The Cat Master

by Bonnie Pemberton

  “Yeah, I saw them from the window; he hooked up with our family cat. They took off over there and into that alley.” The little dog suddenly seemed concerned. “Wait a minute. The cat’s gone for good, right? I mean, she’s not coming back?”

  Before Tenba could answer, a door banged from behind the house, and a man ran into the front yard, clapping his hands with authority. “Frank, you bad dog, come here right now!”

  The Dachshund rolled his eyes. “This has been going on all morning; I’ve already bitten him once. Watch this.” Eagerly, he trotted toward his owner who squatted in the grass with arms outstretched, then veered left just as the man reached out to grab him. “Would love to stay, but you can see the situation here!” he called, neatly sidestepping another swipe of the big hand and sprinting in the opposite direction.

  “Darn it, Connie, get the car keys. He’s headed south!” the man roared.

  “Thanks for the help!” Tenba shouted from the curb.

  “Don’t mention it!” Frank howled. “Come see me if you’re ever in the neighborhood, and hey, bring your friend; I’m totally open-minded!” He turned a corner and was gone.

  “How disgusting was that?” Orie muttered.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Tenba moved closer to the protection of the houses. “I think he had a certain charm.” Scratching a flea with her hind leg, she assessed the sky.

  Billowing white clouds lazed across the hot summer blue of afternoon.

  “I figure we have about two more hours before we need to find some place to rest.” She gave a shallow cough, noticed water dripping from a neighbor’s faucet, and lapped thirstily from its rusted mouth.

  “Now what?” Orie asked.

  “Now we follow Frank’s directions and find those cats.” Tail high and nose to the ground, she trotted to the end of the block and turned left into the alley.

  • • •

  Shaking with rage, the chow watched from the shadow of a dying hackberry. The confrontation hadn’t gone as expected, and being driven away by a smaller dog in broad daylight had triggered old feelings of rage and humiliation.

  Flies circled a scabbing wound on his muzzle, and he shook his big head in irritation.

  Everything would turn out all right. The snotty Dachshund was gone, and the old dog was obviously tired. Soon it would be dark, and the shepherd would be deep into the alley, vulnerable and alone. He could wait, he thought, squinting into the fading sunlight.

  Waiting was his thing.

  N I N E T E E N

  Zekki squirmed from beneath the rusted car, fatigued, hungry, and bewildered as to what to do next. Blood on the highway or not, Pris was out there with Jett, and he had to find her.

  Something thumped on the hood of the car, and he dashed behind a discarded battery, ears scanning for danger.

  Perched on the shimmering metal, black eyes fierce and unblinking, sat a mockingbird.

  Intuitively Zekki froze in the grass, hindquarters tensed, ready to attack.

  The bird watched impassively. “I know where they are.” Her voice was flat and low.

  Zekki stopped in mid-crouch, feeling confused and inexplicably frightened. “What?”

  Scorching heat waved from the metal beneath the bird’s feet, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Your friends and the other one? I know where they are.”

  Zekki stumbled back on his haunches, queasy from stress. There was something strange about the bird. She didn’t seem afraid, and yet all his instincts told him she should be. Creeping into the open, he eyed her with a mixture of wariness and hunger. “Are they alive?”

  “Yes.” Her voice dragged with bitterness. “They’re alive.” Relief shot through Zekki’s body with such force, he winced. “Where are they?”

  The bird fluttered from the car, landing boldly in the grass, and Zekki cowed back, trying to understand why she seemed so terrifying.

  “I’ll take you to them on one condition.”

  Zekki’s throat tightened. “What condition?”

  “That you kill him.”

  An ice-cream vendor rang a bell somewhere behind the alley, and children shrieked with delight.

  “Kill who?” Zekki mumbled, knowing the answer before he asked it.

  “Jett.”

  The cat’s pulse drummed with rage. Who was this bird, and why had she asked such an impossible thing? He thought of Pris, and anger turned to shame. She was in danger, and the bird knew where she was . . . but to kill Jett? A malevolent yellow eye pierced his memory, and he cringed. “I—I wouldn’t know how—”

  “Those are my terms,” she interrupted. “Take it or leave it.” “We’ll take it,” a clear voice said from the shadows.

  Zekki spun in the direction of the sound.

  Standing quietly in a patch of dappled sunlight, head erect, tail straight and high, was a familiar figure.

  The white cat blinked hard, licked his chops, then sank to his knees, eyes vacant and dull. “I’m crazy,” he muttered. “I’ve gone crazy, and I’ll never see Pris again.”

  The specter moved closer. “You’re not crazy. It’s me.”

  Zekki peered dully through a haze of shock. “Buddy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Buddy?” he repeated slowly, struggling to his feet.

  “Yes, you’re all right. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  The young tom took a tentative step, then rushed to his friend, falling before him in trembling submission. “It’s my fault! Pris wouldn’t have left the house if it hadn’t been for me! Jett! He—he lied to us! What if Pris is hurt? I’m so glad to see you, how did you find me?” His words tumbled out in a torrent of anguish, guilt, and relief.

  Buddy licked the young male’s ear and nudged him to a sitting position. “I’ll explain everything to you later.” He turned his attention to the mockingbird who’d fluttered to the car. “Where are they?”

  “How do I know you’ll kill him?” Her eyes were hard and unblinking.

  “You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  The bird hesitated for a moment, then sagged with defeat. “They’re beyond the pecan trees across the highway. I can show you.”

  “Thanks for the offer,” Buddy said. “But you’ve given me all the information I need.”

  With a listless flap, the bird rose into the sky. “He killed my mate!” she shrieked, circling higher. “Avenge him . . . for me!”

  Her mournful words hung in the smothering heat, and the two cats watched silently until she became a small black dot on the horizon, finally disappearing from view.

  “I almost forgot!” Zekki cried. “There was blood on the highway! I saw it! What if—?”

  “It wasn’t Pris,” Buddy said quickly. “It was Soot. I just spoke to him. He’s fine. A woman rescued him.”

  “Can I come out?” a voice called from behind the car. Zekki bristled in alarm.

  “Don’t worry, she’s a friend,” Buddy said. “Yes, come out.”

  The Siamese peeked around the rear bumper, then stepped gracefully over a discarded battery.

  “Shan Dara,” Buddy said, “this is Zekki. One of the cats I’ve been looking for.”

  Zekki stared in awe.

  The beautiful Siamese brushed his shoulder with her cheek. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m glad you’re all right.”

  The white cat gave a sheepish nod, then turned to Buddy. “I don’t understand anything that’s happened. I mean, who is Jett, anyway? Why did he pretend to like us?” His voice broke with the betrayal.

  Shan Dara’s blue eyes widened. “What’s Zekki talking about?”

  Buddy took a long, deep breath. “Jett’s my brother. I don’t have time to explain everything right now, but he hates me and always has. I think he’s used Zekki and Pris to lure me into the Outs.”

  “But why?” the Siamese asked. “He wants to kill me. He’s tried it before. That’s when The Boy rescued me.” The tom shrugged with frustration. “I wish I could give you more details, but
I don’t completely understand it myself.”

  Shan Dara and Zekki stood in stunned silence, their unspoken questions floating like specters in the hot August air.

  “What do we do now?” Zekki finally whispered.

  “We go back and see if Soot will find us something to eat. Then we cross the highway.”

  “Cross the highway?” The young cat’s mind flashed to the smell of melting tar and the roar of traffic. An unknowable shadow waited there, something evil. “I can’t do that.”

  “But you will,” Buddy said. “Fate never takes no for an answer.”

  T W E N T Y

  Jett stood on a hill overlooking the golf course. He hadn’t seen it in years. The alley where he’d been born was only blocks from here, and he and his brother had been drawn to the plush greens and fascinating sand traps of the course. Jett surveyed the landscape. Nothing had changed. Enormous oak trees swayed above the clubhouse, golf carts squatted in tidy rows, and a man-made pond sparkled behind the ninth hole. As kittens, he and Buddy had spent an entire autumn playing by its edge. That’s when they had first seen Ahn-ya. Abandoned and terrified, she had instinctively turned to them for protection, and Jett was instantly smitten. Considered the more handsome of the brothers, the gray tom was normally confident around females, but there was something about the tortoiseshell’s winsome innocence that reduced him to awkward mumbling. Not Buddy. His affection toward Ahn-ya was open and natural, and she responded to him immediately. For a blissful time, the trio was inseparable, exploring the orchard, stalking birds, and spending hours stretched side by side in the warm fall sun. But slowly Ahn-ya and Buddy’s bond deepened, creating a world in which there was room for only two. Isolated from his brother and rejected by Ahn-ya, Jett watched with longing from the lengthening shadows. Never before or since had he felt such stark and aching loneliness.

  Something wet rolled alongside his nose, and Jett was shocked to see a teardrop dangling from his whisker. Quickly he shook it off, replacing the memory with hatred.They weren’t kittens anymore, he thought bitterly,and things had changed. Jett took a hard look at the sky. He and Pris had traveled the better part of the day, and with evening approaching, they needed a place to sleep. He watched the calico struggle up the slope. She’d been uncomplaining and obedient, eating when he said to and resting only when he did. Unfortunately she had also been surreptitiously marking a trail since leaving the pecan grove, and he was going to kill her. Not because of the trail—he’d been marking one himself since the first day they’d met—and not because of her pitiful attempt at deception, which he’d actually found impressive if naive. No, he was going to kill her because her usefulness to him was almost over. All he’d ever needed was a clear scent for Buddy to follow . . . and the brainless calico was supplying that daily. Unfortunately for her, that trail was coming to an end.

  “Can we stop here?” Pris gasped, pulling herself up the last incline and collapsing by the tree.

  Jett swiveled his head to the side and stared, his one eye hard and glistening. “Oh, I think we should push on a little farther. There’s a place I know that would be safer for us to sleep.” She looked disappointed, and he tried not to laugh. “It’s not far. You’ve been a real trooper, and when we get there, I promise you’ll be able to sleep for a long time.”

  “Really?”

  She gazed at him with that fat-faced sincerity he was beginning to loathe.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “I’d say a very long time.”

  She gave a theatrical yawn, trying to appear casual as she always did when she was working her little plan.

  “I think I’ll just look around for a minute, if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem.” Jett smiled. “Take as long as you like.” The irony was wonderful. He couldn’t believe how well everything was turning out.

  A butterfly lit on a clump of lantana, and he swatted it down, holding it carefully beneath his paw. Only one little thing bothered him: where was Buddy? The yellow cat had definitely fallen for Jett’s plan because the mockingbird had seen him. Tipping his head, Jett squinted into the afternoon glare, hoping Mother would send Buddy’s scent. There was no breeze, and scorching air parched his throat. Scowling, Jett put more pressure on the insect’s body, enjoying the feeble movement against his pad. Could it be he’d forgotten something? His tail twitched in frustration. The abduction had been flawless, the stupid calico would die, and eventually her dumber friend would, too. No, he had done a splendid job, no mistakes. But time was running out. The Gathering would be tomorrow night. What if he’d miscalculated again? What if Buddy had taken a different route and was lurking in the shadows, watching them right now? A wild panic fluttered in the gray cat’s chest, and he struggled to breath. No. Ambush wasn’t Buddy’s style. If he were here, he’d make his presence known. Everything was just taking a little longer than expected. Slowly Jett’s pulse returned to normal. He could wait, he thought, ripping off a delicate orange-and-black wing and swallowing it whole. Patience never failed a true believer.

  • • •

  Curt and Judy jiggled and bumped down the alley between Sixth Avenue and Willing, uniforms stained with sweat. The Animal Control truck’s air conditioner clattered in disrepair, and they had rolled down the windows to stave off the heat.

  “Now where were these cats supposed to be?” Judy asked, pushing her bangs off her dripping forehead and balancing a snare in her lap.

  “They were first sighted between Fairmount and Fifth; then they ran toward Willing. At least that’s what the report says.”

  “Well, heck,” Judy said, “no telling where they are now.”

  They rocked along in silence, slowing down to stare under bushes or behind rubbish piles for any signs of life. Once, two black-and-white kittens scurried under a chain-link fence, eyes wary and alert, but the cats they were looking for were adults.

  “Didn’t the guy say the Siamese was the one with blood on her?” Curt popped his gum and steadied a Big Gulp cup he kept gripped between his thighs.

  “Yeah, but those coons are fast and mean, especially when they’re rabid. I wouldn’t be surprised if it got the yellow cat, too.” Judy coaxed the top of her towering hair even higher with a pencil, then looked at her watch. “Geez, Curt. It’s almost six thirty. Can we please get the heck outta here? I’m burning up!”

  With a squeal of tires, Curt turned the truck and cut through a mall parking lot. “Yes, your freakin’ majesty,” he muttered, swerving to a dumpster and tossing his Big Gulp cup inside. “Think you can hang on till I call the office?” Punching a number in his cell phone, he put it to his ear. “Hey, it’s me. Listen, we’ve been out all day following up on that report about the rabid cats somewhere around Sixth Avenue . . . No, we didn’t see ’em, and we’re headed back . . . Yeah? Wait a minute.” He grabbed a pen and began scribbling on a worksheet lying on the seat between them. “On Fifth? Another attack by the chow? Listen! Don’t start with me . . . Yeah? Well, I don’t care what they . . . how would I . . . shut up!” He finally bawled, pounding the dash. “I’m talking here! What do ya think we’ve been doing all day, picking daisies? We’ve gone all through that neighborhood, and we didn’t see a thing!” Judy started to speak, but he stopped her with a look, then pressed the receiver close to his lips, face red with fury. “Hey, if the mayor thinks he can do a better job, let him come out here and try! And, by the way, tell that freakin’ reporter there’s no freakin’ rabies epidemic in Fort Worth!” Clicking off the phone, he threw it to the floorboard and stared sullenly through the window. “I’m gonna get that chow and those cats tomorrow, and then you know what I’m gonna do?”

  “What?” Judy said, blotting her lipstick on a gas receipt. “I’m gonna drive straight to the office . . . and put ’em down myself.”

  • • •

  The possum crept from beneath the dumpster as the truck roared away. He had just finished off three cockroaches and half a tub of margarine when he heard the truck rumble up. Scutter
ing into the darkness, he’d remained motionless as he listened to the people talk, hoping they’d leave. The sun still smoldered on the horizon, and usually he slept as late as he could, but he was familiar with the sound of the Animal Control truck. It was one of the few things that actually worried him. Moving further into the open, he watched as taillights turned a corner and disappeared in the murky twilight.

  He’d seen lots of animals go that way. Sometimes the back of the truck, the part with the locks, seemed about to explode with all the panting and whining. Once the Animal Control people had even snagged a possum. He’d seen it. It had been bad. He snuffled the pavement where the tires had been. Fear and urine. Yep, it was definitely them.

  What had the man said about cats? Bits of conversation drifted back. A yellow cat, cats in alleys, a cat looking for other cats. It had a familiar feel somehow. He sat down with every intention of giving this some real consideration, then spotted a rat slinking toward a melting dip cone by the curb. He’d think about the cat thing later. Scurrying across the warm asphalt, he stared at the sticky remains with rapture. “You gonna eat that?”

  The rat squeaked in surprise and scrambled under a loading dock.

  “I’ll take that as a no!” he called. Turning his attention to the ice cream, he slurped and grunted with pleasure. Maybe he’d wander up to the highway and check out the garbage bins on Willing.

  With a happy belch, he waddled across the parking lot, long pink tail gliding behind. A horn honked in the distance, and he jumped under an abandoned shopping cart. There was something about those cats that sure rang a bell. Maybe if he had time later, he’d figure it out. His eye caught the glimmer of a candy wrapper. On the other hand, he reasoned, trotting toward the oozing confection and licking his chops, he hated wasting a lot of energy on anything he couldn’t eat.

  T W E N T Y - O N E

  Buddy, Shan Dara, and Zekki crisscrossed yards and side streets until they finally reached the old woman’s house. Creeping through the bushes, they approached the structure with wary curiosity. Cicadas yammered with monotonous insistence and tangles of cross vine dragged at the screened-in back porch.