The Cat Master

by Bonnie Pemberton

  A soft breeze smelling faintly of rain wafted through the night air, and the chow lowered himself in the brown grass. He ignored his aching wounds and shut his eyes. His thoughts drifted to the man and the little girl, which often happened when he was tired. It was an obsessive theme that he played over and over in his mind. He wasn’t sure why he did this, because it was painful and confusing. Maybe it was a way of keeping his connection to the girl alive, or maybe it was to fuel the hatred he now felt for the man and his kind. Either way, he relaxed, letting the visions unfold.

  He remembered the car, its engine running, its interior jammed with suitcases, kitchenware, and boxes. The man was angry, which wasn’t unusual. “Shut up, Brenda; I’m not going to tell you again!” he screamed, grabbing the child’s arm and shaking it hard. “He can’t come with us! I told you I’d find you another dog when we get settled!”

  Brenda’s small hands clutched his ruff, holding it as tightly as possible, but the man pulled her away, swung her into the car, and they roared off. Crying, the girl waved through the back window, her eyes huge and sad. The chow chased them for a few blocks but couldn’t keep up, so he’d returned to the empty house.

  It wasn’t clear how long he sat in the driveway waiting for their return. Papers piled up on the sidewalk, and people walked boldly to the front door, peering through curtainless windows, as he barked uncertainly from the bushes.

  They hadn’t returned. After that, things had changed.

  Boys threw rocks instead of balls, and food came in garbage cans instead of bowls. It had taken awhile to understand that humans were no longer his friends and that the little girl was gone. But he wasn’t stupid. He remembered the last words the man had said: “I’ll find you another dog.”

  They were going to replace him. Somehow he must have broken some very important rules, and because of that he’d been left behind.

  He decided to make some rules of his own. First: the world was his personal territory. Second: anything that crossed his path was trespassing, and Third: anyone caught doing this would pay the ultimate price. The last edict he particularly enjoyed because it allowed him a righteous outlet for the anger always bubbling beneath the surface. His victims didn’t need to understand why. The world bulged with unknowable rules, and those who broke them needed to be punished, just as he had been.

  A child’s laughter drifted from a house, and he sprang to his feet, whining.

  Not Brenda, of course, it never was, and for some reason, as he stood in the stifling darkness, that knowledge made him hate the world just a little bit more.

  T W E N T Y - F O U R

  The mockingbird perched on the skeletal branch of a dying oak, ignoring the sour smells of rotting leaves and algae from the creek below. Beneath her, the trap lay on its side in the mud, the front half in the stream with at least two inches of water lapping around the cat’s crumpled form. Hoping for a better look, the bird swooped to the top of the cage, landed lightly on its rusted rim, and squinted through the wire.

  The cat was alive, though its head was twisted to the side, and its eyes were staring out in shock. Seeming to sense the bird’s presence, the calico tried to speak, “Zek—Zek.” The sound was garbled and faint.

  Tilting her head, the mockingbird pecked at the wire. “Can you hear me?”

  Pris stared blankly into the darkness. “Zekki?”

  “No, it’s not Zekki, but I know where he is.” She hopped to the very end of the cage, speaking as loudly as possible. “He’s not too far from here, and the other cat, Buddy, is with him.”

  The calico shifted and winced. “Buddy,” she repeated dully. “Yes, the yellow one. He’s with your friend. They’re on their way to find you.”

  Pris’s eyes opened wide. “No!”

  The bird fluttered backwards in surprise.

  “No! Go back, Zekki!” Pris called into the darkness. “Jett’s waiting! No! No, run . . .” Her words trailed into incoherent mumbles, and her eyes stared in dazed confusion.

  Flapping to a branch, the mockingbird watched with concern. The cat was either hallucinating or crazy, and both were afflictions the bird understood. Life had become foggily surreal since her mate’s death. She had hardly eaten or slept since his murder, and had spent a day and night soaring through the orchard calling his name. That was before she had seen Jett on the golf course. After that, she obsessively followed him, his movements feeding a dark curiosity she couldn’t explain. At first she watched his callous behavior toward the calico with detachment, because they were cats, and she despised them both. But it became increasingly clear the two weren’t alike. The female appeared gentle and nonthreatening, and Jett acted as cruel to her as he did to everyone else.

  Pris gave a feeble kick, and the trap listed further into the creek.

  Even in the moonlight the bird saw the water rising around the cat’s head. Soon it would cover her face, and she would drown. The bird ruffled her feathers and considered her options. Buddy had promised he’d kill Jett, but why should she really trust him? Her black eyes narrowed. Perhaps she could use the whereabouts of the calico as insurance; make sure Buddy kept his word. Of course, he’d said he knew where to find Jett, but would anyone think to look in the creek behind the ravine for the calico?

  Owls hooted in the distance and sprinkles of stars glimmered and winked through wispy clouds. Had it only been two days since she’d soared with her mate in the orchard? Forcing her mind to the present, the bird shook her head. Already a smoky dawn pushed through the darkness, and she needed to have a plan.

  The cat coughed and gagged below. Flying to a lower limb, the bird watched the cage as it shifted farther into the creek. A slight wind rustled the weeds along the ravine, lifting a slender sycamore branch. For an instant, a bright shaft of moonlight illuminated the trap.

  Leaning forward, the bird gasped. The door had sprung open from the fall, and though the opening was very small, it was no longer locked. “Hey!” she called, “the door isn’t fastened! You need to turn around and try to push it open!”

  There was no answer. “The trap is sliding into the creek. If you don’t hurry, you’re going to drown!”

  Pris lifted her head, trying to pull herself upright, but the effort appeared to be too great, and she flopped back into the pooling water.

  Mosquitoes buzzed in the stillness, and the oak tree creaked with decay, leggy limbs stretched skyward.

  Squawking in frustration, the mockingbird peered into the gloom. The cat drifted in and out of consciousness and wouldn’t be able to hear unless the bird got as close as possible. Fluttering to the ground, the bird moved toward the submerging cage, her white-rimmed wings held away from her body. In a flurry of water, she skimmed over rubble and onto a clump of rocks jutting from the creek. From there she hopped from one precarious perch to another until she was almost even with Pris’s head. “Wake up!” she screamed, leaning as far as she dared toward the cage. “You need to wake up!”

  A frog splashed beside her.

  Startled, the bird slipped on a glistening patch of algae and teetered into the creek. A tangled swirl of leaves dragged her tail beneath the surface, and she strained to keep her wings from following. In her frantic struggle she almost didn’t see the long dark form drop from an overhanging branch and land with a plop to her right.

  The gaping white mouth of a water moccasin rose from the water.

  It was in striking position and looking at her.

  • • •

  “What do you mean he—he didn’t have any food?” Shan Dara stammered in disbelief. She stood in the doorway of the shed, her fur bristled with anger. “I don’t believe that! Zekki is so hungry he can barely stand. Indoors always have food around!”

  A car door slammed, and a woman’s drunken voice shouted from the house next door.

  The cats scurried beneath a workbench. Wide-eyed, they listened as an engine revved, its escalating howl drowning unintelligible conversation.

  “Let’s get out
of here,” Shan Dara hissed.

  Buddy sat quietly, ears cupped back, whiskers fanned. “Wait.”

  Squealing tires roared up the street, their shrieks blending with a cacophony of barking dogs, and a screen door banged close.

  “Everything’s okay.” Buddy moved into the open. “It’s over.” He turned to the Siamese crouched in miserable silence on the dirt floor. “I know you’re hungry.”

  “Me?” she protested, standing up. “I wasn’t talking about me, I was talking about . . . I’m not at all . . .” Her voice broke, and she sagged to the ground. “All right, I was talking about me. I am hungry. I’m just so hungry.” Periwinkle eyes filling with tears, she looked at Buddy. “You said Soot was a friend.”

  “He is a friend. Right now he’s a frightened friend, but he’ll do what’s right. You’ll see.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so sure of that.”

  “Because,” Buddy said, walking to the doorway of the shed and staring into the night. “He’s my son.”

  Shan Dara gaped in astonishment.

  “Your son?” Zekki moved from the corner of the shed.

  “I knew Soot’s mother, Ahn-ya, since we were kittens.” Buddy sighed, reluctant to tell the story and yet knowing it was time. “I told you before that Jett tried to kill me. We fought, and he pushed me into a dumpster and left me to die.”

  “But you’re brothers! Why would he want to kill you?” Shan Dara asked.

  Buddy furrowed his brow, trying to put feelings into words. “I’ve never really been sure. We were as close as kittens. But something began to change around the time we met Ahn-ya.”

  “I’ll bet he was jealous.” Zekki gave a knowing nod.

  “Yes, he definitely wanted her.” Buddy drew a deep breath, realizing how vulnerable Ahn-ya had been in his absence, and how cruelly Jett had taken advantage of that. “But it was more than jealousy,” he continued. “It was true hatred, as though I was out to hurt him in some way. As though . . .” Buddy paused. “As though my being alive was something he couldn’t bear.”

  The cats stood in the quietness, their breathing soft and barely audible.

  Buddy cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious. “Anyway, after Jett pushed me into the dumpster, The Boy heard me crying for help and rescued me. It was really hot that day, and I was in pretty bad shape.” He sighed. “So The Boy took me home. I’d been feral all my life . . . and I’d never even been touched by a human before, but The Boy was”—his voice cracked—“The Boy was so good, and he needed me.” He remembered Tenba’s words. “What I mean is we needed each other.” Buddy hung his head. “It’s hard to admit, but for awhile it worked. I forgot all about the alley . . . well, not exactly the alley, but the trouble I’d had there. At least, I tried to, though I couldn’t have left, anyway, because all of us were kept indoors. I love The Boy . . . but . . .” He sighed again. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “I don’t understand,” Zekki said. “We all loved The Boy. Why was that so bad?”

  “You were born an Indoor, Zekki. The feral world is so different. Feral law allows cats of the alley to use humans as survival tools only, as a source of food or shelter. But it’s considered treason to actually live with them.”

  “You didn’t plan for this to happen,” the Siamese protested. “You were traumatized. Anyone would have chosen a loving home over the alleys, and you said yourself you weren’t allowed outside.”

  Buddy’s eyes were dark and unreadable. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  Zekki crept to Shan Dara and lay down. “What about Soot?”

  “I knew Ahn-ya was going to have our litter when The Boy found me. I kept thinking I’d find a way to get back to her.” Buddy paused, his thoughts shameful and dark. “No. I should have found a way back, no matter what it took . . . but time passed, and I started thinking of myself as an Indoor . . .”

  “But you were. What’s so terrible about that?” The Siamese’s face shone with encouragement.

  Buddy clenched his jaws, suddenly unwilling to continue. “A lot of things. Anyway, I sensed Soot was mine as soon as I saw him. He doesn’t know it. He doesn’t need to, not yet.”

  The aroma of freshly mowed grass swept through the shed, and the cats raised their heads, checking for danger beneath its cover of sweetness.

  A familiar scent floated beneath it.

  “Isn’t that . . . ?” Zekki started to say.

  Something clattered in the distance, and a voice called “Buddy!” from behind the shed.

  The cats prepared to run.

  “Stay here.” Buddy crept slowly out the door and headed toward the old lady’s house.

  “Where are you?” the voice called again.

  Footsteps thrashed in the brush, and Buddy shrank into the shadows. “Soot? Is that you?”

  The black cat crashed awkwardly through the honeysuckle, his injured back leg tucked tightly beneath his body, bleeding. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he panted, breath ragged with fear.

  Obviously, this wasn’t about food, and hackles rose on Buddy’s back. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Animal Control is looking for you two. You’ve got to go. They drive around here all the time.”

  “Where did you hear this?”

  “A possum told me. He overheard them describing two cats that look just like you and Shan Dara. The man said they’d been bitten by a rabid raccoon.” Soot stepped back. “You weren’t, were you?”

  “No.”

  Soot sighed with relief. “That’s good, but you still need to get out of here, because it’s not like they just want to pick you up.” His voice quavered. “They want to kill you.”

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  Soot’s leg shook from fatigue, but he stood firm, head up, expression straightforward. “I lied about not having any food. I don’t know why I did it, but I do have food, lots of it. There’s a whole bag on the mud porch and—”

  “Help!” a panicky voice screamed from behind him.

  Soot leaped sideways, and Buddy bared his fangs.

  The possum stumbled into the clearing, sides heaving, tail carried high over his back. “It’s coming; let’s get out of here!” He backed against a cluster of ferns, lips parted, teeth exposed.

  Soot looked confused. “It’s the possum I was telling you about. He—”

  “Do you smell it?” the frightened creature interrupted, crouched in the dirt, staring upward.

  “Smell what?” Soot asked.

  “In the air!” The possum cringed, mouth opened wide and hissing. “Mother’s warning us! There’s evil coming, and it’s close!”

  A soft breeze cooled the night, and the first leaves of fall drifted around Buddy’s paws. “Yes,” he said, “it is.” He turned toward the possum. “Don’t be afraid, it’s not after you.”

  “How do you know?” The possum shivered.

  Buddy stood motionless, moonlight bathing his face in a silvery haze. “Because it’s looking for me,” he said softly. “It’s always been looking for me.”

  T W E N T Y - F I V E

  The mockingbird scrambled backward, her wings whipping fine sprays of water against the snake’s head as it struck. Venom spattered her breast, the deadly droplets opaque among her fine feathers, but the fangs missed their mark, grazing a mound of twigs instead. Undaunted, the snake continued forward, tongue flicking, body a zigzag of black in the ebony water.

  With a squawk of desperation, the bird struggled to become airborne, tail still dragging with the weight of leaves and debris.

  “Look! Look over here!” a weak voice croaked from the trap.

  The snake stopped and raised its head, turning its attention toward the cage where the cat struggled to stand.

  Water and mud sifted around Pris’s paws as her movements propelled the trap further into the creek. “Hurry, while it’s looking at me,” she called to the bird, falling back onto her side.

  A puff of clouds drifted across
the moon, temporarily washing the creek in gloom. With a last burst of energy, the bird pushed up from the water, fluttering to the oak whose brittle boughs waited like an old friend. Breathlessly, she clung to the rough bark, panting with exertion. “Thank you!” she finally called to the cat, flicking the last tangles of weeds from her tail. Shock rolled through her mind in a dreamy fog, and she fought to shake it off. “I know where your friends are.” Her voice was weak but determined. “I’m going for help!”

  Pris raised her head, and the trap inched forward in the mud. “Please hurry,” she groaned, falling back against the wire floor.

  The mockingbird held tightly to the branch and looked down. Beneath her, a linear shadow moved in languid ripples through the water.

  Stopping for a moment, the snake stared upward, its hooded eyes flat and unreadable, then proceeded smoothly toward the cage, moonlight glittering on its supple back like diamonds.

  • • •

  Shan Dara stood outside the shed door, body tense, one paw lifted up and trembling. There were voices by the old lady’s house. She recognized Buddy and Soot’s, but she wasn’t able to make out the other. There had been fear and urgency in the muffled conversation, and she was feeling more frightened by the minute.

  “What’s happening?” Zekki peered from beneath a sawhorse just inside the door.

  Feeling his anxiety, Shan Dara rolled in the dust, trying to appear relaxed. “Not much. I think Buddy’s talking to Soot. He’ll probably be back any minute.”

  “Oh.” The white cat let out a long breath and returned to his hiding place. “I hope he’s found some food.”

  Moving cautiously from the doorway, Shan Dara peered into the shadowy bushes separating the shed from the alley. “Oh, I’m sure he has. That’s probably where they are right now.” She inspected the area.