The Cat Master

by Bonnie Pemberton

  Tail twitching, Zekki inched forward. “Where are you?” The porch swing swayed in the hot summer breeze, and a cardinal trilled to his mate from a rooftop.

  Pris shrank against the couch. “Zek—Zek—Zekki,” she stammered. “Shouldn’t you get back?”

  Zekki remained motionless, pink nose flushed with excitement. “I hear something moving. If I could just . . .” Tentatively he bumped the screen door with his head, starting back as it creaked, shuddered, then swung open.

  Dazzling summer light hurt their eyes, and the cats gaped in wonderment as a water bug shambled across the welcome mat and a lizard slithered up a pot of flowers.

  “What are you waiting for?” The silky voice sounded close, floating from somewhere above, and as if performing a dance rehearsed their whole lives, Zekki and Pris slid through the doorway and into the Outs at last.

  • • •

  Zekki and Pris stood together only inches beyond the screen, staring at the vastness of this new frontier. Two huge potted ferns stood on either side of the door, and the cats crouched wide-eyed between lush fronds, observing the porch. A row of holly bushes separated the veranda from the front yard, and terra-cotta planters, overflowing with red geraniums, marched down three rows of steps leading to a driveway.

  “Welcome to paradise.”

  Whirling at the sound, they peered through the cascading vegetation and gasped.

  Draped across the porch swing, one paw dangling off the slatted wooden seat, was the most amazing cat they’d ever seen.

  Zekki hissed instinctively, blue eyes dilated to black, while Pris leaped backward, turned in midair, and dashed behind a flowerpot.

  Ignoring their reaction, the stranger stretched, and with one fluid movement leaped to the ground. He was gray and huge, fully six inches taller than the stocky Zekki or the plump calico, with dark tiger stripes forming an M over a sloping, lionlike nose. But the most startling thing about him was his eyes—or, more accurately, his eye, for where his right eye should have been, only a scarred and sunken slit remained. The left one, however, was clear, intelligent, and piercing. It was the eye of a warrior, and the white cat watched in paralyzed fascination as the creature glided forward, his remaining eye unblinking. “I’m a friend, remember?”

  Zekki nodded, wondering why he found the statement troubling.

  Peering toward the geraniums, the big male cocked his head. “And who do we have here, I wonder?”

  Pris peeked from behind the pot. “Hello,” she squeaked. “Come out and let’s take a look at you, my dear.” He advanced with a grace that seemed strange, considering his size.

  Slinking from her hiding place, the calico froze, her amber eyes frightened and huge.

  “Her name’s Pris.” The white cat quickly placed himself between the quivering calico and the stranger. “I’m Zekki.”

  The tom tilted his head, dipping and swaying for a better look, then abruptly stalked to the welcome mat, tenderly scratching his wounded socket against the rattan weaving. “You can call me Jett.”

  In the distance a dog barked, and the chatter of talk radio drifted from a neighboring window.

  “So!” Jett sat down. “What would you two like to do?”

  “Do?” repeated Pris.

  “You’ve never been out before, have you?”

  The two cats shook their heads.

  “Then let’s take a little tour of the neighborhood.”

  “That would be great!” Pris squealed. “I’ve always wondered if—”

  “Thanks,” Zekki interrupted, pushing her toward the door and feeling an overwhelming and surprising urge to get back inside. “But actually this probably isn’t a good day for that.”

  “It isn’t?” the calico said with genuine bewilderment.

  “No.” Zekki grunted, pushing Pris across the porch. “I mean, Buddy and The Boy will be back soon, and we should be in the house before then.”

  Jett’s eye brightened with innocent interest. “Buddy?”

  “Yes, he lives here, too,” Pris chimed in. “He’s a cat. Older . . . gone to the vet’s.”

  “I see.” Jett shrugged. “Well, of course, if you don’t want to do anything, it’s up to you, but I did catch a squirrel this morning; stashed it a couple of blocks down, and I thought maybe . . . no, no, of course, never mind, you need to go back.” His voice trailed off, and he stared with sudden interest at the flowerpot where the hapless lizard lay frozen beneath a leaf.

  Zekki’s heart pounded. He’d only seen squirrels from windows, tails flicking with insolence, black eyes mocking and rude. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected to touch one.

  “You mean a real squirrel? Tail, feet, and everything?” Pris’s nose flushed with excitement.

  “Oh, yes, the whole thing. But never mind.” Walking to the geraniums, the gray cat glared pointedly into the pot, then continued down the steps. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “Wait!” Zekki shrieked. How many times had he longed for this moment? Yesterday, just touching grass was beyond his dreams, and now, the Outs lay before him, verdant, fragrant, ripe for exploration. He turned toward the calico. “Shouldn’t we just take a quick look? I mean, just a look, that’s all.”

  “I don’t know . . . what about” she lowered her voice “The Cat Master? We always said if we got out, we’d look for him.”

  Jett’s ear scoped in her direction. “Did you say, ‘The Cat Master’?”

  “Yes,” Pris, said. “We’ve always wanted to meet—”

  “It’s just a game we play,” the white cat interrupted. “Buddy told us no cat can actually find him.”

  “I hate to disagree with your friend, but that’s not true.” Jett nonchalantly licked his hind leg. “I happen to know The Cat Master well.”

  “You do?” Zekki was stunned. He’d always assumed Buddy knew everything.

  Jett smiled. “I can prove it if you don’t believe me. He’s in the area. If the two of you would like an introduction . . . but, of course . . . no, no . . . you really should stay here.” He turned to leave, his thick striped tail floating over his back as though suspended by invisible wires.

  “No, wait, we’re coming, we’re coming!” Zekki skidded across the porch and down the three steps. He caught up with Jett by the driveway and was about to follow him onto the sidewalk, when Pris’s plaintive voice called from the porch.

  “What about Buddy?”

  Zekki slammed to a halt, ears pulsing with stress.

  Jett continued walking.

  “Could you maybe wait up? We’ve got a little problem.”

  The big cat glided to a halt. “And what could that be?”

  “We can’t leave.” Zekki’s voice shook with disappointment. “Our friend’s gone, and he won’t know what’s happened to us if we leave.”

  “Not to worry.” Jett smiled with friendly tolerance. “I can fix that.” In three giant leaps he bounded up the steps and padded to the door. With a jaunty wink, he backed to the screen, flicked his tail, and proceeded to direct a hard stream of urine directly against the wire. “There, that should do it.” He clawed the mat with satisfaction. “I think that’ll tell your friend what’s happened.”

  The young cats stood in shock.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Pris screamed, hurling herself toward the door. “That’s not a box! Where’s your litter box?” Frantically, she covered the offending puddle with dust, leaves, and air.

  Zekki stared at the dripping liquid. “That was, that was . . . whatwas that?”

  “Think of it as a little note for your friend that Mother will deliver.” Jett playfully swatted Pris’s flank, and she batted back with a dainty paw. “This way.” He rubbed against Zekki, his big body almost knocking him down. “Buddy knows exactly where you are in case he wants to find you.”

  In one smooth motion, Jett leaped over the holly bushes, hopped stiff-legged through the grass, then whirled into a crouch, tail slapping the ground. “And now, my friends,”
he hissed, eye gleaming in the sunlight, “who’s for adventure?”

  F I V E

  The lizard peered out from the geraniums, heart still pounding with alarm.

  Excited chatter faded in the distance, and he could barely see the three cats as they trotted single file down the sidewalk, finally disappearing around a corner.

  Drawing a shaky breath, he carefully slithered from the pot, scurrying toward the crawl space. The big tom had seen him. There was no mistaking that. So why had he been spared? Not only that, but it appeared all the cats were now gone. Eyes blinking rapidly, the lizard furrowed his brow. He’d always been lucky, but this was remarkable even for him.

  Vaguely he wondered if perhaps there was a deeper meaning, something he hadn’t considered. The idea was so foreign he ignored it and went straight to his favorite conclusion: He deserved it. After all, there was an order to the universe: lizard on top, everything else on the bottom. You couldn’t argue with the truth, he thought, crawling up the bricks and heading for the grate. The truth never lied.

  • • •

  Classical music drifted from the radio, and the car’s engine droned and hummed.

  Bracing his legs, Buddy tried not to fall as the carrier bumped and shifted in the back seat. Mrs. O’Connell turned the steering wheel sharply, and the yellow tom was engulfed in waves of vertigo ending in full-blown nausea as the automobile rocked to a stop.

  The carrier was hoisted from the car, and Buddy struggled to keep his footing on the slippery plastic as it bounced against The Boy’s legs. After a short walk a door squeaked open, and he was assaulted by the unmistakable scent of urine, disinfectant, and fear. Instantly he recognized the veterinarian’s clinic, a place he’d been to only once but had never forgotten.

  The carrier thumped on the floor, and Mrs. O’Connell spoke to someone about an appointment. In the distance cages rattled, identification tags jingled on collars, and animals whined and keened in pain and confusion. Buddy’s heartbeat quickened. What if they kept him here, just when Zekki and Pris needed him most? Panicked, he whirled in the cramped enclosure, yowling in distress.

  “It’s okay.” The Boy pulled him from the box, arranging him on bony knees. Gratefully, Buddy rubbed the familiar hand, noticing that his anxiety was fading.

  The waiting room was air-conditioned, and someone had turned the temperature too low in reaction to the blistering Texas afternoon. Shivering, Buddy surveyed his surroundings. Chairs lined the pale green walls, and a tangle of pet postings was displayed on a corkboard by the door. Across from The Boy a woman chattered on a cell phone while her obese Pekinese snorted and huffed in her arms. To her right a man cuddled something in a fluffy towel. Occasionally he would peer into the bundle, mumbling soft, soothing sounds to the round form beneath.

  Settling against The Boy, Buddy watched with interest as the towel began to move.

  Alarmed, the man placed his hands around the undulating form and shifted the entire bundle to his chest, but the wriggling continued. Suddenly, with a determined thrust of its head, the creature emerged from the folds of fabric, stretched seductively, and stared straight into Buddy’s eyes.

  The tom felt a dramatic shift in temperature. His heart rate slowed to a feeble flutter, then abruptly accelerated to a wild and furious pounding.

  Sitting serenely before him, periwinkle eyes glittering with intelligence, was the most beautiful feline he had ever seen. Her delicate body was creamy white, with face, ears, paws, and tail a smoky taupe. The head was aristocratic and narrow, and a gold collar with a tiny silver bell encircled her throat like a serpent. Hypnotic eyes squeezed shut in silent greeting, then opened wide. “What a relief,” she sighed. “I was suffocating in there.”

  For a moment Buddy stopped breathing altogether. Was it possible she was speaking to him? He blinked, he sat up, he sat down, he heard angels singing. “My name’s Shan Dara.” She shook her head, the little bell tinkling merrily against her milky throat. “And yours?”

  His name! She’d asked his name! Inhaling deeply, he opened his mouth, managed a garbled “Buddy,” and choked on a hair ball. It was unbelievable, humiliating, and so typical of this miserable day.

  The Boy quickly placed him on the floor, and after much gagging and retching, no hair ball appeared. He remained hunched on the linoleum, staring at a crumpled brochure that read, “Neuter and Spay: Do It Today!”

  “Easy, Bud,” The Boy said, gently massaging his throat. “You’re okay.”

  “This isn’t possible,” Buddy thought, fighting an irresistible urge to back under the chair and sit there until he grew old, died, and turned to dust. “This never, ever happens to me,” he finally managed to mumble. “I mean this is just so unusual.” Ashamed to look up, he licked his paw with embarrassment. “Seriously.” He knew he was babbling but couldn’t seem to stop. “Has that ever happened to you? I mean one minute you’re fine and then the next . . .” He managed a crooked smile he hoped was winning and willed himself to look into what he hoped would be the compassionate blue eyes of the goddess.

  Instead, the bulging brown eyes of the Pekinese stared back. The dog snorted with contempt. “He paid, she’s gone, and you’re disgusting.”

  “Gone?” His pulse fluttered like a pinned butterfly. “Where?”

  The dog looked toward the street. “Out there.”

  Through the picture window Buddy could see a dark- gray vehicle slowly backing away from the curb. An elegant face with periwinkle eyes watched from the window, an engine revved, and she was gone.

  Asphalt shimmered in the heat, and a wasp zoomed against the glass, then dropped to the sidewalk. Buddy felt a pang of empathy that quickly turned to fear at the sight of the veterinarian’s assistant. She was a wiry young woman with I Love Daryl tattooed on her wrist. In one motion she scooped him from the floor and carried him into the examining room.

  Buddy thrashed in her grip and almost escaped before he was hurled onto a metal table.

  Twisting his head at a bone-crunching angle, she held him by the nape of his neck, immobilized and helpless.

  “You don’t have to do that!” The Boy’s voice was high pitched with anger. “He’s not mean or anything.” The girl’s grip tightened, and Buddy felt a sudden compassion for the unfortunate Daryl.

  “It’s okay,” she drawled, cracking gum and yanking him closer. “I’ve got him.”

  The vet entered the room and commented on how well Buddy looked since his rescue. She listened patiently to the O’Connells’ concerns, gave Buddy a brief exam that proved normal, and administered a mild sedative by injection.

  Buddy winced, a dog howled forlornly from the kennel, and outside in the empty waiting room, a tiny silver bell lay silently beneath a chair.

  S I X

  Buddy sat on The Boy’s lap gazing at the dashboard of the car. The sedative had left him languid and weak, and he watched in wonder as pair after pair of periwinkle eyes marched in dreamy procession before his face.

  The car stopped, and Mrs. O’Connell leaned over and patted The Boy’s knee. “Honey, I don’t think we need to put Buddy in the carrier just to get him into the house. Why don’t you hold him until I come around and open your door?”

  Choruses of cicadas droned in the heat as the cat settled with groggy detachment into The Boy’s arms.

  A waft of hot air blew a leaf, some dust, and a clump of silky white fur through the open window. Buddy’s eyes focused on the hair with difficulty as it floated in a beam of sunlight, hung for a moment, then drifted onto The Boy’s thigh where it stuck. The fur seemed familiar, and something about its presence in the car was disturbing. The tom struggled to identify the feeling, but the sun was so warm and comfortable he lost interest, deciding to rest his chin against The Boy’s thumb instead. A strand of the white hair tickled his nose, and shaking his head, he closed his eyes.

  “So far, so good,” The Boy said, gently inching him higher against his shoulder and easing himself from the car.

  Bud
dy snuggled close as they stopped by the geranium pots, waiting as Mrs. O’Connell checked the mailbox. A friendly scent rose from the flowers. Twitching his nose Buddy identified the smell. No problem; it was only Pris. Something shifted in the back of his brain.

  Pris’s scent on the porch.

  White fur blowing into the car.

  Buddy’s eyes snapped open and warning bells tolled deep in his head. Something was wrong.

  “Oh my gosh!” Mrs. O’Connell said with surprise. “The door’s open!”

  Something was terribly wrong.

  The Boy walked forward, and an acrid stench, strong with ammonia and unmistakably familiar, assaulted Buddy’s senses. Jett! Zekki and Pris were out! Jett had taken them!

  The Boy’s hand reached toward the door, and the cat strained upward, bracing his hind legs against the thin arm and pushing as hard as he could. With a grunt he catapulted into space, twisted in a desperate attempt for equilibrium, then crashed into the bushes.

  The O’Connells seemed to be moving in slow motion.

  “Buddy!” The Boy cried.

  “Ow!” His mother shrieked, stumbling over the cat carrier and cracking her knee on a potted fern as she fell.

  Buddy thrashed in the foliage, dimly aware of The Boy helping his mother to her feet and into the house. Rolling from beneath the prickly leaves, Buddy wobbled toward the backyard, desperate for a place to hide until he could think clearly again.

  A door slammed, and The Boy’s footsteps thumped down the steps. “Buddy! Here, Pris. Here, Zek!”

  Things you love will suffer.

  Buddy staggered to the patio, finally collapsing against the air conditioner.

  Something rustled, and he turned to see a lizard’s face peering from a vent that led underneath the house. Near it was a small screen that had somehow pulled loose and lay rusting in the leaves.

  Startled, the creature mouthed an obscenity and darted back inside.

  The Boy’s footsteps pounded closer.

  Shutting his eyes and praying he wouldn’t get stuck, Buddy dove through the opening, plummeting into a void of black.