1
A d d i t i o n a l W o r k s
b y B o n n i e P e m b e r t o n
The Lizard Returns - Sequel to The Cat Master .
The Cat Master
(KINDLE / eReader version) ii
The Cat Master
by Bonnie Pemberton
Text copyright © 2007-2012 by Bonnie Pemberton • All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. • Marshall Cavendish Corporation • 99 White Plains Road • Tarrytown, NY 10591 • www.marshallcavendish.us • This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. • Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data • Pemberton, Bonnie. • The Cat Master / by Bonnie Pemberton. — 2nd ed. • p. cm. • Summary: Buddy and Jett, two cat brothers (one evil, one good), vie for the title of Cat Master as a retinue of dogs, cats, a possum, a bird, and a lizard help restore a monarch to his rightful throne. • ISBN-13: 978-0-7614-5340-6 • [1. Cats— Fiction. 2. Brothers—Fiction. 3. Animals—Fiction. 4. Fantasy.] I. Title. • PZ7.P36147Cat 2007
• [Fic]—dc22 • 2006026562 • Text of book set in Garamond. • Original book design by Sonia Chaghatzbanian • Cover illustration by Lisa Falkenstern • Design adaptation by Kipp Baker
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To my parents, Olive and Clyde Pemberton and my aunt, Janice Holmes
In memory of Buddy
vii
A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S
The depiction of Animal Control Officers in this book is fictional, and in no way reflects the true nature of these dedicated professionals or their commitment to animal welfare.
There are many people who helped bring The Cat Master to life, and though I can’t mention them all by name, they know who they are, and I will always be grateful. Special thanks go to: my agent, the indomitable Anne Hawkins, who took an unknown author with a story about cats and never stopped fighting until it was published; my brilliant editor, Margery Cuyler, for her respect, unblinking vision, and meticulous professionalism; my dear friend and fellow author, Sharon Rowe, whose love, loyalty, and wisdom have never failed me; my pals at Trinity Writers’ Workshop, whose invaluable critiques and unfailing enthusiasm helped make The Cat Master’s publication a reality; Tom and Peggy Laskoski, whose home is a sanctuary of camaraderie and support; my cousin, Niki Kantzios, and our shared childhood of animals, books, and imagination; my husband, Kipp Baker; our daughter, Kristin and son-in-law, Mark; and all the Baker/Pemberton clan whose love, laughter, and acceptance have made my heart so full. And finally, to Buddy, the stray cat who changed my life forever.
ix
The Cat Master
x
P R O L O G U E
The old cat staggered through the alley, a bright Texas moon lighting his way. His coat, once a lustrous black and white, was now matted with burrs, and his eyes, once a startling blue, were opaque with age. Twenty years had passed since he had been chosen as Cat Master, and his reign was coming to an end. Disoriented, he paused, head up, his nose probing the air. The scent of roses blew his way, and he sighed with gratitude. As always, Mother Wind was with him, and blindly the cat followed her lead to the sheltering tangle of blooms. Hiding beneath their thorny canes, he panted with fatigue.
As spiritual leader of his species, he had given thousands of felines hope and courage in their times of need. And now, in these last moments, he hoped he could do the same for himself. The old cat smiled, remembering how surprised he’d been at his coronation so many years ago. As a simple Feral, he’d been frightened by his anointed role as the great leader and unsure if he was truly qualified to serve. But the natural world had hummed with animal telepathy, and Mother Wind, who watched over all creatures, had led his mind through the noise, teaching him to decipher only felines’ cries for help and insight.
A soft breeze ruffled his fur, and a sprinkle of petals fell from the bush. “Thank you, Mother,” he whispered. Wincing with pain he eased down onto their welcome softness.
The old cat drew a ragged breath. How many times had his mind-talk comforted the sick and dying and spoken to their hearts of Sho-valla, the holy resting place of all animals? Now it was his turn to go, and he was strangely troubled. Not by death—he had no fear of that—but he’d worked hard to keep order and peace among his species, and there was much left undone.
Hostility had grown between the Feral and the Indoor, and though the old Cat Master had failed to quell the anger that simmered between them, there was one last thing he intended to try—something that could happen only after his death. He groaned, shifting to a more comfortable position. At least his lineage had produced a worthy successor. He thought of the last litter he’d sired only three years before. Two of the males impressed him. Both were strong, fearless, and intelligent, but only one had shown compassion and humility as well.
A vicelike pressure gripped his chest. It was time. Fighting to stand, he pushed his mind through the darkness, until soft and probing, he found his young successor’s soul. Rise from the alley, my son, he called. Of all my blood, you are The Chosen! At first, he felt only the tenderness of connection, but suddenly, another mind slithered between him and his heir; one so evil and full of rage that it wrenched them apart. Something was wrong! The old cat tried to reconnect, to send a warning, but a searing pain squeezed his heart, and he fell to his side. His heir was in danger and needed to be told, but already the old tom’s soul was slipping toward Sho-valla.
“Your reign begins, my son,” he gasped. “May Mother help you through the darkness to come.”
O N E
Buddy jolted from sleep, heart pounding, ears forward and alert.
A breeze rustled through the magnolia tree, and a dying loop of ivy flopped listlessly against the glass panes, but otherwise the early August morning was quiet. No monster lumbered through the neighborhood; there was nothing to explain the lingering dread now tightening the muscles of his neck.
“Everything’s fine,” the yellow cat whispered with false bravado. “It was just a dream.” Arching his back, he stretched. “Snap out of it; shake it off, calm down.” His pulse still pounded, and he considered finding his catnipstuffed mouse. A quick snort of that always relaxed him.
Beside him, The Boy lay snoring, unaware of murky dreams or whispering voices, and Buddy squinted against the shaft of sunlight bathing them both in a blast of Texas summer.
Despite the cat’s best efforts to relax, his skin twitched with anxiety. “Get ahold of yourself, Buddy.” He kneaded The Boy’s pillow for comfort. “Just a nightmare, everyone has those occasionally.” Only the dream hadn’t really been bad . . . or had it?
Rise from the alley . . .
Wispy fragments of a loving voice resonated in his mind. Things had started out fine, then something strange had happened, something unsettling. But what?
Licking his chops, Buddy focused on The Boy’s cheerful room. Sci-fi posters covered bright yellow walls, plaid curtains snapped and fluttered against the windowsill, and tangles of jeans, T-shirts, and socks overflowed an open drawer. A typical morning. Everything in order. Jumping lightly to the floor, the polished wood felt cool on Buddy’s paws as he trotted to the hallway. “Just a dream,” he reminded himself, which was true. “Nothing unusual,” he added . . . which, of course, he knew was a lie.
It was almost morning, and Zekki and Pris scrambled through the living room, jumping onto furniture, skidding across end tables,
and vaulting onto curtains.
“Got you!” Pris squealed, grabbing Zekki’s luxurious tail and crashing into a potted plant.
The cats rolled on the carpet, eyes wild, hind legs kicking, as tufts of fur coated the furniture in a subtle haze of white and brown. With grunts and growls they thrashed in circles, finally toppling the plant, which fell forward, spraying the carpet with fine, moist dirt. Eyes wild, both animals scattered in surprise.
“That was good,” the little female calico said, creeping from beneath a chair. “I really got you that time.”
“I let you.” Zekki eyed the couch. “Do you think they’re up yet?”
Creeping to the doorway, Pris peeked around the corner. “I don’t see anyone, but hurry up.”
“I’ll do my best.” Claws out, Zekki stretched his white body against the sofa, hooking the creamy linen fabric and enjoying his slow, steady picking of the material. The rhythmic clutch-and-pull was so hypnotic he almost didn’t hear the voice from the shadows.
“Do you want to be declawed?”
Zekki froze with guilt before sprinting away. “I was just—”
“I know what you were doing.” Buddy stood silhouetted in the doorway, face stern and set. “But don’t do it again.” Quickly, he rubbed against the sofa’s tattered material, trying to smooth down the wayward threads and nudge fragments of gauzy stuffing back into place.
The white cat turned in frustration. “I don’t care if I get declawed. I’m an Indoor, remember? We don’t get to do anything, anyway.”
Buddy sighed. All indoor cats went through a period of longing for the outdoors, or Outs, as they called it, but usually it passed. For Zekki it hadn’t, and he spent an increasing amount of time staring through windows, his eyes dark with discontent.
“We don’t choose our destiny,” Buddy said softly. “All animals have instinctual knowledge of humans and their world, but Indoors are much more informed than Ferals. We have television, radio, food, protection—”
“I know all that,” Zekki cut in. “And I don’t want to be ungrateful or anything, but what good’s information if you can never use it?” He turned toward the yellow tom, eyes worshipful. “You’ve been in the Outs, you had lots of adventures before The Boy found you. Tell us about the alley and . . .”
Rise from the alley . . .
Tangled memories of both the Outs and the dream floated behind Buddy’s eyes, and he suddenly felt irritable and tired. “That was a long time ago, Zekki. I don’t mind sharing an occasional story, but I don’t want to talk about it today.”
“Why not?” Zekki’s tone was challenging.
A bedroom door slammed, and all three cats jumped, poised to bolt.
“It’s just The Boy,” Pris whispered. She gave Zekki a gentle nudge. “We don’t need a story today, do we? We’ll talk about something else, okay?”
Zekki gave a sullen shrug, and Buddy’s tail swished the floor with agitation.
“Now everybody’s mad!” the calico wailed, looking from one cat to the other. “Are you mad?”
Buddy sighed, his annoyance giving way to guilt. The young cats rarely pushed him about anything; he was being unfair. He made a mental note to tell them a good story soon, maybe something about hunting. “I’m not mad, Pris, just hungry. Let’s have breakfast and then meet in the den for our morning lessons.”
“Can we talk about The Cat Master?” Zekki’s voice was still bold. “I’ve decided if I ever get out, I’m going to find him.”
A nerve twitched beneath Buddy’s eye, and a muddy recollection flared, then sputtered and died. “No one ‘finds’ The Cat Master, Zekki. He speaks to us through our minds. Eventually you’ll learn telepathic talk, but today we’re discussing The Wind.”
“Again?” The white cat rolled his eyes. “For gosh sakes, we’re always talking about—” His words were stopped by a well-aimed slap to his ear, and he yowled in surprise.
Buddy leaned forward, one sinewy paw still poised to strike. “Never speak with disrespect for The Wind!” He turned to include Pris, cowed beneath a chair. “She’s the breath that guides us, and no animal can live in the world without Her.”
Laughter floated from the kitchen. Plates clattered, cabinets banged, and the rich fragrance of bacon filled the hallway.
The cats crouched in awkward silence.
“I’m sorry,” Zekki finally mumbled. “I don’t know why I said that.”
Anger fading, Buddy stepped back. “It’s hot, and we’re all a little stressed today. Go on and eat.”
Usually, nothing squelched the young cats’ enthusiasm for food, but today they skulked toward the kitchen, tails dragging, shoulders hunched. Buddy watched them go, his heart heavy with remorse. How had the morning started out so wrong? Jumping on the couch, he settled himself against a bright coral pillow. And why was he so uncomfortable with Zekki’s questions? The alley, though dangerous, was only a place, and The Cat Master was a powerful spiritual figure that all cats should understand. Splaying a hind foot, Buddy carefully licked between each toe, methodically moving up the leg and onto his flank. It was every adult feline’s duty to teach the young about all aspects of feline life. Hadn’t his mother said that an ill-informed cat would soon be a dead one? He stopped grooming, suddenly confused. Was it his mother who said that, or had it been his mate, Ahn-ya?
Rise from the alley . . .
Tension tightened his shoulders, and he nuzzled beneath a cushion. Why was he thinking about the alley, anyway? He was an indoor cat.
You’re a Feral . . . Unwanted thoughts hissed in his head . . .
“I’m an Indoor!” he said loudly, voice firm and slightly strident.
The Boy stuck his head around the corner. “Is that you, Bud?” He looked concerned. “Are you hungry? You wanna eat?”
Jumping to the floor, Buddy rubbed against The Boy’s ankles until pale, thin arms scooped him into a hug.
“I am an Indoor,” he thought fiercely, burying his head in the child’s soft white T-shirt . . . and this time his troubled thoughts were silent.
T W O
Jett crouched beneath the magnolia tree, his dark form barely outlined by the moon. It had taken months, but the big, gray tom had finally detected Buddy’s scent wafting from the Sixth Avenue house. Carefully, he tested the wind. If he wasn’t careful, Buddy would be able to identify the gray cat by his scent. That was the annoying thing about Mother, he thought, making sure he was downwind of the house. She never took sides. Satisfied with his position, Jett settled into the grass, his mind whirring.
It had finally happened. The old Cat Master was dead, and a successor had been chosen. Jett knew this was true, because after countless tries, he’d managed to tap into the old Master’s mind-talk as he was dying. Even now, his pulse raced with excitement at what he’d heard. The ancient leader had made a serious blunder. The Law plainly said that only a Feral could be named as Cat Master, and Buddy was definitely no longer feral. Jett considered something else that could work in his favor. His mental intrusion had caused a telepathic blip in the old Master’s announcement. It was possible that Buddy still didn’t realize he’d been chosen. Indoors often had trouble deciphering mind-talk. Sometimes they didn’t hear things the Ferals had known for years. Either way, both glitches worked to Jett’s advantage. In three days the Cat Master’s coronation would take place at The Gathering. If Buddy didn’t appear, Jett would automatically ascend as the last surviving male in the old Master’s final litter. A firefly winked in the darkness, and Jett snapped it from the air with one bite, munching the insect with pleasure. Though this scenario was preferable, there could still be trouble if Buddy ever learned the truth. There was nothing in The Law prohibiting him from returning to the Outs at any time to claim his rightful title. Jett licked the last flecks of the firefly off his paw and smiled. But Buddywould be at The Gathering. Jett would make sure that he was, and, this time, his plan for Buddy’s defeat would happen without the unpredictability of battle. He frowned, remem
bering his last attempt on Buddy’s life and how badly the attack had failed. Not only had the yellow tom escaped, but Jett had been badly wounded. Painful memories slid through his mind.
Months had passed since his injury, and though his wounds had healed, the trauma was raw and deep. Usually his days were spent in depressed indifference, but a broken mirror lay in the alley and Jett watched from a distance, drawn to its glinting surface. He had seen his reflection before, but only in water. Curious, he crept to the glass . . . and looked down. A ghoulish parody of his once-regal face stared back. From the left side of his nose a brooding eye burned with misery. The right eye was gone, replaced by an empty socket that sank like an oozing crater beneath his brow. Horrified, Jett ran from the alley, scaling fences and dodging cars before diving beneath an overturned box in a shed. For many days he hid within its bleak obscurity; silent, bitter, and afraid. When he finally emerged, a murky peace had filled his soul . . . and with it some valuable information: Death was nothing when compared to humiliation, and there were many kinds of scars. His time in isolation had produced a brand-new plan: Jett would bide his time, take all that Buddy held dear, and then condemn him to . . . live.
The big cat sighed with satisfaction. Patience had prevailed. The old Master was finally dead, and Buddy had made a fatal mistake; he had dared to step indoors. Jett would simply lure him to The Gathering and expose him for the cowardly imposter he was. No Feral in his right mind would allow an Indoor to rule, no matter what the old Master had said. The Law was The Law! Prickles of pleasure surged through the gray tom’s body. He stretched in the soft grass, envisioning himself as the omnipotent ruler. He would be powerful, adored, and respected, while Buddy would slink into the shadows, disgraced, alone, and reviled by his kind.
From inside the house, Buddy jumped onto the windowsill and stared toward the magnolia.
Jett shrank back. He wasn’t ready to be seen. Not quite yet. Slinking closer to the house, he slithered between two bushes and under the porch, until he lay beneath the casement where the yellow cat now sat. A glowing light shone from the bedroom, illuminating Buddy’s shiny coat and well-fed form. This was in sharp contrast to Jett’s matted fur and protruding ribs. His pulse quickened with hatred. The sooner Buddy was gone, the better, but drawing him into the Outs was going to be difficult.
The Cat Master Page 1