The Cat Master

by Bonnie Pemberton

  For a moment he felt disoriented and sick. Still lightheaded, he blinked and looked around.

  The place was amazingly cool, considering the summer heat, and cobwebs iced with dust drifted in fuzzy strands from the low ceiling. The crawl space was littered with things left after the addition was built many years before. A soiled workman’s cap lay amid fragmented candy wrappers, and a dented coffee can was filled with cigarette butts, nails, and screws.

  The cat coughed. Thirst scorched his throat, and his head bobbed and shook as the effects of the tranquilizer began to dissipate.

  From outside, the frenzied searching and desperate calls for the cats continued.

  Buddy’s heart ached. With a sigh, he crept from the vent and lay down, resting his head on the dusty cap.

  The cap moved.

  Buddy lurched to his feet, ears forward and alert.

  It moved again, and instinctively he pinned it with a well-aimed paw.

  “You’re on my tail!” a muffled voice screamed. Something squirmed and twisted beneath the brim, and slowly a small, gray head appeared; amber eyes blinked with fury. “Go ahead, kill me!” it shrieked. “It was bound to happen eventually!”

  Surprised, Buddy moved back. “I don’t eat lizards,” he managed to mumble before collapsing to the ground in a woozy heap.

  The lizard started to run, then stopped, watching the cat intently. Could this be the one they’d taken to the vet? It definitely looked sick, maybe it was even dying. The thought was very appealing. Carefully the lizard ventured from beneath the cap, feeling for the second time that day that some higher power might be at work. “I didn’t say ‘eat,’” he noted with patronizing sarcasm. “I said ‘kill.’” There was no response from the cat, and sensing he wasn’t in immediate danger, the lizard dove back beneath the hat, voice alternately loud and muffled as he poked his head in and out.

  “When are you guys gonna learn they don’t like reptiles in the house? Can you remember the last time a human said, ‘Thanks for the dead thing, leave it on the bed’?” He pulled himself from under the brim, something clutched in his spiny toes. “Look at this, just look at this!”

  The cat raised a wobbly head. “What is it?”

  “What is it?” he screamed. “It’s only my tail, that’s all! You just pulled my tail off!” Throwing it in the dirt, he gestured with fury. “Take a look, pal! It was one of the best I ever had!” With a hitching sob he picked up the neatly snapped appendage and clamored onto the hat.

  Buddy attempted to stand, then sat down. “Who are you?”

  “Orie,” the lizard spat, picturing the cat dead.

  “I’m Buddy, and I—I’m sorry about the tail.” The tom staggered to his feet, moving slowly toward the vent. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  The Boy’s frantic voice drifted from the street. “Here kitty! Bud! Zekki! Here Pris!”

  “A little under the weather?” the lizard asked, feeling cocky and loose.

  Buddy stared into the dark, ignoring him.

  Jumping from the hat, the lizard swaggered closer. “Because of all the cats I’ve seen today, and believe me, it’s been a regular cat convention out there, you look the worse.” He was definitely on a roll and fantasized he was holding a microphone. So did you hear the one about the dying kitty? Take my tail, PLEEESE! It was such an amusing thought, he actually laughed out loud.

  The tabby whirled. “You’ve seen other cats today?”

  Startled, the lizard jumped. Perhaps he’d misjudged the cat’s affliction. “Yeah, yeah, I saw a couple,” he whispered, inching toward the shelter of the coffee can.

  Buddy crept closer, whiskers forward, eyes focused and clear. “Did you see a white cat with long fur and a shorthaired calico?”

  “You know, I think I did.” Orie peddled backward, stunned by a horrible revelation: This cat was definitely not dying! Tripping on a candy wrapper, he crashed into the coffee can, which slowly tipped, spilling nails and cigarette butts onto his back. “And there was another one, too.” He choked, shaking ashes from his snout.

  Buddy blinked. “What other one?”

  “Look, I’ll make you a deal, okay?” Orie warbled, suddenly aware that a washer had landed on his head where it balanced like a designer chapeau.

  The cat remained motionless, watching.

  “I’ll tell you everything I know about those cats and the big gray one, and you don’t kill me.” He tried to look shrewd and in control as the washer slid forward, dangling over one eye. “Is that a deal?”

  The tom’s tail whipped furiously in the dirt. “The only thing I’m interested in is what you saw.”

  Dust puffed into the dry air, and the lizard’s eyes began to burn and water. “I’m telling you, I hardly know anything.” His nose started to run, and he sneezed. “I was minding my own business up in the flowerpot, and suddenly these two cats walked out of the house.” He looked hopefully at Buddy. “Anyway, they started talking to this big gray tabby.” Orie sneezed again. “And then they all walked away together. Boom. That’s it, end of story.”

  Buddy inched closer. “You didn’t hear anything?” Orie wiped a dripping snout on his foreleg. “No, I mean, yeah, yeah, they said something about going to see a cat master, finding squirrels, stuff like that. I swear that’s all I know.” Exhausted, he collapsed in a heap, head flopped forward, nose in the dirt. “This is where you kill me, right?”

  “I already told you I’m not going to eat you,” Buddy said.

  The lizard stared in amazement, washer sliding from his head. “You mean . . . that’s all?”

  “Yes, that’s all.”

  Above them, pacing footsteps and worried voices drifted through the crawl space, their sad echoes mingling with a distant freight train’s piercing whistle.

  Buddy listened, body sagging with fatigue. “I don’t want to talk anymore.” With a ragged sigh, he lay by the vent, face to the wall.

  “Sure, no problem. Hard day, everybody’s tired,” Orie croaked, scurrying away before the cat changed his mind and ate him just for kicks. Shaking with relief, he clamored onto the cap and squinted into the darkness. Was it possible his life had been spared again? But why? Orie tapped the nails of one claw, trying to remember any particular kindness or acts of bravery he’d performed that could account for such a miracle. There weren’t any. He shrugged. Apparently things like this didn’t apply to him, though perhaps he should perform a good deed some day just to make sure. He furrowed his brow in concentration. So why hadn’t the cats eaten him? There could only be one answer: He was too special to die!

  Burrowing into the cloth, he squirmed with joy. There was a higher power at work, its intentions unknown but welcome. “I’m special,” he intoned, trembling at the enormity of such a revelation. Wiping his snout on the greasy fabric, he laughed and wept, thanking providence for his newly discovered calling and burning with a righteous fire only the newly converted truly understand.

  S E V E N

  Zekki and Pris lay entwined on the sparse, dry grass, their breathing steady and deep.

  In contrast, Jett had chosen a more concealed area beneath a bush where he slept in a tight ball, front paws tucked beneath his body, head bowed and almost touching his chest.

  They had traveled many blocks since leaving the O’Connells, and the two young cats had been difficult to control. Their childish enthusiasm was annoying, and it had been almost impossible to drag them away from the squirrel’s remains. Insisting on a few hours’ rest, Jett had led them behind an abandoned doghouse, where exhausted and elated, they’d immediately fallen asleep.

  A dove flapped on a sycamore branch, wings whistling, and Jett jerked awake. A lemony moon glowed against the summer sky. Digging his claws into a spray of crabgrass, he sighed with satisfaction. Zekki and Pris were obviously unaware that the old Master was dead, which probably meant that Buddy was unaware, too. The telepathic interference had worked! Jett smirked with pride. It was all happening as planned. So smooth, so easy,
so stupidly simple. The young cats were his, and all that remained was for Buddy to come to their rescue. Yawning, he assessed his sleeping companions. The male was a typical “pretty boy,” all long white hair, blue eyes and prissy pink ears, nose and pads. The female, on the other hand, was very appealing in an overstuffed way. Round head and eyes, small ears set high, and a coat perfectly marked with ginger, white, and black. Unfortunately not even good looks could disguise Indoor inferiority, and these two were particularly dull with none of the edgy intellect of Ferals. Jett frowned, unpleasant memories fighting for attention. As passive as Buddy appeared, he must never be underestimated . . .like before. Never mind, Jett consoled himself. The new plan was much more sophisticated without the recklessness of youth. This time, cunning and manipulation would prevail, and Jett was a master at both. With a grunt of resolution, he strode to the cats and nipped Zekki’s hind leg. “Get up!” Both animals jumped, scuttling to a crouched position.

  “What’s wrong?” Zekki’s words slurred with confusion.

  “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just time to leave.”

  Pris yawned. “But we just went to sleep a minute ago.”

  “You’re in the Outs now, my dear.” He rubbed his itching scar against her flank. “Where sleep is a gift, not a given.”

  Pris shrank at the touch, her face a mixture of fear and revulsion.

  Her rebuke stung, and Jett fought an old feeling of shame. “She would pay for that kind of disrespect,” he thought, fading into the shadows. “They would all pay.”

  The calico sidled closer to Zekki. “I think I want to go home.”

  Cocking his head in puzzlement, the white cat frowned. “Why? We’ve only been out a little while.”

  “I don’t know. It’s sort of scary out here, and I miss The Boy and Buddy . . . and I—I . . .” Her little chin trembled. “I miss our home!”

  “Did I hear someone say ‘home’?” Jett’s voice crackled from the darkness.

  Both animals tensed, and Zekki took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. Pris wants to go—”

  “Oh, but why?” Jett interrupted, trotting into the light and sitting with a thump. He turned his weeping scar toward them in a pitiful picture of despair. “Haven’t you had a good time? Didn’t I keep my word about the squirrel?” A rivulet of moisture oozed from the empty socket and rolled like a teardrop along the side of his nose and through his luxurious whiskers. “Is it something I’ve done?”

  The young cats shifted uncomfortably.

  “No, sir, it’s nothing like that, it’s just . . .” Zekki stumbled for words.

  The creature was so ridiculous, stuttering and straining to be polite, that Jett wanted to laugh. “Then what is it?”

  “Well, Pris is . . . well, Pris feels . . . well, she’s a girl, sir,” Zekki finally sputtered, giving a huge sigh of relief and looking toward the calico for approval.

  She thwacked him in the head, her rotund body trembling with indignation. “That’s not why I want to go home!”

  Zekki squeaked with surprise. “Of course it isn’t,” Jett crooned, giving a sympathetic nod to the calico. “I just think you’re homesick.” He moved closer, noting with satisfaction that this time she didn’t shrink away. “Could that be it, just some old-fashioned homesickness?” He licked her ear with friendly reassurance.

  “Maybe a little.” She relaxed, dipping her head shyly. “But if we did decide we’d like to go, that would be okay, wouldn’t it?”

  “Absolutely! Feel free to take off anytime you want.” Raising a hind leg, Jett scratched the back of his head. “You shouldn’t have any trouble finding your way home, especially since you’ve both been marking a trail.” The hind leg stopped in mid-scratch, his great paw rising behind him like a war feather. He stared expectedly at the stricken faces before him. “You have been marking a . . . oh dear, you haven’t been?” Lowering his leg, he squinted at the ground in deep concentration. “Well, luckily, I’ve been marking here and there, and I think with Mother’s help, I can get us back.” His eye glistened with friendly confidence. “Yes, I’m almost sure I can.”

  The young cats sighed with relief.

  “Gee, that’s great, you sure think of everything.” Zekki nodded with earnest admiration.

  “I try,” Jett murmured. “I certainly try.” Inhaling the thick night air, he looked at the graying sky. Dawn was very close, they still had miles to go, and he felt an urgency to leave. “Of course we still haven’t seen The Cat Master. So, do you want to go home or continue on?” He tried to look indifferent. “I think He’d be very interested in meeting you.”

  “He would?” said Zekki.

  “Why wouldn’t he? You strike me as extremely intelligent cats.”

  The young tom glowed with importance. “How about it, Pris? Don’t you think we should keep going? We’ll never get this chance again, and Jett said he’d take us home whenever we want.”

  “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “We’ll see The Cat Master, and then we’ll go home, right?”

  “Right,” Jett said. “An excellent plan. So, everyone rested and ready?”

  The cats nodded.

  “Then follow me.” Without a backward glance, he leaped the cyclone fence behind the doghouse and bounded into the alley.

  Zekki followed first, encouraging the calico as she struggled to the top and dropped awkwardly to the other side.

  “Where exactly are we going?” she panted, darting after Jett’s shadowy figure.

  “I don’t know. Who cares? We’re in the Outs! We’re free! We can do anything we want!”

  Pris stopped, eyes sad. “But what about Buddy? He doesn’t know where we are or if we’re okay.”

  “He’ll understand,” Zekki said, twitching with discomfort. “This is the adventure of a lifetime, right? Buddy wouldn’t want us to miss The Cat Master. I mean, it’s probably historic!” He nudged the calico’s head. “We’ll see Buddy again soon and tell him all about it, I promise.”

  Jett waited a few yards ahead, watching impatiently as the animals stumbled through the darkness. “If you’re coming, keep up; it’s dangerous here.”

  A motorcycle rumbled through an intersection, and the cats hid behind a tangle of brambles as it zoomed by. They continued on through the brush, thorns tearing their coats and scratching their ears and noses. Zekki turned to clean a trickle of blood from the calico’s ear.

  “When I want you to stop, I’ll tell you.” Jett’s voice was cold. Suddenly subdued, the young cats followed him across two side streets and into another alleyway.

  The light was dimmer in this stretch of block, and the houses were even more dilapidated. Garbage cans were piled high with trash, and some had turned over, their contents rotting in the dirt. Rats scuttled behind weeds, and Zekki attempted to chase one as it made its way along the fence line.

  “No hunting. Not now.” Jett growled.

  Pris pushed her nose into an empty carton. “But I’m hungry.”

  “We’ll eat later.” Jett’s manner was increasingly agitated, and without warning, he tensed, eye scanning the alley, ears flattened against his skull.

  The cats crouched, tails barely flicking.

  A sudden banging broke the silence. Two trash cans tipped into the dirt, their lids twirling like tops before clanging to the ground.

  Zekki and Pris scaled a scraggly crepe myrtle, and Jett sprang into the bushes, fur bushed like a halo around his head.

  “Who is it, who’s there?” a terrified voice screeched.

  Jett slithered forward, muscles bulging, ready to strike. The young cats clung to the tree, watching in horrified silence at the scene below. Already a big cat, Jett now seemed huge, demonic, like something that had pretended to be feline and was now stripped of its mask, standing naked in its true form. A moaning growl came from his throat, and his tail snapped the ground like a whip. “Come out!” he yowled. “Come out now, before I kill you!”

  “Jett?” the voice floated somewhere in the gloom. “Is that
you?”

  “I said come out!”

  With a squeak of panic, a black form tumbled from the bin, rolling submissively in the dirt. “Don’t hurt me. It’s Soot! It’s Soot!”

  Jett stared at the writhing form. “Soot?” He laughed, his voice once more even and smooth. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  The black cat slowly righted itself and hunched in the dirt. Emaciated, with wild copper eyes and short dry fur, his tail was crooked as though broken, and one ear drooped, lopsided and floppy. “Thought it was you, Jett, but, but I wasn’t sure,” he muttered.

  Pris and Zekki clamored to the ground, heads cocked with curiosity.

  Startled, the stranger darted against the fence, hissing.

  “Oh, don’t worry about them,” Jett crooned, mask back in place. “They’re new friends, very peaceful, no danger.”

  Soot gave a shaky sigh, and the gray tom blinked his eye as though struggling to pierce the darkness. “So, where is Ahn-ya?” Jett asked.

  “She—she’s down about a block in a cardboard box.”

  “And the kittens?” Jett said, pride softening his voice.

  The Feral stared blankly at the ground. “They’re with her.”

  “Well, come on, then.” With a merry flick of his thick tail, Jett trotted down the alley, once again cocky and assured.

  Pris and Zekki scurried behind, gazing shyly at the newcomer as they passed, and Soot followed, slinking close to the fence.

  The alley was congested, with rusted auto parts, discarded sinks, and plastic bags spewing decaying refuse in all directions. Jett maneuvered through the obstacles with casual gracefulness.

  “There it is,” Soot called.

  The cats stopped near a large cardboard box. Splotched with dirt and mildew, it lay on its side, the opening squashed against a metal trash bin.

  The young cats kept a respectful distance as Jett sauntered to the carton. “Ahn-ya, it’s me. I’ve come to see the kittens.”

  At first it seemed that Soot had been mistaken; that the box was empty, but finally a faint rustle came from somewhere inside, and a dim form slowly appeared at the opening. She was a wiry tortoiseshell, and her movements were slow and stiff as she came toward them. Pushing a delicate head against the big tom’s chest, she sat heavily at his feet. “Jett,” she said quietly.