The Cat Master

by Bonnie Pemberton

  Heavy shrubbery stood between the main house and shed, and the fact that no one could look out the windows and see them gave the Siamese a slight sense of security. The salty smell of fried chicken drifted in the evening air, and she slumped with hunger and homesickness. No longer an Indoor, she suddenly understood what Buddy had meant. She was now in the Outs, where life was measured in hours and days, not months or years. Never again would food and water magically appear in stainless steel bowls or humans be a source of safety. For one panicked moment the Siamese considered running home, then gasped with an unexpected revelation; she already was. Buddy was her home and had been since the first time they’d met. Whatever unspoken burden he carried would be shared by them both, and she saw their futures entwined like morning glories, tough but beautiful. Her thoughts turned to Zekki. His protection fell to her, in Buddy’s absence, and she took the job seriously. “I’m going to stretch my legs,” she called, careful to keep her voice even and smooth. “Just walk around a little.” There was no answer. Trotting back to the shed, Shan Dara squinted into the darkness. “Okay?”

  Something moved by the alley, and she jumped, banging her flank against the door. It creaked and swayed on its hinges. “Buddy?” she called, voice quivering.

  “Buddy?” Zekki echoed from the shadows. “Is it Buddy?”

  “No,” she answered, heart lurching. “It was just a mouse or something.”

  The rustling sound grew louder, and the bushes to the side of the shed jiggled slightly, releasing a soft sprinkle of yellowing leaves. She shrank back. “Who is it?”

  A gray face with a pointed nose peered through the foliage. “Are you Shan Dara?”

  She nodded warily. “Who are you?”

  “Possum,” he said, waddling toward her, his face friendly and benign. “Buddy said to tell you he’s with Soot getting some food. We’re supposed to wait here until—”

  A branch snapped behind him, and the Siamese froze in terror. “Run!” she screamed, but the gaping jaws had engulfed the possum’s hindquarters, tossing him hissing and twisting into the air.

  • • • The thing in his mouth was not a cat.

  This was a surprise to the chow, and he didn’t like surprises. With a savage snap of his head, he shook the possum, who had stopped struggling and now swayed limply in his mouth. Snarling, the dog flung it to the ground, where it lay quiet and unmoving amid a clump of weeds.

  The chow felt the electric jolt of adrenalin that always followed a kill. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a bad thing after all. Perhaps it was a warm-up for things to come. Howling with exhilaration, he listened as the sound reverberated through the alley.

  The Siamese had run into the shed, and he galloped toward the doorway, sniffing the dusty air. She was there, and she wasn’t alone. A flash of white bolted from beneath a sawhorse, scrambling to a ledge by the window, and the chow lunged inside, leaping high against the wall.

  Paint cans tumbled from shelves, and the white cat frantically twisted beyond the dog’s jaws, finally springing backward onto the ground, where it writhed among scattered tools, trying to regain its footing.

  “Run, Zekki! Go!” a voice shouted from behind him.

  Instinctively the chow whirled, realizing in an instant he’d been tricked. The white cat sprang out the door, and the Siamese clamored to the rafters, where it now watched, safe and out of reach.

  A yellow cat he’d never seen stood solidly in the doorway, fur bushed, ears flattened in warning. “You want to kill something?” it asked. “Try me.”

  Infuriated, the chow lunged, missing its mark as the yellow cat dashed into the darkness, stopping between a pile of lumber and a thick row of nandina. Eyes blazing with fury, the cat arched its back, emitting a low and threatening yowl.

  The dog pawed the ground with pleasure. He loved a good fight, and this cat seemed tough. He moved closer, aware the feline had backed itself into a corner. With a hiss, the cat swiped at the stray’s muzzle, razor claws leaving a thin line of blood in their wake. Undaunted, the chow shook his head, yipped with delight, and prepared for the kill.

  Something pounded up the alley, the sound getting closer and closer, and both animals froze with confusion.

  The tom’s expression changed from rage to surprise, and before the chow could turn, a massive form crashed against him from behind, knocking him to the ground. Stunned, the chow stumbled to his feet and stared into the livid face of the German shepherd. He blinked, mystified. How could this be happening? The old bitch could barely walk. This kind of strength was impossible!

  The yellow tom sprinted away, and a dark premonition pinched the chow’s consciousness. Things were going very wrong. Slowly he circled to the left as the growling shepherd followed him, saliva dripping from her jaws, canine teeth gleaming white against purple gums. He snapped at her foreleg, but she moved with surprising agility, and he felt her teeth clamp onto the ruff beneath his throat. Desperately he bucked beneath her grip, straining for release as they tumbled in the grass, bodies locked in a tangle of dust and fur. He could hear the old dog’s wheezing grunts as she stumbled to her knees, their savage snarls primal and deadly.

  Something burned white hot as she worked her jaws against his skin. Twice he threw her to the ground, his fierce struggles and brutal thrusts wrenching her neck, but still she hung on, fangs now deeply imbedded and dripping with blood. Flesh tore beneath her grinding attack, and he shrieked in pain.

  Without warning, she released her grip and let go.

  The chow tumbled backward, then rolled awkwardly to his haunches. Shaking his head, he gave a choked cough. Inky arcs of liquid spurted onto the ground, and he noticed with surprise that they were coming from his throat. The shepherd had vanished in the blurry glow of moonlight, and he blinked with confusion at the flecks of color swimming before him. Maybe the cat had run back to the shed. In slow motion he looked around. Two pairs of gleaming eyes stared from the bushes. He tried to stare back, but couldn’t hold their image in focus. A car’s engine roared in the distance, and staggering to his feet, he tried to locate the sound. Could it be Brenda and the man coming back for him? Maybe they hadn’t found another dog after all!

  Lifting one paw as if to turn, he collapsed against the shed door, his weight pushing it shut with a slow and mournful creak. A soft breeze ruffled his fur, and he stared in dreamy fascination at the warm black blood pooling around his head.

  In the misty distance a little girl called his name.

  Wagging his tail, he closed his eyes, surrendering at last to oblivion.

  T W E N T Y - S I X

  Orie stumbled through the weeds, his breathing shallow, his chest tight with fear. Knots of brambles pulled at his legs, and his heart thudded with each step. Things had happened so fast, it was hard to put them in order. He remembered going to sleep in the alley, then awakening to the sound of howling. Tenba had struggled to her feet, shaken him to the ground, and simply said, “I’ve got to go.”

  At first Orie jumped back onto her flank, screaming all sorts of arguments for staying together. Temba listened patiently until they both heard the low, unearthly cry of the cat echoing in the distance. “Be safe,” she said, giving him a gentle nudge with her nose, and then she was gone.

  Keeping close to the fence line, Orie moved slowly, his flicking tongue trying to taste Tenba’s scent particles. An unexpected breeze made them easy to locate, and he ran three blocks into another alley before he heard the snarls and screams of dogs fighting in the yard beyond the fence. The sound reverberated in his head, and he cowered in shock, paralyzed by the intensity.

  Above him raccoons rustled in a fig tree, and the lizard dove beneath a rumpled sack, eyes peeking from its greasy folds as he listened in horror to the distant battle. Garbled growls rose in volume, followed by a strangled yelp of pain, then silence.

  An eerie calm descended on the alley.

  The coons waited a beat, then crashed to the ground in a flurry of twigs, struggling over a fence into
an adjoining yard.

  Orie stayed hidden until their steps no longer crackled through the weeds, then crept into the open, his heart pounding with a dread he couldn’t name. To his right a streetlight shone on a rotting fence covered with wisteria, its woody vines twisted and gnarled against a weathered gate. Slithering through a narrow crack, he darted toward some honeysuckle, then stumbled against something soft and unmoving. The unseeing eyes of a possum gazed upward. Beetles marched across its snout and blood congealed in clumps on its tail.

  With a gasp, Orie skittered toward the shed in panic, diving beneath a fallen rake and blinking at the scene before him.

  Three cats stood in a semicircle staring at what appeared to be the body of a dog. Orie sensed the creature was dead, and the cloying scent of blood was thick and unmistakable. Something horrible had happened here . . . something unspeakable.

  “Not Tenba, it’s not Tenba,” he whispered, but a hollow feeling of doom uncoiled in his gullet, rendering him mute.

  Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to look at the dog. The body was turned away with only its back visible in the murky light. He squinted, eyes watering from the strain, and slowly recognized the figure. The tail was curled, its color pale, the fur long and matted. It was the chow! He sobbed with relief, and the cats snapped their heads toward the sound, eyes wild and glimmering.

  One of them was Buddy.

  “It’s me, Orie! The lizard in the crawl space!” he shouted, praying the cat would remember him. “I’m right here by the shed! Don’t let anybody eat me, okay? I’m coming out! Here I come, okay?”

  “Leave him alone,” Buddy said. “He’s a friend. Come on, Orie.”

  With halting steps, Orie moved into the moonlight, aware of the frozen stares and the tails that twitched with agitation. “I’ve been . . .” he stopped, swallowing hard. “I mean, Tenba and I have been looking for you.”

  A thin black cat limped furtively into the bushes, and a white one, vaguely familiar, crouched behind the chow, fur bristled.

  Terror closed Orie’s throat, and he fought for air. What was he doing? Since when were cats to be trusted? Fear drenched his body. This is what happened when you mixed species, making friends, exposing yourself to impossible dangers. A sudden vision of Tenba’s soft brown eyes filled his mind. He stopped, shocked at the jumbled emotions that followed. It didn’t really matter what happened to him, the feeling seemed to be saying. The important thing was to find Tenba. This idea was so unfamiliar, he wondered if it was the voice that had just spoken and not his own thoughts at all. Cocking his head, he listened intently.

  Wind rattled the hackberry, and a train rumbled in the distance, its whistle lonely and sad, but there was no voice, only the steady sound of his heartbeat.

  The white cat shifted its position, and Orie started but stood his ground. “We were asleep in the alley and heard a dog howling, then a cat scream.” He blocked the mental picture of his friend struggling to her feet. “Tenba said she was going to help. She ran in this direction, and that’s the last I’ve seen of her.” He looked at the chow. “Dead?”

  “Yes,” Buddy said, stepping forward. “She killed him.”

  Orie tried to speak again, to ask the question gnawing at his heart, but his tongue stuck like a withered worm against his palette.

  The cat’s golden eyes held his. “Over there,” he said gently, indicating a stand of bushes.

  The lizard cleared his throat. “Is she . . . is she . . . ?”

  “Orie?” a weak voice croaked from the darkness. “Is that you?”

  He scrambled toward the sound, his pulse throbbing in his ears. “Yeah, it’s me! I’m coming!”

  Tenba lay in the grass, her sides heaving with labored breathing.

  Scrambling to her head, the lizard peered into one liquid eye, relieved to see a flicker of recognition. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  She gave a wheezing cough. “Can’t get up . . . hard to breathe.”

  “Hey, you’re just tired, you’re okay.” He patted her muzzle with a trembling claw. “All you need is some rest; you’re going to be fine.” Looking fiercely at the cats now watching from a respectful distance, he puffed his throat for emphasis. “She’s okay,” he said too loudly. “You guys can go on. She’s fine, she’s okay . . .” His voice broke, and he took a gulping breath.

  “Orie?” the dog croaked.

  “I’m right here.”

  “Do I . . .” she shut her eyes with the effort “. . . do I still have . . . collar?”

  Orie stood on tiptoe and peered at her neck. “Yeah . . . I can see it.”

  “Tags?”

  Pushing under her head, he burrowed into the soft mass of fur bunching around her throat and fought the urge to stay in its comforting warmth forever. The tags were splattered with drying blood, but they were intact. “I’m looking at them. They’re right here.” He tapped the metal heart with her name engraved on the side, then withdrew, crawling onto her foreleg.

  She drew a deep breath. “That’s good.”

  A dry wind swept through the grass, and Orie longed for water.

  Buddy approached the shepherd, stopping at a respectful distance. “Thank you, Tenba. You saved our lives.”

  The shepherd seemed not to have heard. Her eyes were partially closed, her breathing shallow and slow.

  Icy dread arced through Orie’s heart. “She’s okay,” he lied, searching the cat’s eyes for hope. “She’s going to be fine.”

  Buddy averted his gaze, then scanned the sky. “We’ve probably got about three hours until daylight, and we need to eat.” He paused, glancing at the motionless dog. “One of my friends was trapped inside the shed when the chow fell against the door. I’ll stay here until I can figure a way to get her out, but I’m sending the others on ahead after they’ve eaten.” Moving closer to the lizard, he lowered his voice. “I think you should head home while it’s dark; it’ll be safer.”

  Orie gaped in disbelief. “Go home?” he shrilled. “Are you kidding? Leave her here alone? No way. I don’t know how you guys operate, but we travel together or we don’t travel at all!” His voice quavered. “She’s my friend.”

  “I understand,” the cat said quietly. “She’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

  Orie blinked and said nothing.

  “Be careful, then, and good luck.” Buddy trotted toward the shed, the other cats trailing behind.

  Turning to the shepherd, Orie patted her nose, but she didn’t respond. Fighting tears, he stumbled into the darkness and paced in the dust. How had this terrible thing happened? How long ago had the feeling come to him, and where was it now? “Mother? Where are you?” he screamed, face upturned, challenging the dark and silent sky for an answer. “We did what you told us; we trusted you!” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew them as lies. Never had he felt trust, not for the voice, not toward anything. But Tenba had. She had never questioned it. Never questioned him. Shaking in anguish, his body pumped up and down in despair. “You can’t do this to me!” he shrieked into the blackness. “I’m special. I’m special and I was . . .” He stopped and looked at the dog.

  It seemed to Orie a sudden brightness illuminated her body, the light so bright it hurt his eyes. Creeping closer, he stared in awe. The voice-feeling was back, and though nothing was audible to him, he knew it spoke to Tenba. She lay as he’d left her, legs outstretched as though running, great head resting on its side, eyes slightly open. She let out a long, even sigh, and Orie saw her body twitch and then relax.

  With a cry, he clamored onto her jaw, entwining his claws in her whiskers. “You are special!” he sobbed, tears rolling down his snout and dripping onto her muzzle. “And you were saved for great, great things.”

  • • •

  Stars faded in the indigo sky, and feathery clouds drifted toward dawn.

  Zekki and Soot sat silently by the porch while Buddy stood watch by the shed, talking quietly with Shan Dara through a crack in the door.

&
nbsp; The chow and possum lay where they had fallen, and the lizard slept the gray sleep of grief, face buried in the warmth of his friend, who lay in the darkness, her peaceful eyes open and fixed on the moon.

  T W E N T Y - S E V E N

  Jett lolled beneath a stand of ferns overlooking the creek. A trio of doves cooed in a nearby sycamore, and he watched them hungrily, finally deciding food could wait. He had been monitoring Pris for most of the night and was delighted with how things were unfolding.

  At first he had worried the trap would slide into the creek immediately, and then, of course, there would be nothing to save when the valiant Buddy finally arrived. But no, once again Jett was reminded that right was on his side; otherwise, how could one explain the fabulous irony of the mockingbird? Natural enemies, pulling together, each helping the other in time of crisis. How high-minded, how newsworthy, how perfect for what he had in mind. And now, spunky and heroic, the mockingbird was flying to find Buddy. Perhaps the moronic Zekki would come, too.

  “I know where your friends are,” she had said.

  “Good,” Jett thought darkly. “Godspeed.” Rubbing his damp socket in the grass, he groaned with pleasure. The dewy air smelled fresh despite the sourness of the creek, and he flipped belly up, enjoying a rare moment of exuberance that left him uncharacteristically optimistic. Yes, the bird had been a wonderful surprise, but not nearly as much as the snake. What unbelievable luck! He squirmed in the sweet foliage, vigorously twisting his back in the twigs and inhaling the pungent aroma of marigolds drifting from sculpted gardens by the course. Flipping to his feet, he leaned farther over the ravine.

  Beneath him the cage remained visible in the murky shadows of dawn. The cat had revived somewhat. She still lay partially in the water, but her head was slightly up, eyes open wide. Straining forward, Jett could see that the snake had made its way to the cage and was now twining itself around the metal handle at the top. Maybe it was looking for a way in. He considered the dramatic impact of this turn of events: death by drowning or death by venom. He snickered. Poor, fat Pris; hard decisions for a creature with such limited abilities.