The Case of the Haystack Kitties

by John R. Erickson

  I glared at the runt. “No, I am not guarding the kitties. I’m not nice, and I don’t care that the kitties are cute. I’m guarding the haystack.”

  “Oh, how fun.”

  “Right, and maybe you’d like to help!”

  “Sure, you bet. I love being a guard. Makes me feel important.” He plopped down beside me and wrinkled his face into a . . . well, he probably thought it was a ferocious expression, and then he tried to growl. It was more of a squeak. “Oh yeah, this is fun. What are we guarding against?”

  “The bull, Drover, the same bull that tore down the fence.” The lights went out in his head, and his eyes turned into empty holes. “Hello? Are you there?”

  All at once he was on his feet, dragging himself around in a circle. “Darn the luck! I don’t know why this old leg picks the very worst times to go out on me. I was all set to help you and have some fun, but . . . oh my leg! It’s killing me.”

  “Forget the leg, Drover, and get into Guard Formation. You can do this job on three legs.”

  He began backing away. “Well, I’d love to stay, Hank, I really would, honest, but I don’t think I could stand the pain. It’s getting worse by the second.”

  “Ignore it, Drover. We all must learn to live with pain.”

  He kept backing away. “Yeah, I’ll try to live with it, but I think I’ll live with it down at the gas tanks.”

  “Drover, halt! Come back here immediately, and that’s a direct order.”

  “Yeah, but you’re tied up, and I’d better rush this leg down to my old gunnysack. See you around, Hank, and good luck with the bull.”

  “Drover! Come back here, you little weenie! You’ll pay for this. I’m going to put this in my report.”

  “Take care of the kitties.”

  And with that, he vanished into the darkness. One of these days, Drover is going to pull that leg business once too often and get himself . . . oh well. I would be better off without him.

  I tried to forget about Drover and turned my gaze back to the southwest. That line of thunderclouds seemed to be moving in our direction, twinkling with flashes of lightning and giving off an occasional grumble of thunder. Well, our grass could use a nice rain, but I could think of better places to be . . .

  Suddenly I found myself staring into the eyes of a bull! I mean, he was right there in front of me, with his nose six inches away from my nose. His head was huge and ugly, and there was meanness in his eyes.

  He spoke. “What are you doing here?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure. That is, I was just . . . uh . . . watching the clouds . . . hoping for rain. I’m sure you’ll agree that we could use a, well, rain. You know, the grass.”

  No change in his expression. “I’m fixing to take out this fence. You got any objections?”

  “Take out the fence? You mean, tear it down?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, to be real honest, my partners and I kind of wanted to leave it where it is. You see, it was put here to protect the, uh, stack lot, so to speak.”

  “Yeah. But I don’t like fences.”

  I could feel his hot breath on my face. “It is an ugly fence, isn’t it? I’ve said that many times, no kidding I have, but as far as tearing it out, I don’t think . . .”

  “I’m fixing to take it out. What about you?”

  “Oh no, I’ll just watch, thanks.”

  He brought his nose even closer to my face. I could smell him now. He smelled . . . huge. “What I’m asking, dumbbell, is do you want me to take you out with the fence, or would you like to move? ’Cause once I get started, I tend to ignore the screams of the wounded.”

  Gulp. “The screams of the wounded? Gee, you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. I want that hay. Shall we fight about it?”

  “Oh no, I’ve always felt that . . . what would you like for me to do, Mister . . . what was your name again?”

  “Crash. They call me Crash Bull.”

  “Nice name.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Go over there and lie down. Don’t get in my way. Don’t make a peep. Don’t move a hair. Maybe I’ll leave you a few bites of hay.”

  “Well . . . ha, ha . . . thanks a bunch, but dogs don’t actually . . .”

  “Shut up. I’m coming through.”

  “Right-o.”

  I got out of the way just in time, sprinted out to the end of my rope, and laid myself flat out on the ground. Crash was well named. You wouldn’t believe what an easy job he made of taking out that fence. I mean, he didn’t run at it or show much effort at all. He just leaned against it and then walked through it.

  Over the snap of broken posts and wire, I heard him say, “Piece of cake, piece of cake.”

  I watched all of this by rolling my eyes. I mean, he had forbidden me from making peeps and moving hairs, but he hadn’t said anything about rolling my eyes. So I laid there like a log . . . and tried not to think about what Slim would say in the morning. Oh brother. I had a feeling that he wouldn’t understand.

  Crash flattened the fence and then gave it the further insult of walking across it. That barbed wire had no more effect on his thick hide than the bite of a flea. With the muscles rippling across his massive shoulders, he lumbered over to the stack and . . . uh-oh, headed straight toward the bale where Gertie Cat and her family had made their home.

  “Uh . . . Mister Bull? Crash? Excuse me, but I’d like to point out . . .”

  His head shot around. “Shut your trap, or I’ll stomp you all the way to China.”

  Well . . . I had tried. Too bad for Gertie Cat. Her home was about to be destroyed, eaten by a monster bull. I could only hope that she would be able to save the family. Gee whiz, if that bull stepped on one of those . . .

  But you know what? Life sometimes plays amazing tricks and provides us with very strange twists. Crash probably weighed two thousand pounds. He was so strong and heavily armored that he could walk through barbed wire. Gertie cat weighed . . . what? Two pounds, three pounds with a full load of milk? A scrawny little cat, in other words, who couldn’t have knocked a hole in a wet paper sack.

  But she had a secret weapon, something no bull in history had ever possessed. She was a mother. That turned out to be a force more powerful than bone and muscle, barbed wire and cedar posts . . . and even fear.

  Here’s what happened. I witnessed it with my own eyes. Crash Bull lumbered over to the bale of hay, took hold of it with his huge jaws, picked it up, and gave it a shake. Suddenly and out of no­where, that skinny mother cat came flying out of the dark­ness, jumped into the middle of Crash’s face, and began buzzsawing him with all four feet and a mouthful of spikes.

  And you talk about noise! You never heard such squalling, screaming, screeching, shrieking, hissing, yowling, and growling! That old gal sounded worse than thirty-seven nightmares full of vampires and monsters.

  Crash Bull was stunned. He didn’t know what had taken hold of him. He grunted so loud that I could feel the shock waves of it. He charged away from the haystack, sending bales flying in all directions and throwing up a cloud of dust and alfalfa leaves. Then he pointed himself to the south, took out that whole side of the fence, and ran for his life—wearing Gertie Cat all over his face, and her still tearing him up with her buzzsaws.

  All I could say was . . . WOW! That was the bravest, toughest skinny little mother cat I’d ever met, and fellers, she won my respect right there. By the time she got back, I’d already chewed my rope in half and was making plans to move her family into a new home.

  Chapter Twelve: Motherhood Wins the Day!

  I know, she was just a cat, and I don’t like cats, but there comes a time when a guy is forced to deal with Life as It Actually Happens. Gertie Cat had won my heart. A storm was coming, the bull had destroyed her shack of hay
, and by George, we were fixing to move her into the machine shed.

  I picked up one of the kittens in my enormous jaws—very carefully, by the way, which wasn’t my usual style, but I’d seen Gertie do it—I picked up the kitten and was heading out of the stack lot when Gertie came walking back.

  We met. I tried to speak, but I had a mouthful of . . . well, kitten, so my greeting was a bit garbled. Well, she stopped, sized me up with one quick sweep of her eyes, and addressed me in a quiet tone of voice.

  “Put down my child.”

  WHAT? I just stood there, too shocked to move or speak or do anything. She went on.

  “I know you don’t like us and you want us to leave. I know you’re big enough to whip me and make it look easy, but Buster, your face’ll look like fresh liver.”

  I let the kitten slide out of my mouth. “Hey Gertie, there’s a storm coming. Let’s get these kids down to the machine shed before it hits.”

  She stared at me. “Are you serious? I thought you hated cats.”

  “Ma’am, could we save the heavy philosophical questions for later? I don’t know what I think of cats, to be honest about it, but I know that you’re one heck of mother and you need a warm, dry place for these kids.”

  She started . . . I couldn’t believe it . . . she started crying. “I’m sorry. I lost my head. I try to be polite to everyone. I hate for my kids to see me this way, but sometimes I just . . . oh, I’m a terrible mother!”

  “No ma’am, you’re a wonderful mother. You saw what needed to be done, and you did it. You didn’t think about it or argue about it. You just went out and . . .” I had to laugh. “By George, gal, you did thrash that bull.”

  She smiled through her tears. “Yes, I guess I did, but if he came back again, I’d probably faint. I was so scared, I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Heh. You did right, and you did well.” A rush of damp wind blew over us. “Let’s get these kids moved. Grab a cat, and let’s go.”

  I picked up my kitten and made a dash for the machine shed. The wind was swirling, and the air was filled with dust when I rounded the southeast corner. There I ran into . . . guess who. Drover.

  He stared at me and stared at the kitten in my mouth. He let out a gasp. “Oh my gosh, Hank, what are you doing?”

  “Arp muff ruff ork fuff muff.”

  “I can’t understand you. I think you’ve got a cat in your mouth.”

  I set the kitten down and faced the runt. “I’m transporting a kitten, Drover. Do you mind?”

  “Well, I was afraid you were going to . . . but you wouldn’t do that, would you?”

  “It’s fixing to rain. We’re moving the kittens inside.”

  “Aw heck. You’re helping them? Gosh, how sweet. You’re helping a poor mother cat and her little babies. That’s about the sweetest thing I ever heard, and I think I’ll just cry.”

  “Fine. You stand out in the rain and cry. Or maybe you could lend a hand. Go grab a kitten and help us.”

  “Well, you know this old leg of mine . . . and I’ll bet they don’t taste very good, and they might have fleas.”

  Sometimes . . . oh well. He was worthless. He was born worthless.

  I picked tip my kitten, left Drover to sniffle, and rushed into the machine shed. I dropped Kitty Number One and went back for another. Gertie and I passed each other coming and going. We each made three trips, and at last we got the job done. By then, the wind was rattling the tin on the machine shed, and the rain was making a roar on the roof.

  We found a little pile of gunnysacks near the back of the shed. I fluffed them up with my front paws, and that’s where we parked the family. Gertie and I gave each other a smile, and we sat down to rest and enjoy the sounds of the storm.

  “Well, Gertie, it’s a little dusty in here, and the gunnysacks don’t smell too great, but it’s not a bad place to be on a stormy night.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Hank. I know this must have been hard for you, helping a family of cats, but we appreciate it, don’t we children?” They all clapped and cheered.

  It kind of embarrassed me, to tell you the truth, so I changed the subject. “Hey, we’ve got a good supply of Co-op dog food in that bowl over there. You and the kids help yourselves. We need to get a little meat on your bones. I mean, any mom who goes around fighting bulls needs to stay in shape.”

  She got a laugh out of that, but then I noticed that her expression grew dark. She seemed to be staring at something near the door.

  She spoke in a low whisper. “Hank, who is that over there?”

  “Oh, it’s probably just Drover. He’s my . . .”

  It wasn’t Drover. It was Pete, staring at us with those weird yellow eyes and twitching the last two inches of his tail. Oh, and you know what else? He had turned on his police-siren yowl, and there he sat, staring and yowling.

  The next thing I knew, Gertie had flattened her ears, raised a strip of hair down her back, and turned on her own police-siren yowl. I darted my eyes from one cat to the other. This wasn’t making much sense.

  “Hey Gertie, I don’t know what you’re seeing over there, but what I’m looking at is just a cat.”

  “I know, and I don’t like him. Who is he?”

  “That’s Pete, our local barncat. He’s fat and spoiled and lazy and generally a sourpuss but prob­ably harmless.”

  “He doesn’t want us to stay.”

  “Hmmm. What makes you think so? I mean, you two haven’t even met.”

  She broke her concentration long enough to look up at me. “Cats don’t have to meet or talk. We’re subtle, you know. The angle of an ear, the way we walk, a gaze that lingers—they all say something.”

  “I’ll be derned. So what is Pete saying?”

  Her eyes went back to Pete. “He’s jealous. He doesn’t want any competition. He thinks this is his ranch, and he wants to keep it that way.”

  Well, that got my attention. “Oh really? How foolish of him to have such wild thoughts. Maybe I should have a little talk with him. Would that make you feel better?”

  “Much better. I don’t trust him around the children.”

  “Let not your heart be troubled. I’ll be right back.”

  I lumbered over to Pete. He watched me with hooded eyes and an odd smirk on his mouth. “Evening, Pete. Nice rain, huh?”

  “Who are they, Hankie, and why are they here?”

  “They’re friends of mine, Gertie Cat and her six kittens.”

  His smile soured. “How nice. Six whining brats to disrupt our peace and quiet. They’ll be leaving soon, I hope.”

  “They’ll stay as long as they want. They’re my special guests. Is there any particular reason why you’re here, yowling and glaring at them? You’re making Gertie feel unwanted.”

  His eyes popped open and he flashed a gleeful smile. “Really! She’s very observant, and after she observes me for a couple of hours, I think she’ll be ready to leave.”

  I chuckled. “Won’t happen, Pete. Sorry.”

  “It’ll happen, Hankie. You just wait and see.” He swung his eyes back to Gertie and turned up the volume on his growl. She gathered her kittens around her and cast worried glances in our direction. “See? She’s already thinking of moving out. Some cats, such as me, have amazing powers over others.”

  “No kidding!”

  “It’s true, Hankie.” Suddenly his eyes were locked on me, and he was flicking the end of his tail back and forth in the air. “And what works on cats can work on dogs too. Just watch the end of my tail, Hankie. Back and forth, to and fro, watch the tail, nice and slow.”

  “Hmm. I’m feeling sleepy all of a sudden.”

  “Um-hm, you’re feeling sleepy, and on the count of three, you will drift off into a nice, deep sleep, and you won’t wake up until tomorrow morning. And you’ll never be any the wiser.”

&nbs
p; “Mercy. I can’t seem to . . . snork morf . . . keep my eyes . . .”

  “Just let them drift shut, Hankie, as you float away on a big, soft feather bed.”

  “Feathery clouds drifting snorkly amork.”

  “One. Two. Three. You’re asleep now. You’re out of here, Hankie. You’re history.”

  How could I have fallen asleep? How could I have let down my friend Gertie? How could I have been so dumb as to fall for Pete’s sneaky trick of hypnopotomizing me with his tail?

  Heh, heh. Watch this.

  My eyes popped open. “Nope, didn’t work, Pete, sorry. And now you’re out of here.” I snatched him up in my jaws, and let me tell you, fellers, that was one surprised cat. Heh. Trying to pull that watch-the-tail business on the Head of Ranch Security! What a dumbbell.

  I hauled him to the door, drew back my head, and slung him out into the pouring rain. He landed in a big mud puddle. When his head came up, he looked like a drowned possum.

  “Stay out of the machine shed and leave my friends alone, you selfish, ill-tempered little scorpion. And I hope you enjoy the moisture.”

  Well, what a perfect ending to the day, throwing my archenemy (who hates water, by the way) into a mud puddle. I loved it.

  Holding my head at a triumphant angle, I marched back to Gertie and the kids and received a hero’s welcome. Pretty nice ending to the story, huh? Gertie had helped me keep the bull out of the stack lot, and I had provided her family with a home.

  Yes, I know it was a little confusing. I, a dog who didn’t like cats, had come to the rescue of a cat and six kittens, and in the process had given the bum’s rush to a cat who didn’t like cats, while Drover, who did like cats . . .

  Oh well. All I do is tell them stories. It’s not my job to explain them.

  Case closed.

  No, wait a second. There’s one last matter, and you may find this hard to believe. The next morning, Slim rebuilt that whole south fence around the stack lot, and we’re talking about new posts and handcrafted postholes, new wire that he actually stretched with wire stretchers, new staples, and a new braced corner.