by Rahma Krambo
“We’re being watched,” said one of them, suddenly noticing Polo. “Look’it that varmint in the hangin’ tire. What is it?”
“Looks like a deformed rat, don’t you think?” said another.
“Who, or should I say, what are you?” asked the biggest one.
Polo felt no obligation to explain himself and ignored their comparing him to a rat. It happened all the time.
“In case you haven’t heard, we own this part of town now. My name’s Sting and these are my two fine young companions.”
Even though a vagabond and a thief, Polo was completely devoid of cruel intentions, and he did not recognize a bully for what he was.
“You deaf or something?” asked Sting. “You gotta be, with those puny ears.”
“Yeah, deaf and dumb,” said Tank.
Polo had had enough. He drew in a breath. “Hey, bugle ears!” he yelled. “You’re hurtin’ my eyes. How come you’re so fat?”
“No one talks to me like that!” Sting said, and before Polo could blink, he was yanked out of the tire by his neck and tossed to the ground.
Polo was undeterred. He raised himself to his fullest height, bared his teeth and challenged Sting with his fiercest look.
Just as Sting was about to take another swipe at him, the smallest raccoon ran up.
“Hey, Sting! Take a look at this!” He handed him the cigarette lighter.
“My, my,” said Sting. “This is interesting.”
“Hey, that’s mine!” Polo yelled.
“Shut up,” said Sting. “This here trinket might save your life if you was smart enough to keep your trap shut.”
Polo had no intention of letting it go. He tried grabbing the lighter, but Sting seized him by the throat until his eyes bulged and the lighter fell out of his hand gone limp.
Chapter 29: David and Goliath
Scuffling noises from the ground woke Marco from his nap. Through the tree branches he saw three large animals scavenging plastic kid’s toys in the yard next door.
“Nothing here worth eatin’, boss,” said one.
He recognized them immediately, but he was in no mood for another fight with raccoons. Besides, they weren’t hurting anything and they’d never notice him. He curled up to resume his nap, when all of the sudden, there was Polo in the middle of the raccoons—nabbed right out of a tire swing and thrown to the ground.
He saw Polo rise from the dust and face his assailant, like David defying Goliath.
But Marco knew Polo wouldn’t stand a chance in a battle with these thugs and skittered rapidly down the tree and through the fence hole.
“What the….?” Sting said, shocked.
Marco was quickly flanked by Sting’s two cohorts. They peered at him through their black masks.
“Hey, isn’t he one of those dead cats, Sting?”
“You’re about to be a dead raccoon,” countered Marco. “Let him go!”
Polo was squirming in Sting’s grip.
“Sure thing, buddy. Tank. Crimmany. You know what to do.” Sting tossed Polo aside.
All three raccoons launched themselves at Marco. One bit his tail and Marco whirled around, smacking him with claws extended. Next thing he knew though, he was at the bottom of the heap. He clawed furiously, tasting dirt and blood. Then… pain pierced his body, first his ear, then his nose. He could barely breathe.
His saving grace came from pure instinct, a cat trick he didn’t know he had until he needed it. He jerked his body like a corkscrew, twisting his bones inside his loose skin. Free from the vicious bullies, he darted up the tree and watched the raccoons claw at each other until they discovered he had disappeared.
The raccoons, dazed and confused, rummaged around for a minute.
“I hate cats,” said Sting. “They’re freakin' me out. Let’s scram.”
“Hey Sting, you still want this?” asked Crimmany, holding up Polo’s lighter.
“Sure, you never know. It might come in handy.”
Chapter 30: Wild disregard for order
For security reasons, Cicero moved the Dead Cats meetings from the Café parking lot to a room inside the library—a storage area where the window was permanently stuck open. Not that any librarian could even see the window, let alone get to it.
The room was crammed so full there was no pathway left for people. Wooden card catalogs took up half the space. A large bust of Mark Twain kept company with an ancient manual typewriter on an overstuffed chair. Piles of cardboard boxes, books and magazines looked as though they’d given up their struggle for organization and succumbed to the gravity of neglect.
Cicero thought it was perfect. The room had the right balance of coziness and wild disregard for order.
Already most of the cats had found something of interest. Gypsy browsed through Mothering Magazine while her kittens pounced over her. Skitzo was reading an article in the Daily Observer titled “Missing Baby Found Inside Watermelon!” Caffeina looked bored as she flipped the pages of Cat Diva.
Heads raised as Marco climbed into the room through the narrow window opening, his ear and nose torn, dried blood on his tail.
Caffeina was the first to jump up. “Mee-oow! Marco, what happened to you?”
Tweezer asked, “Who won?”
Marco held his head and tail high, battle scars and all. “I did pretty well, considering,” he said proudly.
“Considering….?”
“Considering the face-off Polo and I had with the raccoons.”
”Raccoons!”
“Who did you say you were with?” asked Skitzo.
“My friend, Polo.”
Tweezer came closer and examined Marco’s injuries. “Did you leave your mark on them?” he asked.
“They won’t soon forget me,” said Marco.
“Who’s Polo?” Skitzo insisted, peering suspiciously at Marco.
“He’s a friend.”
“Do we know him?”
“Not exactly,” answered Marco.
Skitzo circle Marco, inspecting him like an interrogator. “Why doesn’t he come to meetings?”
“I thought it was just for cats.”
“What? He’s not a cat?” asked Skitzo, appalled.
“Well… no,” Marco said. “Polo’s a… well, he’s a ferret.”
Dead silence.
“A what?” asked Sophie, who was never afraid to admit when she didn’t know something.
“A ferret.”
“You have a friend who’s not a cat?” challenged Skitzo.
“You’re repeating yourself Skitzo. A sure sign of psycho-ness. Anyway, so what?” said Caffeina. “No law says we can’t be friends with other species. I have a good friend who’s a dog.”
“You should be careful who you’re friends with, Caffeina.”
“That’s funny, coming from you Skitzo. Since you don’t have any friends,” retorted the cheeky feline.
“Here. Here,” interjected Cicero. “Marco, inform the others about ferrets.”
***
Marco wasn’t sure how to describe a ferret to a cat. “He has fur, but he doesn’t look much like us. He’s long, hardly any ears, and…” What could he tell them?
The cats were waiting.
Then he remembered what he liked most about his friend. “Ferrets are funny. At least Polo’s funny,” he blurted out.
“Oh!”
It was the perfect answer for the cats and broke the tension. For most of them, anyway.
“Funny is overrated,” said Skitzo. “I can’t remember the last time I was funny.”
“That’s because you’ve never been funny,” countered Caffeina.
“You risked your life for a ferret?” asked Bait.
“Well, yeah. I mean, I didn’t stop to think about it,” said Marco. “Polo’s my friend. I had to defend him.”
“Very noble of you,” replied Bait.
“How many did you say there were?” asked Cicero.
“Three. The same thugs who broke into our meet
ing.”
“You fought all three by yourself and lived to tell about it?” asked Pudge.
There was an admiring squeal from Caffeina. “Three raccoons on your own! You’re a hero!”
Had Marco been human, he would have been blushing.
“I think we should meet this friend of yours,” Bait said. “This one who inspires so much loyalty.”
“Yes! You should bring him to a meeting,” agreed Pudge.
Marco was relieved they were willing to meet Polo, especially since he was waiting outside.
Polo’s head shot up in the window. “Can I come in now? It’s boring out here.” Without waiting for an answer, he leaped through and fell on the floor. He picked himself up and looked around. It didn’t take long for him to decide who was having the most fun, and he immediately joined in with the kittens.
The older cats stared in group silence at the odd creature frolicking with the little ones. Gypsy broke the silence. “Guys. Focus. The raccoons. We can’t keep ignoring this problem by hiding.”
“The raccoons are cramping my lifestyle, that’s for sure,” said Pudge. “They come over every night and raid the dumpster. And would you believe? The human who used to feed me… she thinks the raccoons are cute! Now they get all the scraps. They’re such pigs!”
Cicero tried to calm them down. “Raccoons don’t stay in one place long. They’re drifters, so I believe they’ll move on soon. For now, we need to lie low.”
“Great! We have to skulk around while they terrorize the neighborhood?” Skitzo asked, his voice rising.
“We could turn them in to Animal Control,” suggested Caffeina. “Those guys are always picking up stray dogs in my neighborhood.”
“Oh, you’re so brilliant, Caffeina,” Tweezer said, rolling his eyes. “How are we going to do that? You know some human who understands ‘cat’? ”
Chapter 31: The London Bookshop
The dull ache in his hind leg woke Cicero and the bittersweet memories came flooding back.
He missed Amelia. He missed the labyrinthine maze of books and magazines in her bookshop, the cafés on London’s narrow cobblestone street behind the store, the treats he always found waiting for him.
He even missed dodging the shoes one merchant threw at him and the excitement of never knowing when a motor scooter would come charging down the alley like some avenging angel.
When he greeted Amelia’s customers, they’d exclaim, “Oh, you’re the cat on the mews!” and laugh hysterically. He never understood what was so funny.
His last day at the bookstore, he had been lying in a sunny patch by the front window. Something in the air changed the moment the man stepped into the shop.
A gray fedora shadowed his face. He wore a tweed coat and carried a satchel which weighed down one shoulder.
“Do you carry rare books?” he had asked Amelia, rubbing his hands together as if they were cold, even though the day was warm. Cicero remembered how his moustache bobbed as he spoke.
Before Amelia could answer, the man was talking again. “Ah, um, I should introduce myself. Where are my manners?” he said, fumbling in his pocket. He handed Amelia his card. “I’m Doctor Chin. But most people call me ‘Professor’.”
Amelia had seemed delighted with his presence, but she was like that with everyone. Cicero followed them as she guided the man on a tour of the small crowded bookstore. There should not be a shadow inside, he knew, but sure enough, one was following this man.
“Lovely shop, yes,” the man said. “And I will browse through that art collection in the back, but I wonder if… I feel a little foolish asking.” He laughed tightly. “Are there any hidden rooms?”
“You mean, like in the movies?” Amelia asked, her laugh generous and natural.
“Well, yes. Exactly. You know, a sliding door or revolving bookcase…”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Professor. This is an ordinary bookshop.”
Cicero moved protectively to Amelia’s side.
“Nothing mysterious here. Right, Cicero?” She picked him up and cradled him in her arms.
The man jolted slightly.
“Oh! I hope you’re not allergic to cats,” said Amelia.
“Oh no, that’s not it. I mean… he just surprised me, that’s all.”
The man’s breathing quickened, but he insisted he wasn’t allergic. They had stopped walking and were standing in front of a collection of children’s picture books. Cicero could feel the man’s loathing for him even as he said to Amelia, “Lovely cat. You had him long?”
“Cicero’s been here since... well, since before I bought the place. Oh my, that’s been over fifteen years.”
Cicero glared at the man.
“Fifteen years! He doesn’t appear that old,” said the man. He had been backing slowly away from Amelia as he tried to keep up the conversation.
“Well, Cicero is an amazing cat. He’s quite a fixture here. Everyone loves him.”
“Hmmm, yes.”
Cicero had never encountered a human who had taken an immediate dislike to him in such a strong way.
“He’s an unusual looking cat. More spotted than striped, like an Egyptian Mau.”
“Oh… I don’t know what kind of cat he is. He’s just my adorable Cicero.”
“Do you know about the legendary cats of Iskandriyah?” The man was nervous, but Amelia didn’t seem to notice.
“What?”
“Iskandriyah. Surely you’ve heard of the Library of Iskandriyah? Of course, you may only know it as Alexandria.”
“Of course.” The sudden stiffening of Amelia’s arms wasn’t the main reason Cicero jumped down. The strange shadow moved apart from the man. It seemed to have a life of its own.
“I think I’ve struck a nerve,” said the man.
“Oh now, Professor. That’s silly. He’s just a cat.”
“Such a nice cat.”
Cicero glowered at him.
The bell over the door jingled, and Amelia seemed relieved. “Feel free to look around while I tend to my other customers.”
Cicero tracked the Professor, who alternated between looking at books and making furtive taps on the walls.
“You look like a cat with something to hide,” he said. “I thought the Guardian Cats were just a myth. Filthy creatures like you are good for nothing more than being a witch’s familiar.”
Cicero felt the man’s struggle between desire and loathing for him. It would have made sense to turn and run, but his guardian instincts had kicked in.
“Is this the right place, this sorry excuse for a bookstore? How ironic that it’s supposed to be in London, so close to home.” The man seemed to be in conversation with someone else. “And why did you lead me here and not show me exactly where it is?” Who was he talking to?
“I paid dearly for this!” the man continued, his voice low and strained. “Don’t even think of short changing me on our deal.” The Professor seemed to be in conversation with the shadow.
Cicero kept his distance and breathed a sigh of relief when closing time finally came.
After Amelia locked up, he scooted through his cat door out into the alley to breathe the night air, but he was greeted with the tantalizing smell of fish.
How could he have known it was a trap? The instant he stepped over the wire, it snapped shut. Cicero went wild, throwing himself against the sides of the cage.
When he realized that an escape was impossible, he hunkered down, ignoring the fish. Out of the shadows the Professor spoke. “I knew you were more than just a sleepy shop cat.”
Cicero hissed. How could this have happened? The Professor took him, cage and all, and put him in the trunk of his car. They drove a short while, the car stopped and the man carried him into a small room, where he was placed on a table.
“Don’t worry. I don’t want to become friends.” He opened a suitcase and picked things out, setting them on the other end of the table.
“This should prove interesting. I’ve never tried
this with a cat, but my mother’s magic might have been good for something.” He turned out the lights and lit a candle. Cicero stared at the man, who stared at the candle. First silently, then chanting, sometimes whispery, other times loudly, again talking to creatures even Cicero couldn’t see.
Not at first.
Then one after another, dark shadows appeared on the walls, peeled off and entered the room, finding their places. One came and slithered into the cage, but Cicero hissed and spat so violently it backed off, emitting a snickering kind of laugh.
The Professor did not waver in his incantations. The candle flickered and sputtered, and more shadow creatures peeled off the walls. Then on the Professor’s command, they merged and circled around his cage, absorbing the light.
They closed in on him and he struggled to breathe.
“Now let him go!” commanded Professor Chin, throwing his hands wide. The shadow creatures obeyed and slunk back into their corners. Cicero tried to stop shaking.
“I know who you are. Believe me, your days as Guardian are over. It’s time to let someone have the book who can do it justice.” He moved in close and Cicero took a swipe at him.
“Rethink your position, dear Cicero,” pronouncing his name with disdain. “You can retire with all of your limbs intact. You will be able to sleep with both eyes shut. Your only other choice is to die a martyr’s useless death.”
Cicero resisted with all his might.
“Don’t fight me!” commanded the Professor. “Tell me where the book is and I will let you go!”
For a fraction of a second, and against his will, Cicero’s mind saw where it was hidden in the bookshop. He groaned. How could he have been so weak? He still cringed when he thought of that fateful moment.
“Yes!” the Professor exclaimed.
Cicero had not been able to prevent the Professor from penetrating his mind; it had been as captive as his body in the cage.
“Now show me the entryway.”
Cicero felt his power weakening. Unable to resist the Professor’s black magic, the tapestry covering the door under the stairs appeared as clear as anything in his mind. That was all the Professor needed.