We set our course for Tao Atoll after I made my mail delivery to Puka-Puka. In all my years in the islands, I had only stopped at Tao twice—once just to take a look at a hexed island, and once to repair a damaged rudder. I don't think anyone else had visited it for years. It was the most useless piece of Pacific real estate I'd ever seen.
It was late evening when we tacked into the sheltered lagoon of the atoll and dropped anchor. I don't think the Cat Man slept a wink that night. He just sat on the cabin roof and gazed towards the beach. He certainly had a bad case of island fever. I couldn't help wondering if the old boy would find what it was he seemed to be looking for.
His damned cats were fascinated by the island, too. They squatted along the gunwales and fixed their shiny little eyes on the shore, their tails twitching expectantly. I would be glad to get rid of them. Cats always gave me the creeps.
I stayed anchored at Tao while Mr. Foster got himself established. His carpenters built him a cosy little place with large screen windows. They made him bookcases for the hundreds of books he'd brought. They constructed a cistern to catch and store his water supply. They even built him a small boat dock with the scraps of lumber left over.
While we worked, the six cats investigated their new home. In no time at all, each of them had caught and killed one of the scrawny, emaciated rats that infested the island. I hated rats even more than I did cats, so my attitude softened a little. Perhaps the old man was right; the cats might prove useful, after all.
The construction jobs completed, I prepared to leave the atoll. I made a deal with Mr. Foster to stop at the island every three months on my mail run around the islands. I promised to keep him supplied with anything he needed. We both realized that I was going to be his only contact with the rest of the world.
We shook hands on the miniature dock when I was ready to shove off. Suddenly he snapped his fingers to indicate a sudden recollection.
"By the way, Captain, you'd better add a case of beef and a case of salmon to that order I gave you. It might come in handy for cat food."
This was too much! After years of living and dealing with people who considered any canned food an expensive luxury, I was understandably shocked.
"Cat food?"
The old man seemed amused at my lack of imagination. "Certainly," he said. "You don't expect the rats on this island to last forever, do you? I wouldn't want to see my little pets go hungry."
As usual, the little gent made sense. I had to admit there probably wouldn't be much left of the rodent population by the time I returned.
"O.K., Mister Foster," I agreed. "I'll bring your cat food. A pretty damned penny you're going to pay to feed these animals, but I guess you can spend your own money the way you want."
We parted amicably, and I maneuvered the sloop out of the lagoon with the tide. I set course for the Marquesas Islands and took one last look at the Cat Man's low atoll before it sank below the horizon.
I worked the islands in a counter-clockwise direction, and averaged four complete trips a year. My home port was Papeete, the capital of the Societies. I covered my route around Tahiti first, then south along the Tubuais. I had four stops in the Tuamotus before I sailed north for the Marquesas and then completed my circular route back to Papeete. The whole trip usually consumed a day or two over two months, which left me plenty of time for a charter job between runs. The new stop at Tao would add three days to my regular journey, but I didn't mind. The Cat Man appeared to be loaded with money, and I could see he was going to be a darned good customer.
On my next stop at Tao, three months later, I saw the happiest man I'd ever remembered seeing. He was brown as a nut, and his face radiated health and good humour. If it weren't for his pile of white hair, he would have looked twenty years younger. Once again I had to admire him. He had come to the islands to find his private little Utopia, and he had found it!
The little fellow bubbled over with excitement as he went through the books and mail I delivered to him. He extracted a cheque from one envelope and endorsed it to me in payment for the supplies I had brought, and asked me to bring the balance of the money to him on my next trip. I was impressed at the amount of the cheque. I had never heard of him before, but apparently he made a good living with his typewriter.
I picked up his pile of finished manuscripts and promised to see that they were airmailed to New York. He ordered the usual supplies and doubled his previous order for cat food. Two of his females had litters of kittens. He showed them to me proudly, and I could see he got a lot of pleasure from their company. He'd been right about the rats, too. Hardly any were left on the once-infested island.
On my next stop, he had another stack of manuscripts for me, and more new kittens. They were certainly thriving on the atoll. The old man was thriving, too. I couldn't get over the fact that he was enjoying his self-imposed exile on that dreary little palm-tree prison, and my esteem for him continued to grow. I delivered a load of cash from his previous cheque, and he endorsed new ones to me. He put the money in a strong box he kept in his cabin. Again he doubled his order for cat food.
By the time three years had passed, that damned atoll was crawling with cats. I could hear them yowling at the sight of my sloop when I entered the lagoon: they knew I was carrying the commissary. Mr. Foster met my dory while standing on his dock in a mob of cats. For the first time, I noticed a tight look about his features and a slight nervousness in his manner. I had an uneasy feeling that my miracle man was beginning to wear at the seams.
But his greeting was warmer than usual. "Good day, Captain Rogers. I certainly am glad to see you."
We had to practically kick our way through the cats to get to his cabin. The old man yelled at them and waved his cane threateningly. My curiosity got the better of me.
"Mister Foster," I asked, "how many cats do you think you have now?"
He answered with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.
"Oh, I don't know—over a hundred, I guess."
"Well, at least you don't have to worry about the rats any more," I chuckled.
He turned to me with an amused smile. "Rats?" he asked. "I don't have to worry about anything any more. They've climbed the palms and cleaned out all the bird nests on the island. The birds won't come near the place now. They've caught and eaten just about every insect on the atoll. I ran out of food for them a week ago, and the little devils haven't given me a moment's peace. I finally had to stop writing and spend all my time fishing for them."
I could see the animals could be quite a problem if they were hungry. I was making a good profit on the cat food I was hauling him, but the situation appeared to be getting out of hand.
"Looks like you brought too many females in your original batch," I said. "Want me to take half of them with me when I leave, and drop them over the side?"
The Cat Man drew back in horror.
"Oh, heavens no!" he gasped. "I couldn't consider such a thing." Then his face brightened and his usual kind expression returned. He stooped and picked up a purring, half-grown kitten.
"My pets are really quite interesting, Captain Rogers. Of course, there are so many now, they've lost their individuality to me to some extent, but the feline society they have organized is fascinating."
He turned and pointed to the window. "See that ragged-eared big torn rubbing against the screen?"
I could see the mangy-looking beast. He looked as if he'd been in a thousand fights and lost every one of them.
"That one is the king of my tribe, and he has a goon squad of young toms who back him up. They have their pick of the females. And the care the mother cats give to their young ones is something wonderful to witness. I admit they're getting to be a problem, but life here would be pretty dull without them."
He didn't quite convince me this time.
I tried another angle. "At least let me try to round up a couple of natives who aren't too superstitious to come here and do your fishing for you. There's enough fish in that lagoon to fee
d a million cats."
The old man shook his white head vigorously.
"No, no, Captain. I came here to get away from people so I could write. I'll put up with a thousand cats before I'll share my solitude with anyone."
I didn't push the issue. It was his life, his world; he had made it for himself. I left him the supplies he'd ordered, and tossed in an extra case of beef from my own stores. It would take a lot of rations to feed a hundred cats for three months. I noted that the finished manuscripts he handed me were about half their usual bulk.
The story of the Cat Man and his pets had spread throughout French Oceania. By now, the rations I was hauling for his beasts were making up a large part of my load, and Tao Atoll was a subject of much amusement in Papeete. Several people with apparently nothing else to do were always waiting for me to return from my trip with news of the old man and his cats. He didn't realize it, but he was a famous man in the South Pacific, and not because of his writing, either.
On my next trip I found him beginning to crack. He'd run short of food again, and the cats were really starting to wear him down. I saw something else in his face that I'd never seen before. It was fear.
As usual, he met me standing on his dock, completely surrounded with a yowling pack of hungry cats.
"Did you bring the cat food, Captain Rogers?" he yelled over the din.
"Everything you ordered, sir," I answered, as I tossed him the rope from my dory.
Again, we had to kick our way through the cats to reach his cabin. The old man surely was mistaken in his last estimate of their population. It appeared to me there were closer to two hundred cats. On an island a mile long and a hundred yards wide, that's a lot of cats.
He started complaining about his pets as soon as we got into the cabin, ready to admit they were now a serious problem.
"These last two weeks have been a nightmare, Captain," he whined. "I started fishing a month ago, when it became obvious that their rations wouldn't last. I've never seen such voracious beasts."
His face was lined with worry. He had lost his neat, tidy appearance, and his face looked haunted. His island Utopia was rapidly turning into a hell. His dream was threatening to disintegrate before his eyes.
"I'm afraid we'll have to do something about the cats after all," he complained. "I have no manuscripts for you this time. These animals haven't given me any peace. Their mating screams and their begging voices! The toms have taken to eating the new-born kittens and the fights are practically continuous. I must do something!"
I wasn't surprised to hear him talk this way. I'd seen the initial signs of a crack-up on my last trip. The old man was beginning to recognize realities.
"Shall I bring you some poison for them on my next trip, Mister Foster?" I offered.
"Poison?" He flinched, as I knew he would. He closed his eyes and squeezed his forehead with nervous fingers. Then he opened his eyes and looked at me.
"No, definitely not," he said. "I could never be that cruel. Their being here is my own doing, and no fault of the cats. There must be some other solution."
I smiled and patted the old man on the shoulder. "I hope you'll forgive me, Mister Foster, but I anticipated your getting fed up with the cats. I brought along a couple of dogs for you this trip."
Now it was the Cat Man's turn to be surprised. "Dogs?" he exclaimed. Then a gleam of hope came into his eyes.
"That's right, Mister Foster. I thought maybe you could tie them up around your cabin. They'd keep the cats from bothering you."
He was pleased. His eyes grew brighter and the old smile returned to his face. He snatched my hand and wrung it gratefully. I was glad I'd brought them. If he hadn't consented to my leaving them, I planned to kick them overboard before I sailed anyhow, and let them swim to shore. I liked the little guy too much to see a mess of cats ruin his paradise.
"They're both males, too," I added as I turned to go after the dogs. "You won't have to worry about their breeding you out of your island."
The folks back in Papeete got a kick when I told them about the dogs. I had rounded up the meanest canines I could find in the Tuamotus. They didn't even like themselves, and they would both go wild at the sight of a cat. However, the way things turned out, I guess I wasn't as smart as I thought I was. Two dogs were a pretty poor match for two hundred hungry cats.
The cats had about taken over completely by the time I reached Tao on my next tip. I could hear them yowling as I entered the lagoon. I was listening for the barking of the dogs, but I never heard a yip.
I saw the old man's face peering at me from his screened window as I rowed the dory towards his dock. Just before I reached the dock, I heard his door slam. I looked up to see him scurrying towards me, and thrashing with his cane. The leaping, screaming cats made way for him, but they were bold as hell. They'd just jump out of range of the cane and stand there spitting at him with their backs arched.
Foster had to knock about a dozen of them into the water before he could grab my rope. We fought our way to his cabin. I noticed the dog chains and empty collars as I dashed through the doors. The screams of the hungry cats were deafening.
When I finally got my breath and faced the old man, I was shocked. I hope I never see a look like that on a human face again. His eyes were sunken, his skin stretched over his sharp cheek bones, and his lips drawn in a thin line against his yellowed teeth. He was filthy, and he obviously hadn't shaved for days.
He didn't have to tell me what he'd been through. The din of the cats tearing at the screens told the story. I would have dreaded the prospect of staying there a day, let alone weeks. The poor man had lived through a hell of his own making. I knew he wasn't completely mad yet, or he wouldn't have had the courage to meet me at the dock.
"The dogs!" I shouted. "Where are the dogs?"
The Cat Man was glaring at me like an idiot.
"They ate them," he said, in a strange metallic voice. "Two weeks ago. They killed and ate them—down to the last hair and toenail. The dogs killed a few of the cats and the cats ate their own corpses. They've been after me ever since."
In spite of his appearance, I could see the old man still had a good grip on himself. Best thing I could do was to get those cats fed before they ripped us both to pieces. I snatched up his cane and went for the door.
A couple of the beasts leaped on my back from the roof as I dashed for the dock. They gave me some nasty bites and scratches before I shook them off. I killed five with the cane before they learned my reach was longer than old Foster's. Each stricken cat was immediately eaten by his famished brothers and sisters.
I loaded the dory with cases of cat food from the sloop, and rowed to within twenty feet of the beach. For two hours I sat and tossed them open tins until my fingers were covered with blisters made by the can opener.
When the last cat had slunk away, gorged, I beached the dory and made my way back to the old man's cabin. He was sitting with his head on the table—asleep!
A couple of hours' rest, a bath, a shave, and some of the fear gone out of his face, and the little gent looked something like his old self. We had coffee and got down to cases. I put it to him squarely.
"I don't suppose I can make you leave this place?"
He wagged his head, "Never, Captain."
I figured as much. Characters like Mr. Foster have that dogged determination that moves mountains. Guess that's why I liked him.
"Well, then," I continued, "we're going to have to do something about the cats. I'm going to bring a load of poison next trip."
In spite of the horrifying experience he'd been through, the word "poison" still made him grimace. "Must it be poison, Captain?" he asked hopefully.
"Now don't try to talk me out of it," I warned. "I'm going to get rid of these cats if I have to tie you up to do it."
He agreed, reluctantly. "I suppose you're right. It seems impossible to control them, and I must get back to my writing."
I hated to leave him with the cats again, but I had
no choice. I had brought even more cat food than he'd ordered, but it still wasn't enough. I raided my own stores and gave him all I could part with. I handed him my carbine on my last trip in the dory.
"Better take this, just in case," I urged him. He accepted it with the air of a person indulging another's whim. I fished a box of cartridges out of my pocket and tossed it to him.
"Careful with these and don't waste them," I warned. "There are only fifty rounds in that box, and that's all I have."
He accepted the box with a sad but grateful smile. As I pulled away from the dock, I yelled my last bit of advice.
"Aim at the toms!"
I should have shot fifty of the cats myself before I left. That way the rations would have gone a lot further. However, I had already decided to make a quick trip and return with the poison as soon as I could. Besides, I couldn't bear the thought of shooting them while the Cat Man was watching. He feared them, but he still couldn't stand to see them hurt.
I hurried through my business in Papeete, and was back at sea in three days. The hurricane caught me in the Tubuais. It wasn't the worst blow that ever hit the islands, but it was the worst that I'd been through. I weathered the storm on one of the atolls with the natives. My sloop snapped her moorings and was driven among the palms. It was almost a total wreck.
When the sea calmed down, I hired a native out-rigger to take me back to Papeete. It was a long, miserable trip, but we made it. I guess I had a foolish notion I could hire or buy another boat and go about my business, or at least get the old man's stuff to him at Tao. I hadn't realized how bad the hurricane had been until I saw Papeete.
The Society Islands had taken the full force of the storm, and the results were appalling. Ninety per cent of the boats and ships tied up were wrecked or damaged. You couldn't hire, buy, or steal a deep water boat. I forgot about my own misfortunes when I got a glimpse at the destruction in the harbour at Papeete. All I could think of was that poor old guy on that island with all those cats!
Not being able to get a boat, I had to do the next best thing. I bought bolts, caulking, sail cloth, and everything else that I thought the natives and I could carry on the out-rigger, and headed back to the Tubuais. I figured we could put my own sloop together again, at least good enough to get back to Cat Island.
MAGICATS! Page 12