take a look for myself. A soft hissing sound came from beneath the woodpile. I stopped, frowning at the strange noise. Suddenly Bird swooped down at me. I flattened myself as close to the woodpile as I could. My ears pressed down against my head. With every muscle tensed, I waited for her next attack. Sure enough, she hit me. I flinched. It was only a warning peck on the side of my face.

  Bird flew at me again, fast and accurate. This time she pecked me on the top of my head. I swished my tail as I stretched my claws, trying to hold on to the woodpile. She started on another fly-by. The wind from her wings made my hair rustle.

  “Leave my nest alone, Gray Cat!” Bird screamed.

  I really wanted to see what she was doing with the messy pile of twigs. Instead I hopped to the ground and fluffed my fur. My tail flipped back and forth when I walked to the holly bushes in front of the house. I needed a quick nap before going back to the tree. Bird watched me as I nestled behind a bush. I was safe here from her attacks.

  • • •

  I had been on the farm for just a short time. The House People had picked me out of my litter to be a mouser. My mother was the best mouser ever. She had taught me how to sneak up, without making so much as a sound. She had taught me how to crouch. Best of all she had taught me how to pounce. She could catch a mouse every time she went hunting—well, almost every time. I wasn’t quite that good yet, but I got better every day.

  The House People had said that Callie was getting too old to keep up with the mouse problem. Most of her days she spent sleeping in the sun. At night she slept inside on a bed.

  • • •

  Bird’s shrill call woke me. My whiskers sprang up. I opened one eye and watched her swoop. She pecked Callie as the old cat walked from the field to the house. I stretched both front legs and stood up.

  “Hey, leave Callie alone. She’s old. She isn’t bothering you!”

  “Mind your own business, Gray Cat! I have my work to do, and Callie knows it!”

  I quickly trotted out to meet Callie. When Bird swooped again, I swiped at her with my sharp claws.

  “You missed me, Cat!” she scoffed as she flew up to the apple tree.

  Callie strolled to the porch and jumped onto the rocking chair. “Thanks for the help. Bird has been working hard on her nest in the apple tree. She will be laying her eggs soon. That should keep her busy for a while so we can get some rest.”

  Laying eggs? Nest? After a short catnap I just had to see what Bird was doing with the twigs. The grass felt dry on my paws now. I crept around the long way, through the pine trees, so Bird wouldn’t see me. If I took a quick peek, I could be back on the porch before she ever spotted me.

  As I neared the woodpile, I noticed something brown. It looked like the garden hose that the Mama used to water her flowers. A gentle rustling sound came to my ears when it moved. My head tilted to the side, and my whiskers sprang up. The garden hose doesn’t move, I thought with a frown. I leaned forward for a closer look when the brown hose stopped, turned, and glared at me. When I blinked and took a step back, the hose slid toward the woodpile. Crouching close to the ground, I inched toward the end of the thing. I slapped at the pointed tip as it disappeared between two of the logs.

  The hose hissed at me, really loud. I jumped back.

  “Leave me alone!” the hiss said.

  I couldn’t see anything, but I knew a hose couldn’t talk. Again I leaned closer. Bird swooped down at me. I backed up, then scampered for the pine trees.

  “Cat, leave my nest alone!” Bird screamed again.

  “I didn’t do anything. I was looking at the hose under the woodpile!”

  “Stay away!” Bird warned.

  • • •

  For three days Bird worked on the nest. She made trips to the field, then back to her tree. Callie and I were easy targets for her if we happened to cross her path. Callie didn’t even flinch when Bird hit her. I tried to scare Bird with my claws. Sometimes I spun around, pretending to bite at her.

  • • •

  On the fourth day things were different. Callie noticed it first. “Bird hasn’t been after us today.”

  “Where do you think she is?” I asked.

  “She’s probably laying her eggs.” Callie stretched and yawned. “She usually has four or five eggs in her nest.”

  “How do you know?” I twitched my whiskers.

  “The Mama Mockingbird has been coming back to that old tree for years. She thinks it is the best home for her family.” Callie closed both eyes and curled up into a ball.

  “Have you seen the eggs?”

  “A few times,” she answered without opening her eyes. “When I was younger, I would try to check out her eggs every year. Now it is too dangerous for me to climb very high. The people put the woodpile under the tree last year. It is a little easier to get to the nest now, but I would rather eat the nice soft cat food that I can get inside. There is no reason to risk getting caught up in the tree for those little birds. Besides, I like Bird. She is just doing her job, protecting her family. The Papa Mockingbird is around somewhere. He pecks, too. He watches from the pines.”

  Callie slept for a while. I listened for the Papa Mockingbird. The warm sunshine felt good on my coat. I took a long bath, washing with my tongue and paws. I would check that nest when Bird finished laying her eggs.

  I was almost asleep when a sound in the grass made my ears perk up. Listening, I held my breath and tilted my head to one side. I saw the brown hose moving slowly across the yard. My ears were up, my legs ready to pounce. What was that strange hose that could move by itself?

  I crouched, my tail twitching nervously. The brown hose slithered across the driveway and into the dirt. I followed it, one step at a time. The green garden hose that the Mama used to water her flowers didn’t move by itself. Something deep inside told me to be careful.

  As I eased closer, the brown hose disappeared back under the woodpile. Just then another bird dropped down and pecked me on the back near my tail. This wasn’t a fly-by—this was a peck! It hurt, too. It also caught me by surprise. I had been concentrating so hard on the brown hose that I forgot all about the birds.

  When the peck came, my front end stopped and backed up—only my back end jumped. It jumped really high, too. First thing I knew, my tail went over the top of my head. I saw it, but there was nothing I could do. My tail went, then my rear end. I was flat on my back.

  We cats don’t like to land on our backs. We are supposed to land on all fours. Quick as the blink of an eye, I twisted and
scrambled to my feet. My tail flipped as I glanced around, hoping no one had seen me.

  “Cat, get away from my family!” Papa Mockingbird sharpened his beak on the branch where he was perched. He glared at me with his black eyes.

  CHAPTER 2

  I flopped down on the porch. Licking my paw, I rubbed at the back of my neck where Papa Mockingbird had pecked me. It still hurt.

  “Gray, you need to watch what you’re doing when you go to the woodpile.” Callie looked down at me from the rocker.

  “I was watching. That bird pecked me for no reason. I was minding my own business!”

  “No, I’m not talking about Bird. I mean Bullsnake,” Callie purred.

  “What’s a bullsnake?”

  “I saw you following Bullsnake across the yard. He is long and brown. You were creeping up on him.” Callie jumped down from the rocker and stood in front of me. When she looked me straight in the eye, I blinked.

  “Oh, the brown hose? What is it called?”

  “His name is Bullsnake. He has lived around the barn for a long time. He helps me get rid of mice. Last year when the rats moved into the barn, he moved out. The rats were too big and scary, so now he lives under the woodpile.”

  I glanced toward the stacked logs. “Is he mean or nice?” I asked.

  Callie shrugged her ears. “He’s just Bullsnake. He leaves me alone, and I leave him alone.”

  The old cat walked to the corner and rolled in the dust. Then she curled up to take a nap. I decided to check out the hayfield. A few mice were out. I missed one but caught a small trophy to take home. As I crossed the front yard, Bird tapped me on the head. This time I was sort of expecting it. I still jumped, but I didn’t flip myself over. Instead, I hurried to the house and dropped the mouse on the mat.

  I spent most of my rest time on the porch. The house faced the place where the sun went to hide at night. Sometimes I would watch it slowly slide behind the rock hill across the road. In front of the rock hill was the hay field where the mice ate the farmer’s crop. Closer to the house were pine trees. They were thick and bushy. There was a driveway between them and the apple tree. It was covered with little bitsy gray rocks. When the human people came home, they drove up the driveway and left their car under what they called a carport. It was like a house—with a roof but no walls. Around the corner from the carport was a chain-link fence. There was just enough room between the fence and the house so I could squeeze through and lie in the flowers in Mama’s backyard. I had to watch for the dog, though. Her name was Muffy. She never chased me, because she was old, even older than Callie. Fact is, she hardly ever got up and moved around very much at all. Still, she was a dog, and cats just can’t trust dogs.

  • • •

  I stayed on the porch resting and watching for long time. When Bird didn’t fly from her nest, I walked to the woodpile. My tail gave a nervous flip. I took a deep breath and jumped up on the logs. Quiet as could be I climbed up to the first limb. A warning call came from inside the nest. Bird peeked over the pile of twigs.

  “Don’t even think about it, Cat! Get away! I have work to do. I don’t have time to chase you right now.” She fluffed her feathers.

  A sudden sharp peck hit my head. The sneak attack startled me. I almost lost my hold on the tree bark.

  “Stay out of our tree!” Papa Mockingbird scolded.

  As I backed down from the limb, I stopped to sharpen my claws on the bark. That will show them I’m not scared, I thought. I need a nap anyway.

  I would wait until Papa Mockingbird went to the field to hunt. Then I would check the nest again. As I started to move away from the woodpile, I heard the strange hissing sound. I tried to peek inside but couldn’t see anything. I backed up and pressed my body to the ground. I lay there for a long time.

  “Bullsnake, is that you?”

  “Leave me alone!” he hissed from inside the darkness.

  “I’m new here and we haven’t met. Don’t you want to come out?”

  “Leave me alone!” he hissed again.

  I stared hard. My eyes narrowed to slits as I tried to see into the spaces between the logs. I finally stood up and sharpened my claws on Bullsnake’s home—he needed to know I wasn’t afraid of him, either. I strolled back to the edge of the driveway. Bird peeked over the edge of her nest and watched me walk back to the porch.

  • • •

  Callie had gone into the house when I returned. Papa Mockingbird sat near the top of the apple tree. He chirped and jabbered, but he never took his eyes off me. The trophy was missing from the mat. The House Mama must have found it. With a proud smile, I jumped onto the rocker. I dreamed of juicy mice hiding in the field and the House Mama petting me and telling me what a great mouser I was.

  • • •

  A few days later I heard new sounds coming from the nest. I waited patiently under the holly bushes. When Bird flew to the field, I bounced up from my hiding place and took off for the tree. Papa Mockingbird pecked me on the back.

  “Get away!” he warned.

  Suddenly Bird was back on her nest. “Gray Cat, my babies aren’t even big enough for a snack for you! Don’t come here again!”

  Papa Mockingbird’s sharp beak stabbed at me once more.

  “I’m only looking. I just want a quick peek!” I pouted.

  Flipping my tail, I made my way slowly back to the soft dirt under the bushes. I could wait. Someday I would get a peek at what was making the curious noises in the nest.

  All day Bird flew to the field and returned with juicy caterpillars and fluttery moths for her hungry family. Callie and I were able to move freely without worrying about Bird pecking us when we weren’t expecting it. Papa Mockingbird still stood guard from the top of the pines but seemed to be watching for other enemies.

  • • •

  As the days passed, the noise from the nest grew louder, and I became more curious. I guess cats are just naturally curious. I had to see what was going on.

  I waited until both birds flew off to the field. As soon as they were gone, I darted from under the bushes, climbed to the top of the logs, and started up the tree. The nest was resting in a crook on the first limb. Four tiny bird heads peeked back at me as I looked into the twig nest that Bird had made. They were weird! Their mouths were really big and yellow. Their feathers were kind of scraggly, making them look almost bald. Their skin was pink and their eyes were really round and—

  Bird’s beak hit me between the ears.

  “Ouch!” I cried. “I was just looking!”

  Before the meow even got out of my mouth, Bird pecked me again. She hit the middle of my neck, right between my shoulder blades. Off balance, I fell and landed on the woodpile. I didn’t even take the time to wash my paws or sharpen my claws. I just jumped to the ground and ran.

  “Gray Cat, I’m warning you! Stay away!”

  Once I was safe under the pine trees, I stopped to clean my fur and get myself back together.

  “Be careful, Birdies,” I heard Bird warn her nest of pink babies. “Always be watching. Bad Cats are sneaky. They will come into the tree quietly and take you away. Cats like nothing better than to eat baby birds.”

  “I don’t eat baby birds!” I argued, loud enough for them to hear. “Callie doesn’t, either. She’s too old to climb up the tree. I just wanted to see what was in your nest.”

  Bird gathered her babies under her wings.

  “Don’t believe him,” she warned. “All cats chase birds.”

  “Not me,” I meowed. “Honest!”

  As I walked to the hayfield, I heard the loud noises from the nest. Bird took a swoop at me on her way to the pasture.

  I glanced back at the tree. Papa Mockingbird glared at me from the top branches.

  My tail flipped from side to side when I strutted toward the field. A nice mouse will make me feel better, I thought.

  CHAPTER 3

  The mice scurried as I strolled into the field. The House Daddy was working at the far end of the
meadow with a big machine. The hay would soon be cut and, with no places left to hide, many of the mice would hurry to the creek or the rock hill for protection. Hunting was easy now, though.

  I carried my trophy to the front yard. Callie was asleep on the porch swing. The House Mama came out the door just as I hopped up on the cool concrete.

  “Gray! Yuck! Good kitty! Yuck! Take that mouse out to the field!” she yelled at me.

  I smiled and headed for the mat to drop the mouse. Mama stamped her foot at me. Puzzled, I looked up. Maybe she didn’t see the neat trophy in my mouth. I raised my head so she’d have a better view.

  “See the prize I brought you,” I purred.

  She stamped the concrete again. “Get, Gray! Go away and take that thing with you!”

  I was confused. I thought she would be proud of me, but here she was trying to shoo me away.

  I swished my tail against her leg, and Mama picked me up. But she held me away from her. She usually held me close and petted me. I tried to turn so I could show her the trophy that I brought—just for her. At arm’s length, she carried me to the end of the yard and set me down.

  “Gray, I love you dearly, but please eat the mouse before you come to the porch!”

  “I don’t like the whole mouse,” I purred. “I just like the crunchy part!” Mama didn’t seem to understand my purrs. I tried to follow her back to the house. She kicked at me with her big paw—I mean, foot.

  I finally dropped the trophy and gazed up at her. She smiled and walked away. She was almost to the house when Bird dropped out of the air and stabbed me in the back.

  “Ouch!” I yowled. “That hurt!”

  Mama turned around and started yelling at Bird. “Get away from Gray. Scat! Go on!”

  Still chattering, Bird flew to the top of the pecan tree.

  Satisfied that I was okay, Mama turned and walked to the door. She looked back again and stepped inside the house.

  Bird started screaming at me as soon as the door closed. “Get out of here! Get away from my tree!”