A gust of wind blew a smattering of leaves over the creek, and Jett jerked his head to attention. A multitude of scents floated in the air, but not Buddy’s. Disappointment soured his mouth, and frowning, he fought a bittersweet memory.
Spring transformed the alley. Tender green shoots pushed through decay, and mimosas dripped with pink blossoms, their fallen petals drying in ruined sweetness on the ground. Winter had been cold, and his mother stretched in a welcomed sliver of sunshine, watching her kittens play.
Behind her a black-and-white tom sat in the shadows. He was small, thin, and bent with age, but, even then, Jett had sensed the old cat’s power. Spellbound with longing and hungry for a recognition he couldn’t name, Jett desperately searched for a way to be noticed by the stranger and finally decided on a plan. Choosing the runt of the litter as an unwitting partner, Jett attacked it with gusto. What had started as a simple demonstration of strength and agility quickly escalated to full-blown aggression. With a snarl, Jett grabbed the kitten by the throat and shook it hard. Blood spurted from the wound, and suddenly the thing in his mouth was no longer his sibling, but prey. That’s when things had gone wrong.
“Let go! You’re going to kill him!” a voice had shouted from behind. “If you want to fight something, try me!”
Surprised, Jett had turned to see Buddy, normally so passive and quiet, now bristled with anger, his paw raised to protect their weaker brother. Confused by the challenge, Jett had turned toward his mother for help. She avoided his gaze, but the stranger’s face was dark with disapproval, and Jett suddenly realized he’d made a terrible mistake. For the rest of the day, he had watched in misery as the old cat’s eyes followed Buddy’s every move. There had been pride in the stranger’s expression, and something more. Jett didn’t fully understand the importance of what he had sensed, but one thing was clear: Buddy was his enemy. Looking back, the tom was surprised he hadn’t realized it before. First, Buddy had stolen Ahn-ya, and now he’d shamed Jett in front of everyone, including the powerful male whose approval he’d so desperately sought.
By morning the black-and-white tom had vanished, but Jett had never forgotten the commanding stranger or the harsh lesson his visit had taught: Jett could survive only if Buddy was dead.
Jett hissed at the memory. It had only been the first of many humiliations handed out by his brother, each one greater than the last. But the tide had finally changed in his favor. Even the great Cat Master made mistakes, and the proof of that would be clear to everyone very soon. “Patience,” Jett intoned softly. “Patience.” With a slow, calming breath, he looked once more over the ravine.
A delicate dawn melted into the hazy blue of morning, and in the creek beneath him, the snake slithered over the top of the cage. Flicking its tongue against the mesh wire, it appeared to change its mind. Slowly it climed onto a low-hanging branch, coiled amid the foliage, and waited.
• • •
The mockingbird awoke with a start. For a moment she blinked in confusion, trying to understand where her mate was and why they weren’t in their nest in the pecan grove. Slowly the memory of his death surfaced, and depression split her heart like a cleaver. But something else nagged, too. The cat! The cat lying in the creek! She squinted into the cobalt sky with horror. How could this have happened? The last thing she remembered was resting for a moment—that’s all—just closing her eyes for the tiniest of seconds, and now it was morning!
Flapping her wings, she soared skyward. From her vantage point she could see where the pecan grove ended and a thin line of highway began, separating the alleys from the golf course and beyond. Pinpointing the area where she’d last seen the cats, she swooped closer to the houses lining the neighborhood.
It couldn’t be too late; it just couldn’t be.
• • •
Buddy sat on the shed’s windowsill, looking inside through the cracked and dirty panes.
Shan Dara’s worried face stared back. She touched her nose to the glass. “You’ve got to get out of here before those people find you.”
“Stop saying that; I’m not going to leave.”
Something landed on the tin roof above them, and both cats crouched low, eyes wide and curious.
The mockingbird peered over the edge, breathing hard. “Buddy?”
“It’s me.” Buddy stood on his back legs, sharpening his claws on the rotting wood. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve found your calico friend, and she’s in trouble.”
He stopped, ears forward. “Where?”
“In a trap that’s sliding into a creek by the golf course. I think she’s hurt, and there’s a snake.” She hopped closer, her ebony eyes bright with fury. “Jett did it; he pushed her. I saw it.”
Buddy turned to the Siamese pressed anxiously against the glass. “There’re some things I have to do. The bird’s found Pris, and she’s in danger.”
“Wait!” Shan Dara squeaked in panic.
“I’ll be right back,” he said gently, one paw against the glass. “But I’ve got to talk to the others.” Jumping to the ground, he trotted toward the cats hidden amongst the honeysuckle. “The bird says Pris is in a trap that’s been pushed into a creek.”
“Creek?” Zekki jumped to his feet. “What creek?”
“Out past the pecan grove. Across the highway.”
The white cat shrank back. “Highway?”
“Yes,” Buddy said. “I can’t leave till I figure a way to get Shan Dara out. So it’s up to you. The bird will take you there.”
“Across the highway?” Zekki repeated dully. “Alone?”
Buddy rubbed against the white cat’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t be long. There’re some broken panes in the window we might be able to push out.”
“I’ll go with you,” Soot said, limping from the shadows.
Zekki drew a deep breath. “No, no, you’ve done enough, and besides, you’re hurt.”
“I feel better today. I can do it. I want to.” “But what about the old woman?” Buddy said, watching closely. “You just found a home; do you want to take the chance of losing it?”
Soot’s head was high. “She loves me. She’ll be here when I get back.”
Buddy nodded, eyes bright with approval. “Then you both need to hurry. Pris is injured, and there’s a snake.”
“Snake?” a voice said from behind the bushes.
The animals twirled in surprise as the possum ambled through the brush and into the clearing. He stretched and yawned. “I love snakes.”
Soot stared in amazement. “But we thought you were dead!”
The possum furrowed his brow. “No,” he finally said, scratching one black ear and looking confused. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually been dead.”
“You were!” the black cat insisted. “We all saw you!”
“Okay, this is how it goes.” The possum took a deep breath. “I get scared. I fall asleep. I wake up.” He shrugged. “Then I usually eat something.”
“But are you hurt?” Zekki crept closer, sniffing the animal’s tail, which was cut and swollen.
Snapping it over his head, the possum winced. “Nope, I don’t think so. Just a little sore.” He glanced at the body of the chow with indifference. “So, where’s the snake?”
“Across the highway,” Buddy said. “The bird will show you.”
“Let’s go then. I’m starving.”
“Wait a minute.” Zekki stared at the ground. “I just . . . ” he swallowed. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m really sorry I got us all into this. Buddy told me the Outs were dangerous. He tried to tell me a lot of things, but I was mad and dumb and wouldn’t listen and—”
“You listened to yourself,” Buddy said gently. “Sometimes it’s the only voice that matters.” He turned to include Soot. “I’ll meet you as soon as I get Shan Dara out of the shed. Be careful. Jett’s waiting, and I don’t have to tell you what he’s capable of.”
“We know,” Soot answered, crooked tail
held high. “We won’t let you down.”
Buddy watched them move toward the highway, the cats in the lead, the possum ambling behind, while above them the bird flew in widening circles, a specter of vengeance against the harsh August sky.
T W E N T Y - E I G H T
Zekki stood a safe distance from the highway, staring at the pecan grove on the other side. The trees stood in pristine rows, leaves rippling like emerald waves against hazy clouds.
Behind the winding plank fence, he pictured branches heavy with pecans, their lush harvest a tangle of shadows on the grass, and he longed to be there, hidden by their cool protection.
In contrast, the two-lane blacktop stretched to the west, its inky surface signaling treachery and death. With a shudder Zekki eyed the buckled pavement. Although it was still morning, heat already rose in a shimmering haze from its grimy face. By noon tiny pockets of tar would ooze between the crevices, a scorching trap for unprotected paws. It was plain the animals had to cross now, but the stench of gasoline, gravel, and grease made Zekki’s stomach roll, and the memory of Soot’s blood on the curb left him too frightened to move.
“What are you waiting for?” the mockingbird called, swooping toward him.
Her wings fluttered close to Zekki’s head, and he flinched. “Are you sure there’s no other way to the pecan grove?”
She landed boldly on the ground, her face pinched with irritation. “If you can fly. But since I’ve never seen any of you do that, the answer is no.”
Soot limped through the weeds and eased himself onto the grass. His leg was still swollen, and he gingerly licked an angry red welt before scanning the highway. “Why’ve you stopped? Aren’t we going?”
Zekki looked away. “I can’t believe you’re willing to cross this thing again.”
“It’s not like I’m looking forward to it.”
“But you’re ready to do it. What’s wrong with me? I’m not the one who was hurt.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Soot said gently. “All good things are afraid of evil.”
Zekki studied the skinny black cat before him, unmindful of the midmorning sun growing steadily hotter, its merciless glare beating down on his back. Even in the glare of sunlight, Soot’s fur looked matted and dull. The wounded leg bent unnaturally at the joint, suggesting permanent damage, and his posture was continuously fearful and wary. Yet for all that, he radiated a stalwart commitment to honor and an understated courage that could be counted on. Soot was definitely Buddy’s son, and looking into those familiar golden eyes, Zekki wondered why he’d never made the connection before.
“What’s going on?” The possum pushed between them, eyeing the mockingbird with friendly interest. “Have the plans changed or something?”
“Yes,” the bird muttered impatiently. “We’re waiting for the cats to levitate.”
Soot gave Zekki a nod of encouragement, then hobbled toward the curb. “No, nothing’s changed, we’re just making sure there’re no cars coming.”
The possum glanced at the road, started to speak, then stopped, mesmerized by something in the far lane. “Bug,” he said, his voice low and trancelike. “Breakfast bug.” He lurched onto the pavement, his nose down, his beady eyes riveted to the hapless insect who now scrambled frantically across the white stripe.
Zekki watched in horror. “What are you doing?”
A muffled roar of engines vibrated in the stillness, and Soot looked alarmed. “He shouldn’t be out there now.”
The possum ambled further into the street, his focus unwavering.
“Stop!” Zekki screamed, his voice shrill and hysterical. “If he’s going across, he should do it fast!” the mockingbird shrieked from above them. “Cars are coming!”
Tires rumbled in the distance; sun glinted off metal.
Soot scrambled off the curb. “Forget the food. Run!”
Oblivious to the commotion, the possum snatched the insect with one black paw and popped it in his mouth. A horn blared from behind, and he looked up in surprise, then terror. Eyes rolling back, his body sagged.
The cats watched, rigid with fear.
“Don’t do that again!” Zekki ran helplessly along the curb. “Wake up!”
The first car braked hard as a truck slammed into its rear bumper. Skidding sideways, they slid in a lazy circle before screeching to a stop three feet from the possum, who toppled onto the asphalt, his mouth alive with six writhing legs still thrashing in protest.
Without thinking, Zekki bolted onto the asphalt. Dodging broken glass and a taillight that had just crashed to the ground, he grabbed the creature by the scruff of his neck, pulling him into a sitting position. “Get up! Now isn’t the time to be dead!”
The bitter stench of burning rubber filled the air, and angry drivers piled into the street where they pointed and screamed, furiously pushing numbers on cell phones.
Shaking his head in confusion, the possum swallowed the beetle in one easy gulp and hiccupped. “What’s going on?”
Soot darted between them. “We’ve gotta get out of here!”
Nudging the possum to his feet, the animals streaked across the highway, past steaming vehicles and gesticulating drivers, and leaped over the curb to safety. Sides heaving, they crouched in the grass, staring at the commotion they’d created.
Traffic had come to a grinding halt, and sirens wailed in the distance.
“Are you crazy?” Zekki bawled, his fur bristling around his face, his eyes wild with anger. “You were almost killed out there!”
“Killed?” The possum’s voice was bewildered and hurt. “When was I killed?”
“Out there!” the bird screeched. “You fell over in the highway! What’s wrong with you?”
The possum looked from one animal to another. “Nothing’s wrong with me.” He shifted uneasily. “What’s everybody staring at?”
In the street two men argued loudly, their shiny new SUVs piled against a U-Haul trailer whose dented side read: New Mexico: Land of Enchantment. The driver leaped from his cab, the altercation erupting into blows.
Turning with interest, the possum’s eyes shifted from the fight to a white sack that had fallen from the front seat of a battered car. “Whoa, are those donuts?” he said, staggering toward the curb.
“No!” both cats wailed in unison.
The possum stopped, shaking his head with frustration. “What’s wrong with everybody? I’m normally asleep by now; if you don’t want me to come with you, that’s okay but just tell me, because otherwise I’m gonna go back, eat something closer to the dumpster, and turn in.”
“It’s not like that.” Soot moved to the creature’s side and touched his nose. “We want you to come, but you need to be careful.”
“I am careful.” His black eyes were friendly and brimming with goodwill. He squinted at the sky. “Lunch time!” he called, trotting gaily toward the grove, back arched, tail high.
“You did it,” Soot said softly to Zekki. “You crossed the highway and saved his life.”
Zekki turned in surprise. It was true. The dreaded asphalt lay behind him, crowded with angry people and wrecked machinery, but there were no dead animals. The white cat’s heart beat with new confidence, and he turned toward the black cat with appreciation. “I didn’t do it alone.”
Dipping his head in shy acknowledgment, Soot skittered ahead. “Come on, Pris is waiting.”
And Jett, thought Zekki, following his friend until their shadows entwined. And Jett.
The Animal Control van pitched and jiggled over potholes as the street progressed into a drab and ill-kempt neighborhood. Judy hummed along with the radio, arm draped out the open window, towering French twist protected by a shiny purple nylon scarf tied carefully beneath her chin. Humming louder, she turned up the volume.
Curt scowled and switched the music off. “Okay. We’re on Sixth, and we’re really close to Willing,” he said to the dispatcher. “Where did she say the dogs were?” He listened intently. “Got it.” Clickin
g off the phone, he turned to Judy. “Somebody called this morning; said they heard dogs fighting last night, and now there’s a dead one behind their house. Could be our boy.”
“Hmmm.” Judy turned the rearview mirror and applied a shimmering coat of lip gloss that filled the cab with a gagging sweetness.
“Hey!” Curt twisted the mirror to its original position. “I’ve asked you not to fool with that.”
Undaunted, she flipped it back and inspected her teeth. “What’s the matter, afraid the chow’s already dead and you won’t get to kill it?”
Curt narrowed his eyes, then turned right at a stop sign. “Here’s the place,” he announced, pulling the truck to the curb.
An obese young woman was sprawled on a lawn chair, slapping listlessly at mosquitoes. “Are you the animal guys?” she said, swigging from a bottle of Coke.
Curt nodded.
“Okay, the dog’s back there by the tool shed. It’d probably be easier if you go through the alley, though. There’s a gate in the fence. Just drive right on through; it ain’t locked or nothin’.”
“Thanks.” Curt threw the gear in reverse and turned around.
The truck maneuvered carefully through the debris of the alley. A tool shed was clearly visible over the wisteriadraped fence, and Curt parked the vehicle as close to it as possible.
“Let’s do this thing.” Stuffing some gloves into his back pocket, he jumped out and headed through the gate.
Judy stole one last look in the visor mirror, then followed.
The stiffening body of a yellow dog lay propped against the door of the shed. Flies buzzed around its muzzle, clinging to the black blood drying in a sticky pool by its shoulders.
“You know what?” Curt said, squatting down and waving the insects away. “I’ll bet you anything this is him.” Pulling on gloves, he lifted its head. “Whoa, check this. Something just about ripped its throat out.”
Judy stood up and looked around. Darkness beneath the bushes caught her attention, and she cautiously walked toward it. “Hey!” she called, moving closer. “Here’s another one!”
A large German shepherd lay at her feet. There were no obvious injuries, but it appeared to be dead. She leaned down to look at its collar, and the dog twitched, drawing a barely perceptible breath. “Curt! This one’s alive, and it belongs to somebody. I’m going to get the tags and call them from the truck.” She started to undo the buckle, then screamed as a small shape darted from under the animal’s head, scurried over her ankle, and fled into the bushes.
The Cat Master Page 15