The Cat Master

by Bonnie Pemberton

  Movement behind the curtains caught his attention, and Jett sank into the shadows. A white cat and a calico joined Buddy on the windowsill, their demeanor relaxed and friendly. They were obviously adolescents, and they jostled for position as the yellow cat lovingly groomed them.

  The big tom stifled a laugh. An idea had suddenly taken form.

  • • •

  The house was quiet in the steamy darkness. Mrs. O’Connell had turned out the lights long ago, and The Boy lay sleeping on his back, a thin sheen of sweat on his upper lip.

  Normally, Buddy would have curled up beside him, their breathing rhythmic and calm, but the morning’s dream still haunted the tom, leaving him confused, frightened, and unable to sleep. Feeling the suffocating presence long before seeing it, Buddy watched from The Boy’s bedroom window . . . and realized with a sense of detachment that the dream was only the beginning.

  In the den a clock chimed one, and as if on cue, the thing beneath the tree moved. Pressing hard against the screen, Buddy tensed, ears flat to his skull, pupils dilated, searching.

  The sinewy figure glided behind the trunk, circled a holly and appeared in a snarl of shadows by the house. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” a smoky voice purred from the darkness. “You didn’t think you could hide forever, did you?”

  That voice! Buddy leaned against the wall, his heart hammering. Long repressed memories thrashed their way to the surface. “I’m asleep,” he whispered to himself, knowing full well he wasn’t.

  From the bed, The Boy mumbled incoherently, kicking rumpled covers to the floor and flopping with a grunt onto his belly.

  Buddy waited until the child was settled, then turned toward the window, his tongue parched with dread. “What are you doing here, Jett?”

  “Not a very hospitable greeting.” The tone was pleasant, but malice pulsed beneath its smooth veneer. “I thought you’d be glad to see someone from the old neighborhood, because once Mother brought me your scent, I couldn’t wait to seeyou.” Leaves crackled, and the form disappeared behind a stand of ferns.

  Buddy vaulted across The Boy’s legs and onto another sill for a clearer view.

  “And what a sight it is.” A gleaming eye blinked from the greenery. “Our esteemed Buddy, the pick of the litter, is now an Indoor. I’ll bet you even have your own shiny food bowl and lots of little toys.” The voice dripped with contempt. “I can smell the stink of human from here.”

  Buddy stiffened. “I didn’t have much choice, if you remember.”

  Jett sighed. “Yes, that was an unfortunate incident. Of course, Ahn-ya was devastated by your sudden disappearance, as we all were, but you’ll be pleased to know that she turned to me for comfort and forgot about you very soon. Too bad you can’t see her,” he crooned. “She’s matured into such a beautiful cat.” His voice thickened with innuendo. “Her devotion to me is almost embarrassing.”

  Outrage constricted Buddy’s throat. Gentle Ahn-ya, so defenseless and alone.

  “As a matter of fact,” Jett’s voice continued, “I find I’ve developed a real taste for things you love.” Sudden laughter cut the stillness. “Like your little friends, for instance. You’re very fond of them, aren’t you?”

  There was menace in the question, and Buddy’s mind raced to decipher its meaning.

  “I’ve noticed the white one looks out the windows a lot.”

  “Leave them alone!” Buddy pushed his head against the screen, his eyes straining against the darkness.

  “But they’re so attractive, especially the calico.” The direction of the sound changed in midsentence and floated from the right of the casement. “I don’t know if I can help myself.”

  “I’m warning you . . .”

  “You’re warning me?” Jett’s voice was mockingly incredulous. “No, no,” he whispered, rising slowly on powerful haunches and glaring through the screen. “I’m warningyou.” A massive paw touched the brick for balance. “I’ll come back, you pathetic imposter. And when I do, things you love will suffer!” With a shriek of fury, Jett sprang toward the screen, his claws grazing the wire, then landed heavily in the bushes.

  Startled from sleep, The Boy reached for the lamp, which crashed to the floor in a shatter of ceramic. “Buddy?” Flailing hands groped in the darkness. “Bud! Come here, boy. What’s going on?”

  Dodging his grasp, Buddy dashed into the hall where Zekki and Pris crouched against the wall, fur rumpled from sleep.

  “What is it, what’s happening?” Pris peeped.

  “Stay away from the windows!” Careening into the dining room, Buddy leaped to a sideboard and moved the curtain aside with his nose.

  The yard stretched serenely beneath the moonlight. Stars winked in the velvet sky, and a gentle wind caressed the magnolia. No movement. Nothing unusual.

  “What’s wrong with the windows?” Zekki asked, frozen with fear. “I don’t understand.”

  “Just do what I tell you!” Jumping down, the yellow tom sprinted from room to room, peering through screens, sniffing beneath doors.

  Lights went on and footsteps scuffled from the bedrooms.

  “Mom, something’s wrong!” The Boy called.

  Darting under a credenza, Buddy hunkered beneath its protection. He’d thought he was safe with The Boy, but it was all starting again. Why? What had brought this malevolence back into his life? Beside him the catnip mouse lay shrouded in dust, one plastic eye staring out in silence. Suddenly ashamed, he pushed it away.

  Rise from the alley . . .

  Buddy’s pulse quickened.

  The dream; something about the alley. He tried to capture the memory, but the words fluttered like moths into nothingness.

  Floorboards creaked, and Mrs. O’Connell’s fuzzy blue house shoes shuffled past. “Buddy’s here somewhere, honey; we’ll find him in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

  Doors slammed, and the house was quiet once more. Or was it?

  A trash can clattered in the alley.

  Something snickered from the porch.

  In the distance Buddy heard Zekki and Pris running through the house, their frantic activity driven by uncertainty. He would have to tell them something, he thought, crawling into the open and scurrying toward the kitchen, but for the moment he didn’t know what.

  Jumping to the sink, Buddy stared through the slatted blinds.

  Evil had come to Sixth Avenue, familiar as his heartbeat . . . alien as the moon.

  • • •

  The crawl space beneath the kitchen was unusually hot and stuffy. Muffled noises seeped through the vents, disrupting the quiet, and the lizard twisted inside a moldy workman’s cap trying to get back to sleep. Above him the thumping continued. The Boy and his mother were bad enough, he thought, squinting with fury—always lurching around on big white feet, slamming doors, and banging pots and pans. He’d watched them for a long time, and even though they hadn’t died, which was his continuing prayer, they had at least kept normal hours.

  But not the cats.

  He stared with unmasked hatred at the ceiling of the crawl space, listening to the rapid footsteps rippling above. They were at it day and night. “Let’s scratch the furniture! Let’s play with the plants!”

  “I know something fun,” he snorted, twisting onto his side and pounding a wad of insulation into a pillow. “Let’s play Kitty-in-the-Fireplace.” This was a game he played often, with endless variety. He yawned and stretched. There was Kitty-in-the-Ice-Storm, Kitty-in-the-Toilet, and then, of course, his all-time favorite: Kitty-in-the-Dentist-Chair. “Pests,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “Jumping around, knocking things over.” By the time he got to Kitty-in-theDisposal, he was fast asleep, his squeaky snores spraying tiny puffs of dust into the tepid air.

  T H R E E

  omething was wrong with Buddy, and The Boy was worried. “Hey!” he called, “Bud didn’t eat his food again!”

  “Leave him alone!” his mother shouted from the bedroom. “He’ll eat when he gets hungry!”


  “Yeah, well he didn’t sleep with me again last night, either,” he muttered. Maybe his mom was right; maybe it would all blow over like last time. He frowned at the unhappy memory. Traumatized, is what the vet had said when The Boy had first found Buddy. Dehydrated, in shock, maybe even brain damaged—and he seemed a lot like that now, running around, looking desperate, not eating. But eventually, he reminded himself, Buddy had settled down, learned to play, even bonded with Pris and Zekki. “I know he’s been happy here,” The Boy said out loud. But was it true?

  Shuffling to the den, he flopped into a recliner. The dark green leather felt cool against his bare thighs, and placing both hands on the chair’s plush arms, he pushed back until his body was almost flat. Closing his eyes, he crossed his long, thin legs at the ankles. Dad used to watch television here, he thought. The recollection was painful, because when The Boy was only ten, his father had run off with some woman, and no one had seen him since. But right about then he’d found Buddy, and after that, things hadn’t hurt so bad. Picking at a scab, he considered the last two years. He’d never had a friend like Bud, ever, and though he was careful not to mention it to his pals, he knew Buddy was more than a pet, much more. That was clear from the very beginning. Even his mom said they could read each other’s minds. Twisting his head, The Boy eyed the cat crouched in a golden lump by the glass patio door. “What’s wrong, Bud?” he said quietly.

  One yellow ear flicked, but that was all. The Boy’s thoughts poked and pushed for answers, but it was no use. Buddy’s mind was closed; a locked drawer with only the tip of something showing, something the child had never seen but vaguely understood. Pushing his chair to an upright position, he tried again. “Here, boy.” He patted his stomach. “Don’t you want to come up here with me?”

  Buddy didn’t respond, but Pris and Zekki galloped from the hallway, jumped on his lap, and jostled for position. They seemed desperate for attention, and he rubbed their ears. His mom had said everything would be okay, so why was he feeling so weird? A dull memory wormed through his mind, and he sat up so quickly that the young cats tumbled to the ground. The feeling was the same as when his dad had left! Suddenly panicked, The Boy looked around. Buddy was gone, and even though sunlight still spilled through the glass doors, the place where he’d been seemed cold and dark.

  On the third night, Buddy double-checked each room and wandered into the hallway. Above him, a photograph stood on the desk. It was taken shortly after The Boy had found him, and the gaunt feline face staring from the frame was a far cry from the well-fed vision now greeting him from every mirror. How long had he been here? A year? Two? It didn’t matter; the young cats’ lives were in jeopardy, and there was much to do. He trotted to the den where they both slept curled together on an ottoman. “Wake up. I need to talk to you.”

  They struggled to their feet, eyes frightened. “I want you to promise me something.”

  Pris swallowed. “Promise you what?”

  “It’s about The Boy. The Boy . . .” He stopped, fighting an unexpected quaver in his voice.

  “What about him?” Zekki’s tail flicked uneasily.

  “The Boy’s a very special human. He’s gentle and kind and . . . he saved my life. If anything should happen to me, promise you’ll be there for The Boy. He counts on us . . .” He paused. “For a lot of things.”

  The house creaked and shifted, and a clock ticked like a metronome from the den.

  “But what could happen to you?” Pris said.

  Buddy regarded her earnest face. “Do you remember what I told you about Sho-valla?”

  The young cats fidgeted, looking at one another for help.

  “It’s where all animals go when they die?” Zekki volunteered.

  “And what else?”

  “No animal is turned away . . .” Pris trailed off. “And The Cat Master will help us in our journey there,” Zekki finished.

  Buddy was relieved; they hadn’t forgotten. “Sho-valla is holy and not to be used in your games, right?”

  “We don’t,” Pris said quickly. “We never do that.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because it’s The Law!” they both yowled with enthusiasm.

  “And what is The Law?”

  Zekki scrunched his brow. “Sacred rules that all cats live by.”

  “Yes,” Buddy said, “but never do anything just because it’s The Law; do it only if you see the truth behind The Law. Do you understand?”

  Zekki frowned. “I—I think so.”

  “What about The Wind?” Buddy continued.

  “She’s our Mother!” the young cats proudly recited in unison. “She warns us of danger, leads us to food, finds our mates, tells us what to run to, and what to run from.” Buddy moved closer. “And how does She do this?”

  “Scent and sound!” Pris crowed.

  “Listen carefully.” Buddy’s eyes locked with theirs. “If you’re ever in trouble, watch for Her, count on Her. She’ll never let you down.”

  Zekki and Pris stared, pupils huge and shining.

  “One more thing.” He lowered his voice, and the cats leaned in to hear him. “Sho-valla is the source of the world and all its goodness, and goodness demands respect. However”—he took a breath, eyes unblinking—“there’s also evil in the world, and sometimes it masquerades as righteousness pretending to be good. Watch for it, fight it, and never accept it. Do you understand?”

  They nodded.

  “You’re fine cats,” Buddy said. “I’m proud of you both.”

  “He hasn’t really eaten or acted like himself in five days.” The voice leaked through the vents in the crawl space. “I think we’d better take him to the vet’s.”

  Hunting termites beneath a crossbeam, the lizard snapped to attention. Had she said “vet”? Scurrying closer, he stuck his snout through the grate.

  “He isn’t sick, is he?” a worried voice asked. “He won’t die or anything?”

  “Honey, it’ll be fine; just get the carrier.”

  The carrier! They were getting the carrier! Leaping from the vent, the lizard danced in the dust. They were taking a cat to the veterinarian, a place where many went and few returned!

  “I can’t find it, where is it?” The Boy shouted from above.

  “It’s in the garage, you idiots!” the lizard screamed, pounding the wall.

  “Wait a minute.” Footsteps clicked toward the door. “It’s in the garage.”

  “Yes!” he howled, rolling on his back and kicking his legs with reptilian joy. “They are going!” Above him, there was a scuffling and the scraping of a chair.

  Humming a tune, the lizard planned his day: First, a little sun . . .

  A door slammed, followed by unintelligible conversation.

  Then he’d check out the sow bug supply under the roses . . .

  An engine rumbled in the driveway.

  Maybe he’d even spend some time on the front porch.

  Tires crunched on gravel.

  The lizard tilted his head, listening to the silence. “One down and two to go!” he shouted, pounding the ground until sunbeams whirled in the dust. A shaft of light shone through a broken windowpane, and he flopped in its narrow warmth. Closing his eyes, he pictured long, peaceful nights with nothing but the sound of crickets to keep him company. It was tragic, he fantasized, but consumed with grief, the remaining cats would probably wither and die. The lizard sat up. Maybe the child and his mother would, too. Claws clasped to his chest, he sighed with pleasure.

  Hope was a wonderful thing.

  F O U R

  The two young cats stood motionless in the living room, eyes wide with disbelief.

  “Buddy’s coming back, right?” Pris squeaked, her round face wrinkled with fear.

  Zekki licked his chops. “Sure,” he said, trying to sound confident. “They’re just taking him to the veterinarian for a . . . a checkup or something. We’ve been to the vet’s before; it wasn’t so bad.” But he, too, felt a sharp pang of separation
. He couldn’t remember ever having been without the yellow tom. As adopted kittens their first memory had been of Buddy’s gentle face pressed against their carrier, his sleek yellow coat shaded with caramel stripes, his golden eyes radiating friendship and security. Felines rarely knew their fathers, but that’s what Buddy had seemed like, and the two young cats had grown to love him. Suddenly the house and its comforting routine seemed strange, and Zekki felt an inexplicable sense of loss.

  “It’s okay, Pris.” He licked the calico’s ear. “Buddy wouldn’t leave us. The Boy would never let that happen.”

  The curtains were drawn against the mounting summer heat, and the dark room felt odd amid the bright summer sounds of squealing children and ice-cream carts tinkling through the neighborhood.

  For a long moment the two cats sat shoulder to shoulder, their ears scanning for sounds.

  “I wish we could at least look out the window,” Pris finally said. “But we’re not—”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Zekki jumped to his feet, nose quivering. “Look at that!”

  In her haste, Mrs. O’Connell had left the front door ajar, forgetting to close the screen door as well. A gentle breeze now blew it open and shut, with only wire between the cats and the porch.

  Forgetting their anxiety, Zekki and Pris moved toward the welcome brightness.

  Leaves fluttered in the breeze, a branch creaked, and the fragrance of honeysuckle filled the room.

  “Having fun?” Gently the question floated in the warm, sweet air.

  Pris jumped sideways, skittering behind the sofa. Zekki bristled, poised to run. “Who’s there?”

  “Come a little closer and see.” It was a pleasant enough voice, even friendly, but there was an edgy undercurrent that made Zekki uneasy. He moved toward the sound.

  “Don’t do it!” Pris wailed. “Buddy said not to go near the windows!”

  A condescending chuckle rippled the stillness. “It isn’t a window, it’s a door, and besides, I’m harmless. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”