by A M Bostwick
Minx narrowed his eyes, an unflattering scowl plastered on his face but he obeyed, pulling out the string first.
“Sloan, take the string and stick by my side. Minx, you take the wooden shims, they’re important. Kit Kat, the paperclip. Tiger, the credit card. Bob, Onyx, Lobo, and Sin? You’re all the diversion. This is crucial; tonight’s plan can be summed up in one word: Diversion. We are going to divert all of the attention of any staff inside that building. We have power in numbers.”
I took a breath and hoped my lesson plan didn’t sound like Creative Vocabulary 101.
“Step one,” I went on. “We need to stick together and check out all the windows of the place to pinpoint the exact location of Rogue’s cage, as well as establish how many humans are inside. I need all eyes inside that building. Memorize the layout. Memorize everything you can. Once we’ve done that, you’re going to follow my lead. Got it?”
Everyone meowed their assent, and we crept toward the side of the shelter, leaping up onto a well-placed dumpster to peer into a high rectangular, window. A low light glowed, illuminating rows of kennels. Bingo was his name-o; about a half dozen canines curled into balls atop threadbare beds on cold, concrete floors, the dogs spread between 12 separate cages, six on each side. I saw a cabinet missing one door that appeared to house towels and spare dog toys, some boxes of biscuits.
“Ladies, um, lady, and gentleman, we may need these dogs to bark. I mean bark like the devil, okay? Wait for the cue,” I instructed.
Minx looked annoyed, but the cats all nodded. Towards the back of the building we passed an emergency exit, lit by a red sign. I filed that information away for later. Next to that was another window with a thin ledge. I took the first jump, missed, then jumped again. My feet lined up military style, and I peered in. It was the cat room. Cages stacked four-high lined three of the walls, the entrance door on the fourth. A wooden chair draped with a blanket sat next the door, the “get-to-know-you-station.” The cement block walls were painted blue, a stencil of dancing kittens drawn by the ceiling. The false bravado was not lost on me. While most of the cats were asleep in pairs or singly, a few sat at attention, tense and jaded.
“Pssst. This is the cat room. Everyone take a turn, take a look,” I ordered as I jumped down.
Sloan went first then landed next to me in a graceful, swift movement. “Do you think this will work?” he hissed to me under his breath.
“It has to,” I said quietly. Then louder, “Minx, did you spot Rogue?”
“No. His cage is against this wall with the other cats set to be snuffed,” he said, tapping his pointy claws on the side of the clapboard-sided building. “I’ve already tried busting into this window.”
“It didn’t work?” I asked, knowing full well the answer.
“No.”
“Right answer. Because you had the wrong plan. That is not my plan.”
Minx glowered but kept moving. We only had one window left to check before we rounded to the front door to set off our entire plan of action. This window looked in on an office of sorts, dark and empty. Short of a hidden employee in the hallways or restroom, that meant we had gotten lucky; there was only one staffer on deck tonight. I slipped around the corner to the front of the building to get a look at him. My initial excitement drained as I saw the “brute” who must have been the one to grab Rogue. Wide as a chest freezer and at least 6‘11“, the man behind the desk looked like he ate eight pounds of mutton for lunch. As he scratched at his shaggy black hair, I noticed his fingers were as think and round as sausages. I retreated and looked at my band of merry men, and woman.
“Okay. Don’t get nervous. This is Step Two,” I said as calm as I could.
I ran through my plan of attack to the rapt audience.
“Are you high on catnip, Ace?” Minx demanded. “What makes you think that beast of a man won’t grab Sin, Onyx, and Lobo the same way they did Rogue? They’ll be tossed in here tonight, we all will, and I’ll be skinned!”
“Calm down, Minx. The shelter manager will chase the two cats outside, not inside with lots of corners and traps,” I said. “Onyx, Lobo, you know you need to split up one block down and run up the delegated trees I told you about, right?” They nodded. “Are you confident you can do this? It’s especially important.”
“We can do this, Ace,” meowed Onyx, Lobo swishing her tail in concurrence.
“You can count on us,” Onyx agreed. “Cool it, Minx. We got this.”
“All right, then. Minx, Sloan, Bob, Kit Kat, and Tiger, you’re all with me. Don’t forget your roles,” I ordered, peering into the window at the thickset shelter keeper one last time before all heck broke loose. The man stretched, flexing a heart-with-an-arrow tattoo on his bicep below his cuffed sleeve. The inscription said, “Yet to be Determined.” I took a sharp inhalation. Our jailbreak of an infamous, lawless alley cat was about to begin.
“On the count of three. One, two, three...”
***
Onyx and Lobo started scratching and meowing at the door as though they were being chased by a herd of vacuum cleaners. Sin staked out in the shadows, ready for the pursuit to begin. With the others, I laid in wait just on the other side of one of the stone pillars of a friendly-looking lab. The plan seemed to be working; I heard the springs squeak in relief as the burly shelter attendant rose from his chair to attend to the commotion. A giant shadow appeared over Onyx and Lobo, and for a moment I thought they might dart in sheer terror. I can’t say I would have blamed them. Like famous detective Sam Spade of the black-and-white era, I don’t mind a reasonable amount of trouble but this was ridiculous.
The door swung open and the man stepped out. If you could even call him a man; he was more like a bulldozer. We all slunk a little lower behind the fake canine.
“Hey, kittee, kittees, wanna come inside?” the baritone of false welcoming boomed. “Here kittee, kitteeee.”
Just as a massive hand reached out for Onyx, the two cats screeched in his face and bolted like lightning into the frosty, black night. Perfect.
“HEY!” the man bellowed. In hot pursuit, his boots hit the pavement at the speed of a snail traveling uphill. Thankfully his massive, muscular size and bodyweight slowed him down. Behind his slow-moving frame, Sin popped out from the side of the building, hissed loudly, and tore off in another direction, momentarily confusing the already befuddled man.
“Now!” I yelled, slamming myself into the glass door before it could close. Behind me, Sloan and Kit Kat took their brunt of the door’s weight while Minx ran inside, shims cradled precariously in his arms.
“Shut the door! Shut the door!” I cried as we all ran inside. We turned and used our might to push the door closed. Relief washed over me as I saw the shelter worker still struggling to catch up to the wily cats that had so rudely upset his evening.
“Minx, shove those shims under the door so he can’t open it again. We’re going to get Rogue,” I said. “Then, weasel up that door and lock it!”
“Who you calling weasel, cat?”
“Just do it, please!” Sloan shouted as we turned tail and tore down the hallway to the cat room.
Screeching to a halt, we all paused in front of a red door. Hanging on the latch-style doorknob was a kitschy embroidered sign, “Cats for Adoption.” I took a giant leap, grasped the latch and pulled down.
“Push on the door!” I said to my crew, dangling. They did an excellent job, and I quickly went swinging into the next room, sliding off and landing in an ungraceful heap on the checked linoleum next to a box of Carl’s Cleanest Cat Litter-NOW with less dust! Only a sliver of moonlight shone through the lone window, casting an eerie light on the occupied cages. The room smelled like cleaner and cat dander, dry cat food and loneliness.
“Rogue!” cried Tiger and Kit Kat in unison.
“Is that Rogue?” Sloan asked, looking around. The cages loomed above us, what felt like hundreds of eyes stared at Sloan and I with piqued interest.
“I don’t know; do
es he look like he’s about to commit a felony?” I whispered.
Rogue was in a cage on the top row. Death row.
“We’ve come to get you out!” Minx screamed, tearing around the corner, out of breath.
“Minx! Is the shelter guy back at the door yet?” I shouted.
“No—we’ve got a little time,” he gasped. Quick as a flash, Minx climbed up the cages to Rogue.
“I don’t believe this,” Rogue, a gigantic black longhair fellow with four white paws, muttered, looking at the ragtag rescue team. Around us, many of the other cats stirred from their slumber and meowed with curiosity. They shoved aside their temporary blankets and institution-provided toys and stuck their paws through the bars. At the realization that this was a break-out, several rattled their latches.
“Me, too, me too, meeeeeeee tooooooo!” some howled. “MEEEWWW!”
I flattened my ears as the piercing cries grew louder. The distraction was overwhelming, but I brought myself back to the task at hand.
“Sloan, leap up there by Minx, help him loop that string through the pin on Rogue’s cage,” I directed. Sloan made a giant hurdle and landed on top of the cage, joining Minx in his effort to pull out the pin. Rogue looked at me with interest, then back at the lock. Kit Kat, Bob, and Tiger had begun pawing at several other locks of cats who wanted out. A few, including mothers with kittens or cats with “I’m adopted!” signs told them to lend their devious paws to the others.
“Oh, what the heck,” I said, and started helping Tiger and Kit Kat as the lock on Rogue’s cage broke free. “Sloan, bring that string over here!” The expired credit card proved useless and laid abandoned on the floor.
“We don’t have time for this!” Sloan growled, struggling with his newly-clipped claws on the lock of an orange stripped tabby as he balanced on a second-story cage.
“Quickly! There’s just a few left!” Rogue exclaimed, suddenly looming beside me. His enormous size was an ominous presence, and his strength was unrivaled. From the outside, those locks provided no challenge to him what-so-ever. He finished freeing the cats, then shouted, “That window above my cage will open if you turn the lock. Minx! Have that window wide open, and Bob, get these cats outta here! I’m goin’ to get Frisky.”
Frisky? Who was Frisky? Frisky was not part of the plan.
“Who are you talking about?” I asked.
“A dog. I was tryin’ to save him in the first place, and I can’t leave without him! You with me?” Rouge asked.
“I’m in!” shouted Minx, making quick work of the window.
Cats shot through the gaping window and into the autumn night.
I jumped like I’d just touched my nose to a light bulb when, from the front, I heard loud pounding and shouting of intense anger.
“HEY!” The shelter worker was back. “HEEEYYY!”
We were out of time.
“Rogue, I hate to tell you, but we have to leave. Now!” I exclaimed. More furious pounding boomed from out front.
“No! I won’t leave without him,” Rogue shouted as he ran out of the door, Minx hot on his tail. I looked at Sloan and sighed. This was bad news for this reporter. I took off after the pair, knowing the angry shelter worker would see us all streaking to the dog ward as he stood assaulting the clear glass door. We might as well confess and hand over our freedom right now. Perhaps we could save him some work and crawl into the cages ourselves.
Rogue and Minx opened the dog door, and the canines woke up with a healthy round of barking, yapping, yipping, and woofing. It was deafening. Beside me, Sloan appeared. I was impressed by his bravery. Behind him came Kit Kat, paper clip still in his teeth.
“What can we do?” he hollered, spitting out the paperclip and surveying the scene as dogs jumped up and down, barking at the top of their lungs. Minx and Rogue worked the lock of the cage holding a small, red terrier mix, presumably Frisky. His pointy ears were alert.
“You guys can’t do this, you’re gonna get caught. AGAIN!” Frisky scolded in a screechy voice.
“LEMME IN,” bellowed the man out front, shaking the door against its hinges. His voice had all the kindness of vaccinations and flea baths.
“We’ll never be able to get that dog on top of the cat cages, and out the window,” I yelled. “And the front door is barred by a slightly put-out employee!”
“The emergency exit!” Sloan yelled.
“It’s too obvious,” I said, shaking my head. “We need another distraction.”
“Think fast, Ace. What now?” Sloan urged.
I took a second to form a new strategy. I took half a second to tell myself I was certifiably bonkers. I took a split second to put it into action.
“Let these other dogs out. All of them—the big ones first,” I ordered, running up to the first cage holding a slim, white German Shepherd-mix pounding to get out.
“If I get you out, you have to help me!” I told the dog. The dog nodded and yapped, his brown eyes pleading for release. His nametag said “Bolt.” That should have discouraged me, but it didn’t.
Sloan and Kit Kat worked to let more dogs out, but some were happy to stay.
“All right, Bolt. My name’s Ace, and I will ride you tonight,” I informed him. I once rode on the back of a docile llama. I was hoping this German Shepherd mix would prove similar.
“I’M GONNA GET ALL OF YOU!” the shelter staff man shouted acidly, kicking the outside door with his steel-toe boots.
A number of other odd-sized dogs exited their cages and ran around aimlessly, adding to the chaos. Sloan and the others worked to free the locks of the final few cages. As I wrestled with Bolt’s cage, I saw Rogue was successful in freeing his red friend. He climbed onto Frisky’s back. As the lock to Bolt’s cage burst open, the giant white dog shoved his way out. Grasping with all four paws, I held on as the door swung out and back again.
“Come over here!” I called. Bolt responded well to commands and lined up for me to drop onto his back. “Sorry about the claws,” I added as I took hold of his collar. He panted heavily, wound-up and full of energy.
Bark, ruff, bark, ruff.
“SHUT UP!” I hollered. “BE QUIET!”
Ruff, ruff, bark, bark!
Now, historically I get along with dogs, despite their rank odor and lack of behavioral manners. Right now, however, I was ready to send the whole bunch to obedience school.
“SHUT UP Y’ALL!” bellowed Rogue.
Silence.
“You’re on, Ace,” Rogue said with a smile. I grinned my appreciation.
“Sloan, climb onto the larger dog. That means you, Labrador Sally. Kit Kat, I need you to run out the emergency exit door. The alarm will sound and it will distract the shelter employee away from the front door. As soon as he is gone, I need Minx to unlock the front door. We’ll all line up at the door. Then, Minx, I need you to remove the shims. Dogs, pull the door open, and we’ll all hustle through quickly but orderly. That means Minx will have to get on a dog last.”
“And then?” asked Rogue.
“We all run like mad. Meet back at the alley.”
Rogue nodded his approval, his paws hugging the scrappy terrier. The two were nearly the same size. The front door continued to rattle and shake. I wondered vaguely if he had his work keys—was the door unlocked already? Was the only barricade standing between our break to freedom those flimsy shims? Would neighbors hear the commotion and call authorities?
“Kit Kat, are you okay with this?” I questioned.
“I can do it,” he replied, but I could see the fear in his eyes. With a look of sheer determination, and perhaps before he could change his mind, Kit Kat became a black streak as he ran out of the dog room towards the emergency exit.
Phase Three of our plan was underway.
***
“Let’s go,” I said.
Momentarily, the canines fell silent as our plan went into action. I caught Sloan’s eye, his paws clumsily gripping the collar of the black lab. He shook his head in exas
peration, but I could see he was amused. Suddenly the alarm sounded; Kit Kat was out the emergency door. The pounding out front stopped. We approached the glass door in an ungraceful dog-cat mix, Minx already unlocking the door. The beefy shelter worker was nowhere in sight. Kit Kat had managed to successfully divert him away.
“This is it! Hurry!” Rogue cried.
“Let’s beat it outta here!” Lobo yelled.
“Are we all here?” I shouted as the commotion was steadily building out of my control, looking around at the dogs and cats while tallying up names of our offbeat roster of animals.
“Let’s ride!” screamed Rogue as Minx finished with the shims and Frisky pulled at a rope around the door handle. Bolt suddenly took off in a frantic leap to exit the building.
“Steady boy, I’ll tell you where to go,” I said into his gigantic ear. He didn’t seem to hear me as all the bodies of the dogs mashed together, struggling to get out the door all at once. Barking, whining, and yipping erupted at an ear-splitting level. These dogs made Fifi and Fluffi sound like opera singers.
“Ease up, ease up!” I could hear Rogue shouting as fur and ears and tails smashed together. I caught a glimpse of Minx as he held onto a mixed terrier, and even he looked a bit concerned.
The cold air hit us all hard as dogs tore off in every direction. I felt the events careening out of my control, but I was powerless to stop them.
“Meet at the alley!” I heard Rogue cry.
“Sloan! Sloan!” I yelled, piercing my claws into the white shepherd in a miserable attempt to get him to slow down. “Bolt! You’re going in the wrong direction!”
“I’m not going near THAT!” Bolt hollered. I turned my head and saw the black-haired, husky, angry shelter worker shaking his fist at the animal chaos around him. I wondered if he’d have a job in the morning.
“GET BACK HERE YOU NO GOOD VARMITS!” he shouted, his face scrunched into the expression of a man who just had a brick dropped on his toe. “Going back there” did not seem like a sensible option for any of us.
“Kit Kat!” I yelled, frantically searching for his shaggy black coat as my dog bounced along. I hoped that since I hadn’t seen him clenched in the staffer’s arms, he’d gotten away safely. Faster and faster, Bolt took me away from the shelter, away from Sloan and away from Rogue. It was official, this entire night had gone completely awry.