“Caterwaul! Get over here, I’m pinned down!” shouted Coy. Caterwaul could hear the door as it began to open. Hurling his full weight at the cage, Caterwaul shifted the trap just enough for him to pull Coy free.
“Can you run?” asked Caterwaul.
“I doubt it,” said Coy. “You go on; I will see if I can hide in a crack somewhere.”
Fat chance of that, thought Caterwaul. “Get up on my back and hold on tight to my collar and pack.” The kitten did as he was told and wrapped his paws around the pack and collar.
Caterwaul could smell a torch being lit. They had no time to lose. “Don’t let go for anything. You hear me?” Caterwaul bolted for the hole just as the hunter entered with the lit torch. He hoped they had gotten out without being seen. He could hear the hunter cursing loudly at the disordered condition of his collection of traps.
“They must have escaped through that hole,” he could hear Warwick Vane Bezel III say as they slipped out of earshot.
“So, how many of them got free?” Warwick Vane Bezel III asked the hunter.
“Looks like around six or seven of them,” the hunter answered. “It’s kind of hard to tell with all this mess in here.”
He picked up one of the cages and replaced it where it had been. The cat inside was frightened and whimpering.
“How in the world did this happen?” he asked, looking at the queen’s secret police commander. “They were all locked up tight.”
“Some of these cats were humans once,” the commander responded, “Is it so hard to believe that a few of them might have the skill and dexterity to escape from these flimsy traps you’ve devised?” He picked up one of the empty cages from where it had fallen over. “From the look of this one here, I would say it’s a wonder you have any cats left at all.
“Load those you have left into the wagon,” said the constable, tossing the hunter a large ring full of keys. “The smallest of those keys will open the lock on the cage you will find there. Put whatever cats you have remaining inside it. You will forgive me if I don’t trust your traps.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “What about white ones? Have you captured any white cats for me?”
“Just the one, and she is most definitely a beauty,” the hunter answered. “Just what you’ve been looking for, I’d say.”
“Excellent,” said Warwick Vane Bezel III, laughing as he rubbed his gauntleted hands together. He was pleased. There were few things he could think of that would make him happier than to be able to bring the queen back her prize before that pompous Caterwaul could.
He tossed the hunter a pouch of coins. “I hope you’ll understand, but I’ve docked you for the ones that got away.”
The hunter was visibly upset, but did not dare to question him.
Once all of the remaining felines had been moved to the cage in the back of the wagon, Warwick Vane Bezel III mounted his horse and signaled for the wagon master to follow.
Once he felt he was safely away, Caterwaul stopped running and helped Coy down from his back. The little guy was having a hard time breathing. The weight of the cage on his small frame had obviously taken its toll. Caterwaul hoped that he didn’t have any broken bones, or worse, a punctured lung.
“So how are you holding up?” Caterwaul asked him.
“I’m alive,” answered the kitten. “Glad to be away from that place. Other than that though, I feel like ten days worth of garbage that’s been packed into a five-day bag.” He was breathing hard, and he was obviously in a lot of pain. Still, for a little guy, Coy was tough as they come. He didn’t complain at all despite his many injuries.
The brave kitten’s body was bleeding in several places from the cuts and scrapes he endured trying to break the captive cats out. Caterwaul suspected he was a lot more hurt than he let on.
“I guess this means I’m on the sidelines for the second half, Coach,” he joked, trying to keep up a strong façade. He found it was difficult to breathe or even to walk.
“That’s all right, friend,” Caterwaul told him. “You’ve done more than I ever could’ve asked. We’re still in this game because of you.” He helped Coy to the shelter of a hollowed-out log. “I’ll be back for you as soon as I can. I promise.”
“Go back . . . Huxley . . . Go back and see if you can make a deal with the dog,” Coy said.
“The dog? Why?” answered Caterwaul.
“I’m not sure, but I’ve been thinking. That dog doesn’t look all that happy with his role in life right now.” He groaned and shifted his position to see his friend better. “It wouldn’t surprise me one bit to find him willing to switch sides.”
Smiling at Coy, Caterwaul turned around and headed back down in the direction he came from. As he approached the hunter’s place, Caterwaul could hear shouting and the sounds of a dog wailing in agony. He ducked his head down underneath one of the outer windowsills to listen. Inside the house, the hunter was beating Huxley unmercifully with what looked like a shoe. Peering through the glass of the window, Caterwaul could only watch as the dog tried in vain to get away. Huxley threw his legs up to cover his head with his paws as the hunter swung at him. When the hunter temporarily stopped the beating, Huxley tried to escape, whimpering and crying in pain.
“That will teach you to cost me money, you confounded animal.” The abuse had escalated in the hunter’s household. The hunter beat his dog repeatedly as the canine howled, trying in vain to escape the hits, scuttling around the room.
This went on for an eternity it seemed to Caterwaul, though it was probably about ten minutes. By the time the hunter finished, the dog could do nothing but lie on the ground twitching and trembling in fear.
A few moments later, the door of the house opened up and the hunter emerged, dragging his terrified dog by the collar. He hooked the dog back up to the chain and returned inside. Caterwaul could only watch as the miserable dog wept from the horrible beating he had been given by his master.
The cat wanted to go to see if Huxley was all right, but he hesitated. Caterwaul realized he was in no small part to blame for the awful beating Huxley just endured. He was afraid if he got anywhere close to the dog, Huxley might just try to gobble him up.
After mulling it over in his mind for a bit, he felt he had no choice but to act. Caterwaul moved toward where the beaten animal lay. “Hey, Huxley,” he addressed the dog. “How’s it going?”
The dog looked up at him sad-eyed from where he lay humbled in the grass. “Oh, it’s you,” he said with disgust. “What do you want?”
“Does that happen to you a lot?” Caterwaul asked. “Him hitting you like that . . . does he do that on a regular basis?”
“Not all the time,” the dog answered. “Sometimes he’s an all right guy. It’s only when I do something that makes him mad, or if he does something stupid that he wants to blame me for, that he gets really violent.” He stretched and sat up on his hindquarters. “But I’m just a dog . . . his dog, and he reminds me of that fact far too often.”
Huxley really seemed miserable. It was like he was only showing the tip of the iceberg that was the abuse he had experienced. The sad expression on the dog’s face was one of a long-term victim. He looked like he would give almost anything to be free of the hunter and this unhealthy, belligerent lifestyle. Caterwaul felt his pain and believed that the dog might be open to a deal of some sort.
“Look friend,” Caterwaul began, “you and I may not have gotten off on the best footing, but I have something that I want you to consider.”
Huxley crept forward, and his ears turned as if to show that he was interested in hearing what the cat had to say.
“My name is Caterwaul; perhaps you have heard the name?” He queried. “I am pretty well-connected around these parts. I work for Queen Druciah. Do you know who she is?”
Huxley nodded.
“How would you like to come to work for me?” asked the cat.
15
A Cage Full of Cats
Warwick Vane Bezel III was extraordinarily
proud of himself, and why shouldn’t he be? After all, he had a wagon full of cats with which he could do whatever he wanted, and he had also acquired the pure-white female that his employer demanded.
He chuckled to think that soon he would return to Castle Cathoon with the pure-white cat that the hated Caterwaul had been sent to procure. He took delight in the thought that he would get all the credit and the horrible black feline would now be out of favor with Druciah.
He rode slowly alongside the wagon full of cats. After about a half an hour, he came to a roadblock. There was a large, downed tree lying across the road. A number of cats were sitting on top of the tree. One of them was exceedingly fat and bore gray-and-white markings on his fur. As the horses slowed, Warwick glanced about to get the lay of the land. He stopped and dismounted.
“What’s going on here?” he asked brazenly.
“Ah, you can speak,” said the leader of the cats below him. “That’s a good sign, and a point in your favor, I might add. Those cats you have there belong to me. They pay me protection money, so I suggest that you open up that cage and let ‘em go or it could go ugly for ya.” Two other cats stepped forward from out of the group; it was Meyer and Bugsy. The former flashed his oversized teeth at the secret policeman. My name is Lucius Felino Jr.,” he said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”
“I can’t say that I have,” answered Warwick Vane Bezel III defiantly. “As for me, you can just call me constable,” he responded. A really sinister and twisted smile came over his face. “I believe that everyone who has ever set foot in this land has heard of me.” He led his mount forward. “Fatso, you have no idea whatsoever whom you are dealing with.
“You see I am the chief of police for Queen Druciah, the ruler of all of these lands. I’m what you might call a heavy-hitter around here. In fact I just might be the heaviest hitter of them all. So my advice to you is this: clear out. Get that log out of my path now, and we will go on as if none of this unpleasantness ever happened.” He snatched up Lucius Jr. by his copious neck, and held him up close to his face. “If you refuse me this request, I cannot begin to tell you how bad things will become for you, my fat Felino.”
Warwick Vane Bezel III tossed Lucius, as if he was nothing but a ragdoll, in the direction of the downed tree with a rugged underhand motion. No cat could ever strong-arm him. Humiliated as never before, Lucius Jr., son of the mob boss, signaled for his men to pull the tree out of the road. This was no easy feat. It took Lucius and fifteen other cats a considerable amount of time to haul the tree away so that the wagon could pass.
The police commander smiled and thought to himself: No cat will ever get the best of Warwick Vane Bezel III.
It took no time at all for Huxley to pick up the constable’s scent. After all, Warwick Vane Bezel III was traveling with a wagon full of cats. He shouldn’t be hard to detect, thought Caterwaul. A hound with olfactory senses as excellent as Huxley’s would be sure to pick up his trail from miles away. Caterwaul rode on the dog’s back.
As fast as he was, Caterwaul realized that Huxley was much better equipped to cover long distances. Since the two had come to their “arrangement,” he was content to make use of the hound’s obvious talents. “How much farther ahead is he?” asked Caterwaul.
“The best I can estimate,” answered the dog, “we ought to catch up with him in the next ten to fifteen minutes.” Huxley looked really excited. After years of living with the unappreciative hunter, he finally felt that he was really a part of something. This was a rescue operation. He howled with delight while Caterwaul clung tightly to his collar, trying his best just to hang on.
“What, I don’t understand,” Huxley asked him, “is why you didn’t just come to me honest and forthright at the start?” He was moving very fast in pursuit of the wagon. “Why did you feel the need to throw that exploding doohickey at me? That hurt, by the way.”
“Sorry about that, friend,” Caterwaul answered. “My companion and I needed you to do a job, and we weren’t aware that you and your master were not really reading from the same script, if you catch my meaning.”
Caterwaul cleared his throat. “I mean, look at it from my perspective. You’re a dog and I’m a cat. Usually that makes for strange bedfellows, unless of course we grew up together. Dogs mostly chase us cats. You can’t blame me for thinking you might be aligned against me.”
“Fair enough,” said Huxley, not breaking his stride. “But what was it that made you change your mind about me?”
“That’s obvious,” said Caterwaul. “As I neared the house, I could hear the hunter beating you. And when I looked through the window and saw him hitting you with that shoe . . . I . . . I . . .” he stammered for a moment, “I just thought that no one should be allowed to treat anyone that way. Especially when he is your master and he is supposed to love you. I just don’t understand how anyone can . . .” his voice trailed off sadly.
He paused a solid minute before continuing, “Huxley, I promise you this. If you stick with me, no one will ever beat you like that again. You have my word on that.” The dog howled appreciatively and increased his speed, causing Caterwaul to bounce up and down on his back. “Slow down, dog,” he said laughing. “You’re going to knock me flying.”
After what seemed like twenty minutes or so—it was hard for Caterwaul to keep accurate time from his position on the hound’s back—Huxley slowed down and started sniffing the ground. “There were cats here,” he said, “and it looks like a lot of them, more than just the ones we’re after. Do you see all the footprints?”
“What happened here?” Caterwaul asked.
Huxley pointed to a large hemp rope that was wrapped around the end of a downed tree. “See that?” he asked. “Someone was trying to collect a toll, I’d wager. That someone was most likely part of the outfit. But it didn’t work out. Look . . . You can see where they pulled the log back out of the road.”
Caterwaul looked at the spot Huxley indicated. Sure enough, the downed tree was there, just as Huxley said it was, with the rope and everything. This hound knows what he is looking at, Caterwaul thought.
“How much farther ahead is he?” asked Caterwaul.
“Not much further,” the dog answered. “It looks like the Felino family held him up a bit. We should intercept him in less than ten minutes, give or take.”
Huxley made sure Caterwaul was firmly ensconced on his back and continued to move quickly after the police commander and the wagon full of cats. The dog really knew his way around the forest. He turned his head back toward his passenger and said, “Hold on tight.”
The dog made a left turn away from the path they had been following. He howled in delight and grinned ear to ear, confident in his command of the terrain. “I’m about to put us directly in his path,” said the dog eagerly.
A few minutes later, the dog and his passenger emerged from the forest. He was back on what looked like the path they had been originally following. There were trees on both sides of the path. “Climb down off me now and go hide up in one of those trees,” Huxley said. “When I stop him, you will know what to do.”
Caterwaul leaped from the hound’s back and scurried up a pine onto one of its low-hanging branches. Huxley started digging up the road furiously. Up in the tree, Caterwaul removed his shoulder pack. He was hoping he had enough of his sleeping powder to use on someone as large as Warwick Vane Bezel III. From his stores, he thought in all likelihood he did not. But then maybe he didn’t actually have to put the commander to sleep. Perhaps it would be enough to simply confuse him.
He looked down from his tree branch. The dog had dug a good-sized trench in the road. If Warwick Vane Bezel III was not alert, then it might cause him some serious trouble. A few minutes later, the constable and the wagon came into view. Huxley made no move. He went on digging up the road. It was like he was possessed by a single thought.
Warwick Vane Bezel III, who was in no way, shape, or form an animal lover, failed to recognize the dog as the hunter’s pet
. This played into Caterwaul’s hands.
“You . . . dog. Move out of my way,” barked the constable. Huxley continued his digging up the road, unmoved. “Did you not hear me, dog?” he asked again, shouting at the beast who barred his way. “I’m on a mission for the queen.” Still, the hound ignored him and kept right on doing what he was doing.
Caterwaul grabbed what remained of the sleep powder from his pack and jumped down onto the top of the wagon cage. He hissed defiantly at the wagon master and swiped at his face. His claws connected with the flesh of the driver, and the man jumped down and ran away screaming.
Warwick Vane Bezel III swiveled about on his horse. He looked straight at Caterwaul and shouted, “You!” Drawing his sword, he swung it toward his target, flat side forward, in an attempt to knock the cat from his post atop the wagon. But Caterwaul dodged the blow. The commander missed, fanning the air wildly over the cat’s head, the momentum from his errant swing nearly unhorsing him.
Seeing Caterwaul, the caged felines began to scream. It was as if they were collectively begging him to save them. Warwick Vane Bezel III leapt from his horse. It was at that instant that Huxley pounced. The hound grabbed the constable by his cloak and pulled him to the ground. Surprised by this sudden move, the constable lost hold of his weapon. He watched it bounce on the ground while he was driven backwards. He stumbled to the earth, the large dog snapping at his throat.
But Warwick Vane Bezel III was strong. Punching the excited hound in the snout, he pushed his attacker away and moved to regain his footing. Huxley yelped in pain and rolled over, growling at the policeman. Just then, Caterwaul launched himself from the wagon. Grasping the commander’s leather, jerking with his claws, he clambered onto the angry man’s shoulders.
“I don’t know why you are here, Warwick, or what you intend to do with these cats, but whatever it is, it’s not in accordance with my orders.” He drew in a deep breath, leaned back and tore open the pouch of sleeping powder. Caterwaul unsheathed his claws and drove them into the commander’s flesh. Warwick Vane Bezel screamed in pain and sucked in an enormous breath, drawing the sleeping powder deep into his lungs. Just as the cat expected, it was not nearly enough to knock him out. It was, however, enough to make him forget who he was and why he was here moving about the thickets of Harsizzle.
The Adventures of Caterwaul the Cat Page 11