The Cat Master

by Bonnie Pemberton

  Dying gardens shimmered beneath a sprinkle of dew, and the last scents of summer filled his nose. Hopping a puddle, he moved toward the alley, its muddy gloom a harsh contrast to the bright, manicured neighborhood.

  He’d only traveled a few blocks before the stench of urine and feces became strong. A kaleidoscope of memories rushed back with breathtaking force.

  Two kittens pranced in the sun, one yellow, the other gray. Tumbling in the dust, they scampered in circles, pouncing and bristling in mock battle, eventually collapsing together in a loving heap.

  Lost in the vision, Buddy was startled by the sound of rustling behind him. Instinctively he whirled, fangs bared, ears flat.

  Periwinkle eyes stared at him with surprise. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Disoriented, the tom blinked hard, trying to separate the past from the present.

  “It’s me,” she persisted. “Shan Dara. We met at the vet’s.”

  Buddy recoiled in shock. “Shan Dara?” he said, suddenly aware that he was wet, rumpled, and probably smelled of dog.

  “I saw you outside my window.” She nodded toward the street. “I live over there.”

  Buddy managed a loopy smile. “Well, ho . . . hoo . . . I mean, howdy,” he finally blurted, wondering where he had come up with such a ridiculous greeting.

  The Siamese seemed not to notice and gently bumped his neck in a shy greeting.

  Her touch burned like a brand.

  “I hope I’m not bothering you or anything. I saw you and wanted to say, uh . . . howdy.” She made an odd little gesture with her head. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Bubba.”

  Buddy stared in wonderment. She was here! She was real! She remembered his name! No, wait a minute, that wasn’t his name. “My name’s Buddy,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! Of course, it’s Buddy.”

  He winced at her embarrassment. How rude. How insensitive. He should have changed his name. “That’s okay; you can call me anything.”

  Drops of water spattered from the bushes, and a trio of sparrows quarreled from a fence.

  The cats stood awkwardly gazing at one another.

  Buddy cleared his throat. “I—I guess you probably want to get back home now. I mean I’ve got to go, and I want to see you safely inside before I leave.”

  Shan Dara licked a perfect taupe paw and lowered her eyes. “I don’t really want to go home right now. I mean, I’ve been sitting across the street waiting for the rain to stop so I could talk to you.”

  There was a strained silence.

  “I’m not sure what you’re doing out here.” She raised her head and took a deep breath. “But I thought whatever it is, maybe we could do it together.”

  “Together?” A flea popped onto Buddy’s leg, and he prayed she hadn’t noticed. “But, you don’t even know me, and it’s dangerous out here.” He moved closer. “I’m looking for some friends, the weather is bad, there’s dirt and mud, and you’re so . . . you’re all . . . clean.” He tried not to drown in the intensity of her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  The Siamese moved closer, touching his nose with hers. “I can’t explain it. I just know that I’ve thought about you a lot since we met, and I get so tired of just watching things happen through the window. I won’t be any trouble. Can’t I come with you?”

  Buddy found it hard to concentrate. Her fur smelled of flowers, and her blue eyes obliterated the clouds.

  “Can I . . . come with you?” she repeated.

  Buddy jolted himself to the present. The answer, of course, was no, absolutely not. There were things to do, dangerous things, and a companion would only slow him down. “Yes,” he said, “I’d like that.”

  Side by side they walked deeper into the alley. Thunder still rolled in the distance, but a rainbow arced across the horizon, streaking the sky with trails of pastels.

  • • •

  Mud was everywhere, seeping through puddles and sticking like paste to their fur and paws.

  Buddy walked in front, carefully picking out the paths least difficult to maneuver, and Shan Dara followed, creamy belly splattered with water and debris. The afternoon light was dimming, and the area grew more hostile as they moved further down the block.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to walk on the sidewalk?” Shan Dara finally asked, stopping to lick a glob of muck from her chest.

  “I’m really sorry about all this,” Buddy said, ears cocked forward. “But it’s safer if you just follow me.”

  A cloudy twilight hampered their vision, and though things seemed quiet, Buddy had the prickly sensation they weren’t alone.

  Something rumbled through the alley, and they darted inside a crate, eyes reflecting like neon orbs in the truck’s headlights. “I don’t like this place.” Shan Dara flicked a dirty paw with irritation. “It’s so—so filthy.”

  “It sure is,” Buddy said a little too loudly. “Disgusting.”

  Creeping into the open, Shan Dara looked around, mouth pursed with distaste. “Can you believe some animals actually live here?”

  “No,” Buddy mumbled, heart hammering with an uncontrollable fear. “I—I can’t.”

  Sighing, Shan Dara shook her head. “Everything is so ugly, and there’s no place to sleep or eat or—”

  “That was a lie,” he interrupted, staring at the ground. “I just lied to you.”

  The Siamese frowned with confusion. “A lie?”

  “I acted like I’ve never been in an alley before, but that’s a lie.” Buddy swallowed hard. “I’ve been here plenty of times.”

  “You have?”

  “I was born here, it’s my home.” The words stuck in his throat like sand. He coughed and looked away.

  “But that’s not possible.” Shan Dara’s blue eyes widened. “You’re not feral. You live in a house with a nice family like I do.” Suddenly, she laughed, batting his head with a playful paw. “Oh, you’re just kidding around! This is a joke, right?”

  Her touch grazed his ear like a kiss, and he pulled away before he was tempted to lie again. “No, it’s not a joke. I’m a Feral whether I look like it or not. I lived with The Boy for a while, but—but this is where I was born.”

  “You can’t be,” she protested. “Feral cats are . . . well, they’re sick and dirty and mean.”

  He gazed at her patrician face, perfected through centuries of care and breeding, and thought of his mother, siblings, and friends. He remembered their lives in the alley—the price paid for those lives—and felt a surge of anger mixed with pride. “I think you should go home now.”

  “But that’s not fair, all I said was—”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “You said Ferals were sick, dirty, and mean, and sometimes that’s true. But they’re also tough and brave and lots of other things an Indoor could never understand.” He looked away, heart heavy with a dream turned to dust. “I don’t expect you to understand . . . I just . . . this isn’t going to work.”

  Shan Dara’s eyes looked hurt. “But I—I didn’t know. How could I know?”

  “You couldn’t. I’m the one who lied, not you.” Mortified, he faced her. “Ferals and Indoors are forbidden to mix anyway. It’s The Law.”

  She stood silently, her graceful form backlit by a hazy moon, and Buddy wondered if he’d ever seen anything so beautiful or so terribly out of place. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. I’m sorry.” He met her frightened gaze. “Don’t worry; I’ll see that you get home.”

  There was a thump from the shadows, and both cats jumped with surprise.

  A lumpy form ambled from behind a trash can. It lurched and stumbled, then finally stopped. “Water,” it said.

  Buddy quickly stepped in front of the Siamese, tail bristled. “Who are you?”

  The creature staggered closer, a streetlight illuminating its face.

  “Oh, it’s only a raccoon,” Shan Dara said, obviously relieved. “I was afraid it was a dog or something.” Eyeing her dully, the stranger tried to
swallow and gagged. “Water,” it croaked louder.

  “Water?” she repeated. “But it’s been raining all day, and there’s water everywhere.”

  Something sinister squirmed in Buddy’s brain. “We don’t have any water,” he said evenly. “Maybe there’s some in the next block.”

  The coon’s demeanor changed. Rage contorted its features, and it snapped the air in fury. “Raining? Raining?” It lurched forward.

  Buddy hissed, paw raised in warning, and the animal stopped, rocking in agitation.

  “Water’s bad, water’s bad!” it chanted. The large head bobbed and swayed, ropy saliva dripping from its jaws.

  “He’s rabid,” Buddy whispered.

  “Rabidy babidy, bad.” It drooled, gazing with sudden fascination at the sky.

  “Shan Dara, there’s a chinaberry tree behind us.” Buddy’s voice was steady and calm. “Back up really slowly.”

  “I—I can’t—I—” “Listen, just listen. When I tell you, run to the tree . . . climb it fast!”

  Shan Dara moved one step.

  Snapping to attention, the coon refocused, his eyes bright with insanity.

  “Easy, easy . . . ,” Buddy said. “As soon as you move, I’ll try to divert him.”

  The creature clicked its teeth and took a lurching step.

  “Now! Do it now!”

  Shan Dara vaulted up the slender trunk, and Buddy pushed forward, slashing the coon’s black muzzle with a well-aimed claw.

  Undaunted, it jumped past him onto the slippery bark.

  “Faster! Faster! Just keep going!” Buddy sprang onto the tree, desperately trying to overtake them.

  Furiously, the raccoon retreating form, blood and clinging in foamy globules to her fur. snapped at the Siamese’s

  saliva spraying her flank,

  “Go! Don’t look back!” Buddy’s fangs barely missed the ringed tail dangling inches above. He could see Shan Dara had almost reached the uppermost branch, but the coon was still clamoring behind, and the fragile tree bent and swayed with their weight.

  “What the heck’s going on back here!” a man’s voice boomed.

  Footsteps squished in the mud, and a powerful beam of light shone on the trio.

  For an instant the raccoon froze, masked face blank with confusion. Buddy shinnied up past him, joining Shan Dara on an upper bough, where they both clung in terror.

  Dripping saliva, the creature watched with interest as the man poked an overturned garbage can with the toe of his boot.

  A little boy trailed behind, eyes wide, watching from the shadows.

  “Well, now, lookie here, Jamie,” the man hooted, shining a flashlight first on the boy, then into the tree. “We got a big ol’ coon that’s treed a couple of cats.”

  The raccoon hissed and snapped at a leaf.

  “So you’re the little creeps that’ve been tearin’ up my garbage and making a mess back here.” The man handed the flashlight to the boy and eased a shotgun to his shoulder. “You know what I think?” he drawled, drawing a bead on the cats and then the raccoon. “I think there’s about to be three less vermin in the world.”

  Squinting into the gun site, he slowly pulled the trigger.

  T W E L V E

  Zekki paced in the dust. His white coat was matted with debris and hung in gray, twisted strands from his body. It had been dark for some time, and still there was no sign of Jett. “If he’s not back soon, I think we should leave,” Zekki said with a confidence he didn’t feel.

  Pris peeked from behind a bag of potting soil. “And go home?”

  “Definitely, we’ll just go home.”

  “Is that right?” Jett stood motionless in the shed’s doorway, the moon casting an eerie glow on his eye. Raising one paw, he carefully licked a callused pad. “And just where is home?” With a dramatic twist of his head, he quickly looked to the right. “Would it be that way?” He swiveled his head to the left. “Or could it be this way?” Lowering himself to his belly, he peered beneath a wheelbarrow where Zekki had scurried in terror. “What would you guess, my interfering friend? Left, right, up, down? Be careful, though. Your pals are counting on you.”

  “I—I don’t know,” Zekki stammered. “I was just, you know, talking because you’ve been gone a long time and . . .” He stopped, clearing his throat.

  Mosquitoes buzzed in the damp air, and a dog yipped in the distance.

  “It doesn’t matter how long I go away,” Jett continued, his voice steely with anger. “You stay where I tell you to.”

  Zekki gave a miserable nod, and the big tom suddenly brightened. “So, how about a head count?” He sent the white cat a withering glance. “We’ve established that our bigmouthed ‘hero’ is hiding beneath a farm implement . . . now, where is our little calico friend?”

  Pris slunk from her hiding place.

  “That makes two.” Jett peered into the garage. “And Soot? I’ll bet he’s all rested and raring to go by now.”

  Soot clamored from the window ledge, legs shaky from hunger, eyes dull. Leaning against the wall for support, he dipped his head.

  Jett watched with cold amusement. “Yes, nice and rested. Let’s go.” With a flick of his tail, he trotted into the sultry night, the three young cats straggling behind.

  Soot glanced one last time at the old woman’s house as they passed. The porch light was on, but the rest of the structure sat in darkness. Closing his heart against the bright and friendly future that had dangled so briefly before him, he staggered after Pris’s fading form . . . and into the gloom of reality.

  The alley wound through the neighborhood, finally deadending at a tree-lined boulevard. Traffic was heavy here, and the animals kept to the shadows, creeping through carefully trimmed hedges and sprawling hydrangeas laden with fluffy pink blooms. Eventually the area became more commercial, with small businesses and fast-food restaurants crowding against prefab offices.

  The cats pressed on, avoiding human contact, slinking behind gas stations and shriveled landscaping, until they crossed another alley that turned into a parking lot surrounded by a theater complex and grocery store.

  Jett led them to a dumpster in back of the buildings. “There’s food in there. If you want to eat, do it now and do it fast.” Scowling, the big cat disappeared beneath a loading dock.

  Pris paced in confusion. “But I don’t see any bowls. Where’s the food?”

  “I think it’s in that thing.” Zekki slowly approached the dumpster, wincing at the pungent smell of rotting produce.

  “Don’t go inside,” Soot said quickly. “Look for food lying around on the ground. Sometimes people throw things in, and they miss. It’s dangerous to go in it. You might not be able to get out.” He sat heavily. “If you find anything, let me know. I’m just going to rest here for a minute.”

  Pris timidly approached the black cat and pushed against his neck. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m . . . just really tired. Let me know if you find anything, and I’ll come over.” He tried to purr, but his throat was parched and tight.

  She nodded and joined Zekki who was gnawing at a white paper bag.

  “Hey, here’s something!” he shouted. “It’s meat and bread and some other stuff!”

  The two cats pulled the hamburger onto the pavement and tore at the remains.

  Pushing himself to his feet, Soot crawled toward the food, eyes scanning for hidden threats. “Don’t eat it here.” Even the dim lighting behind the store was risky, and he was aware of Jett watching from the darkness, waiting for them to be careless. “It’s too bright here. Pull it over behind those bushes.”

  Zekki obliged, and he and Pris devoured the sack’s contents, pushing one another out of the way for better leverage.

  A soft chuckle floated from beneath the loading dock. “You’re wasting your breath. They don’t understand and never will.” Jett crawled into the open, dropping a dead cricket onto the pavement. “But not you and me, eh, Soot? We understand everything, don’t
we?” Nodding toward the insect, his eye glittered like polished brass. “No hard feelings about earlier. Consider this a gift from an old friend.”

  Soot said nothing as he pounced on the creature, crunching it hungrily and wishing there were more.

  A soft wind blew from the east, and the sounds of voices echoed in the distance.

  Jett’s head shot up, and his broad nose probed the air. “Go! Now!” he roared.

  Zekki and Pris stood by their meal, bewildered.

  “Leave the food! Run!” Soot shouted, adrenalin overcoming his fatigue.

  From behind the mall, a procession of boys on bicycles descended into the parking lot. Whooping with laughter, they pumped furiously in between parked cars, heading toward the back of the grocery store.

  The cats scattered in panic. Zekki darted beneath the dumpster, while Jett, Soot, and Pris headed for the alley.

  “Hey, there’re some cats or something back here!” one of the boys yelled. “Corey, throw me your rope. I’m gonna catch one!”

  The three cats ran blindly through shrubbery, around trash cans, and over boxes and broken glass.

  “Highway, cross the highway!” Jett shouted as he zigzagged through the underbrush.

  Bicycles thumped and swooshed behind them, the boys screaming to one another in a frenzy of pursuit.

  Soot was failing. His breath came in short, jagged gasps. With a grunt he stumbled, and Pris pushed him to his feet. “Where’s Zekki?” she panted, as they regained their stride. “What’s happening? Where’s the highway?”

  “It’s straight ahead.” Soot wheezed. “Do what Jett says!” He could hear sounds of traffic; the deafening roar of semis and the whiz of cars traveling at high speeds. Suddenly a four-lane blacktop loomed before them, as the boys bore down from behind.