“Get that cage open now,” shouted Huxley, “while you can.” Caterwaul jumped back up onto the cart and moved toward the lock. If there was one thing he’d learned how to do, way before he’d ever encountered the Witch, it was how to pick a lock. Within moments the cage was open, and the cats scampered to escape. But where was the all-white cat?
The cage now stood empty, and still there was no sign of the white cat. Caterwaul glanced over at Warwick Vane Bezel III. He was moving about strangely, in a daze from the sleeping powder. He was staggering about in complete confusion. He was out of his mind, unaware of who he was or even where he was.
“Hey you guys . . . Under here.” It was a voice coming from the front of the cart.
Caterwaul jumped back up onto the bench where the driver had previously been sitting. Underneath the bench, covered by a fine linen cloth, was one of the hunter’s cages. Inside the cage was the white cat. As Caterwaul pulled the cover off of it, the cat appeared to be quite frightened.
“It’s okay, my lovely,” said Caterwaul. “I am here to rescue you.” Caterwaul took one of his claws and sprang the latch on the trap holding the white cat.
“I appreciate it, friend,” said the white cat, “but ease up on the lovely stuff, will ya? Because from where I’m sittin’, you know . . . it just ain’t that kind of party.” Caterwaul’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
“The name’s Frankie,” the white cat said, extending his paw, “and I want to thank you for the rescue.”
Caterwaul was deflated. He thought he had finally found his prize, only to have it pulled away at the last minute.
“I’m a singer. I’m pretty good actually. I do all the classics. You know the style. I’m what you might call a crooner. I always draw a crowd when I perform. You ever want to see me, you got free tickets for life.
“If ever I can do you a favor, just let me know. I owe you, big time!”
16
Interludes
The next morning, a very cold Warwick Vane Bezel III woke up shivering to a pounding headache. His clothes had been removed and were in a pile, neatly folded, on the wagon bench. All that remained to cover him were his well-worn, polka-dotted undershorts. He did not want to move. He hadn’t felt this bad since the last time he had consumed way too much grog.
But he didn’t remember drinking any spirits. Nor could he remember where he was or how he had gotten there. Most of all, he could not explain why he was practically naked and locked in a cage full of cat droppings.
He tried to reach through the cage to grab his clothes, but he could not get his hand far enough through the narrow bars. Frustrated beyond belief, he shook the cage angrily and screamed for about half an hour in the hope that someone might hear him and come set him free. But alas, no one heard, or if they did hear, no one came.
“So after all of that trouble, it turned out that the white cat wasn’t a female after all. It was a male cat named Frankie,” Caterwaul laughingly explained to Coy, who was still recovering from his injuries.
“Well, at least you were able to stop the wagon and free all of the cats,” the kitten said. “I imagine right about now, word of your exploits is spreading all around Harsizzle. You’re a hero, pal. Not just anyone can go up against the queen’s top man and survive, much less come out the winner.”
“Yes,” said Caterwaul quietly. He also knew he was lucky. But if he didn’t find the all-white female soon, his luck might run out.
Then he remembered what was most funny about the night before and burst out in hysterics. He swung back on his tail and rolled forward in the grass toward Coy, laughing. “You really should have been there for what happened next,” Caterwaul said with an enormous smile. “Once I had freed all of the cats, as you might imagine, they were howling mad. They started to attack the constable from all directions at once. Some of them jumped up on him and started climbing their way up his clothes.
“Now, at that particular moment, Warwick Vane Bezel III was in the middle of a pretty powerful hallucination, which as it happens, was caused by my magic sleeping powder going off in his face. When the cats attacked, he didn’t know what was happening. I have no idea what horrible creatures he thought were attacking him. I just know that he started freaking out like crazy.
“The next thing you know, he’s tearing all his clothes off. Huxley thought that was so hilarious, he started in on him too. The old dog was barking furiously as the cats surrounded the commander. Then old Warwick Vane Bezel III climbed into the back of his own nasty old cat cage . . . and he’s lying there, on the floor of the cage, shaking like he just saw a ghost.” Caterwaul was laughing so hard, he started honking like a goose.
In her cave deep in the forest of Red Moon, the Witch rocked back and forth on her chair. In her mouth was a pipe made out of a carved and hollowed out gourd. It wasn’t lit, but she chewed the stem nervously. In front of her was her grandfather’s beautiful chessboard with its intricately carved pieces. Sitting on the board were almost a complete set of black pieces and only three white ones—a rook, one pawn, and the king. She had the white king in check and was about to put the hammer down on her opponent.
The Witch moved her rook down, making it impossible for the white king to escape. “Check and mate,” she said. Taking her pipe in her hand, she threw it across the table at her competitor, if she could truly call him that. “You stink . . . as always,” she shouted. “Edsel, tell me something . . . How is it that no matter how many times we play, you just don’t seem to get any better? You are a rat. You were a two-legged rat before and now crawl around on all four, but a rat isn’t a stupid animal . . . Rats are supposed to have problem-solving intelligence. So what, my greasy friend, is wrong with you? Hmmmmm? Why is it that I seem to find myself sharing my home with the world’s most moronic rodent?”
Edsel the Rat dodged the gourd pipe and dropped down to the floor below the table. Not wanting to have anything else hurled at him, he scampered away and hid quietly under what passed for the Witch’s couch. The rat was afraid to make even a sound, much less say a word, and for Edsel the Rat, that was next to impossible.
“Tell me, Edsel, did your mother engage in many high risk or unlawful activities while she was carrying you?”
The Witch wiped her forehead clear of perspiration. She was starting to become despondent. She had been without her cat, her companion, for months now. She wanted him . . . no, she needed him back. The thought occurred to her that the queen might be trying to weasel out on their deal. No, she thought, the queen is no fool. She knows better than to welsh on a deal with me.
The Witch looked at the remains of the slaughter staring back at her from the chessboard. She really hoped she would get her friend back soon.
Back at the blacksmith shop, Lucius Felino Jr. had egg on his face, both literally and figuratively. He was furious at how easily Warwick Vane Bezel III dismissed him on the road the night before. He was a Felino, and being a Felino is supposed to carry with it a certain level of respect. Lose respect, you lose control. That was what his father Lucius Sr. always said. And if the men lose their respect for you, it’s extra hard to get it back.
He was so angry, he could not properly enjoy his breakfast. The yolk of his raw chicken egg covered his mouth, nose, and whiskers, and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t lick it all off.
“Somebody, get me a towel or something to wipe this mess off!” demanded Lucius Jr. Meyer tossed him what appeared to be a square cut from a napkin. The fat kitten dragged it over his face repeatedly. “Is it all off?” he asked. His companions nodded, and Lucius Jr. threw the towel on the ground.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Lucius Jr. signaled for Bugsy to admit their visitor. He soon returned to the audience room, as Lucius Jr. called it, with a pale gray cat wearing a doll-sized sailor’s cap.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Gerhard?” asked Jr.
“Afternoon, Guvnor,” he said to the fat kitten underboss with a smile tha
t went from ear to ear. “Word on the street is that you’re lookin’ to pay for any information regarding that constable fellow. The one who embarrassed you last night.” He smiled fetidly, and suddenly every cat in the room knew what he’d had for breakfast. “Well, I’m here to collect.”
“If it’s solid,” the gray-and-white said, “I’ll pay for solid, but you better not be yanking my collar, my fancy pants foreigner, or they’ll be using your dried, dead body to scrub the toilets around here.”
“Oh, this is diamond solid,” he said. “And you won’t have too much trouble finding him neither. You see, he’s trapped. He’s locked in the back of his own cat-catcher.” He started laughing hysterically. “Can you beat that? Seems that this Caterwaul fellow pulled some kind of magic act on him, and the next thing you know, he’s crying like a baby in the back of his own cage wearing nothing but his knickers.”
“Caterwaul you say?” asked Lucius Jr.
Gerhard nodded.
“How well do you know this Caterwaul, my well-paid snitch friend?” Jr. motioned for Meyer to toss him a fat pouch full of money.
“Not well at all, I’m afraid,” Gerhard responded, stammering. He wondered if now, of all times, he might have been better off being quiet. “I mean I only met him the one time. Said he was looking for a good time . . . You know, he wanted to know where the ladies were . . . and all that. That’s pretty much all we had to say to each other.”
Two cats stepped from out of the shadows. Each one grabbed Gerhard by an arm. Lucius Jr. strode to where the two were holding him.
“So where did you tell him to go, Gerhard? To find the females?” asked Lucius Jr. as he gently ran one of his claws against the fur of his captive’s neck. “A respected, international lady-killer, such as you, must surely know all the best places where the fine kitties go to play.”
Spit was flying from the mobster’s fat face as he pushed closer in a most threatening way. “You don’t want to make your old pal Lucius upset now? Do you now, Gerhard?”
17
The Party at the Old Windmill
Just as Gerhard said he would, Caterwaul could hear the music coming from old man Farrow’s farm long before he saw the building, but as the old windmill came into view, he had no doubt he had come to the right place. The joint was lit up like a storefront at Christmastime. He wondered what they had done to make the lights flash on and off and change colors the way they did.
On the outside, it looked to be a typical large windmill. It was made of granite and wood. Though hardly crude in design, it was nowhere near as intricate as Caterwaul had imagined. The renovations he had made to Cathoon, designed to his specifications, led him to expect something greater, so he was slightly disappointed.
As he got close enough to the door to see inside, however, the smile came back to his face. The décor inside the venue was attractive, but simple and clean as most cats usually are. There were already dozens of cats mulling around inside and dozens more playing on the grass and trees outside. Yes, this was going to be some party. There was already a good crowd, and the sun wasn’t even down yet.
He noticed that the flashing effect of the lights was achieved by having a group of young cats, far too young to attend the party under normal circumstances, covering their assigned lights with a dark or colored cover, which they moved in synch with the music. Caterwaul thought it made for a very impressive visual.
He hadn’t yet touched the funds the queen had given him to play with. So tonight, if he needed to, he felt he’d earned the right to indulge himself. He knew these were mostly simple folk, so he didn’t expect the royal treatment when it came to food and drink, but he knew he was going to have himself a really good time.
Cueing up took some time. There were a great many cats in front of him in line. As he finally got close to the entrance, he noticed an incredibly cute, soft-looking, chocolate-brown kitty out in front. She was holding some sort of list on a clipboard. Her hair was puffed up and perfumed. Caterwaul thought she smelled fantastic.
“Hi. I am Pudding,” she said as Caterwaul approached the door. “What’s the name?” The music and noise coming from inside was a little loud so it was hard for Caterwaul to hear.
“I’m sorry,” Caterwaul laughed. “Did you just ask me if I wanted some pudding?” he shouted over the music.
“No . . . I’m Pudding,” she said laughing.
“Well, in that case, I would say the answer is most definitely yes. Pudding is delicious, especially chocolate.” He flirtingly extended his paw to her. “I’m Caterwaul.”
Flattered, the brown cat batted her eyes at him, but then suddenly became all business. “Mr. Caterwaul, I’m afraid that I don’t have your name on my list.”
“What?” asked Caterwaul, distracted by the sounds and lights.
“Are you on the invitation list?” she asked.
“No, I am sorry. I don’t have a formal invitation. I was told to come out tonight by a friend, a nice foreign gent named Gerhard, whom I met a few days ago. Hopefully you know him? He wears a hat.” Caterwaul said loudly over the music, and he motioned awkwardly to the top of his head. “I didn’t realize tonight was a private party,” he said.
“Oh! Gerhard . . . of course I know Gerhard. He’s a riot. We love Gerhard around here, although maybe not so much his breath. Pee yew. His teeth could sure use a good brushing . . . with some of the awful things he’ll pop in his mouth. But he’s all right. If he told you to come here tonight, then you are most definitely welcome.
“This is a birthday party for my cousin Muse. She is the most beautiful cat in the village. She’s not here yet, but I guarantee that you’ll know her when you see her,” said Pudding.
“Oh, it’s a birthday party? No one told me that either. I’m afraid I don’t have a gift, but maybe I could show her a magic trick or two. I’m pretty good at those kinds of things,” Caterwaul boasted.
“Magic? Oh wonderful!” exclaimed Pudding, jumping up and down. “Muse absolutely loves magic. This is going to be an exciting night. Please make yourself welcome, Mister Caterwaul. We have plenty of food and plenty to drink. We had the milk shipped in all the way from France. Those French cows are the best. Did you know they all speak French over there? It’s true . . . I swear. There’s just something about the milk from a French cow that makes an extra tasty cocktail, if you ask me.”
Pudding walked just inside the door with Caterwaul to show him where the food was. “They tell me that the horse’s dovers are just to die for too,” she said. “I don’t think they’re made out of real horses, though; it’s just what everyone calls them.
“You really should try the imported caviar too. It’s one-hundred-percent bluegill. As far as I’m concerned, it’s nothing but the best for my cousin.” She was tremendously excited.
“Am I forgetting anything?” she paused, chewing on her top lip in deep thought. “Oh and yes, we can’t forget that there is Pudding . . . That’s me,” she giggled, winking at Caterwaul and pointing to her chest before going back to the door.
The music was excellent, just as Gerhard said it would be. Caterwaul wasn’t sure if it was because the musicians had once all been human players, as Gerhard had suggested, or if they were just a bunch of cats imbued with natural talent. One thing was certain: the felines providing the entertainment for this bash really knew what they were doing. They should all be commended for their exceptional ability.
The partygoers seemed quite pleasant, which was very nice seeing how of late he had been dealing almost exclusively with really rotten characters—Coy and Huxley being the exceptions, of course.
It was refreshing for Caterwaul just to be able to relax and enjoy himself for a change. After all, he’d been involved in what seemed like nonstop action since arriving in town. He muttered to himself aloud, “I wonder where the birthday girl is?”
Just then, as if on cue, walking into the old windmill was Muse. Pudding was right. There was no mistaking this animal. She was so beautiful
that his heart skipped a beat. His blood started pumping so fast it was as if his ticker was trying to jump out of his chest.
And to make things even better, Caterwaul could see that she was one-hundred-percent, solid white. What amazing luck—here she was at last. Caterwaul could hardly believe his eyes.
Though Muse was surrounded by an entourage of cats, Pudding went straight up to her and gave her a hug. Taking her cousin by the paw, Pudding led the birthday girl straight to where Caterwaul was sitting on a cushion. Caterwaul jumped to his feet as they got close, because that’s what gentlemen do when they are approached by a lady.
“Mr. Caterwaul,” said Pudding, “allow me to introduce you to my cousin Muse.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” said Caterwaul, “I hope you do not find it forward of me to say that you are even more beautiful than I had been led to believe, and they told me you were the most magnificent cat in all the land.”
“My, you are a charmer, aren’t you?” said Muse with a smile. Her eyes were piercing and blue. “Remind me, cousin, that I need to come back to spend some more time with this one.” She glanced around the room and noticed a number of felines that she just had to talk to.
“Until later then, Mr. Caterwaul.” She made what appeared to be a curtsey, and he gently bowed his head. As she slid away, she looked back toward where Caterwaul was sitting and smiled.
The Adventures of Caterwaul the Cat Page 12