by Lisa Martin
Soon enough the doors to the carriage clanged shut, the bell rang, and the train began to move, chugging slowly and then faster in its rhythmic pattern. After the last light of day faded from the windows, the humans were brought plates of fruit, bread, and chicken-like meat. To Cecil’s disappointment, none dropped into his hiding place.
The night passed on and the carriage grew quiet. Cecil guessed the humans were sleeping, but he didn’t want to risk emerging to look for Anton. Stuffed against the wall and surrounded by clothing and shoes, Cecil squirmed uncomfortably. His coarse black fur was still damp from the rain, and he was hungry, as always. He finally rested his chin on his paws and dozed for a time, awakening to a brightening in the windows and general shuffling among the passengers.
A sharp voice cut through the quiet of the carriage and Cecil ventured a peek out. It was the Captain, wearing his flat hat and striding slowly along, speaking to the people on either side as he went. Cecil pulled in quickly and buried his face in his paws. If I stay still, there’s no way he’ll notice me down here. The Captain moved closer and continued his chatter, and Cecil wondered if Anton was as well hidden as he was. They were making good progress—it would be a shame for Anton to give them away now.
The Captain stepped right next to Cecil’s hiding place and spoke to the man and lady in the chairs above him. The lady rose slightly from her seat, perhaps to grasp hands with the Captain as humans often did with one another, and as she sat back down she swept the folds of her dress together. Cecil felt an odd chill on his posterior, and realized that his tail was suddenly exposed to the open air. Quickly he tucked it underneath him, but it was too late. The lady let out a piercing shriek and leaped to her feet.
“Good heavens, what is it, madam?” cried the Captain, leaning over to look.
“A skunk!” wailed the lady. “There’s a skunk under my seat!”
As the lady stumbled away, Cecil was revealed and he felt all eyes upon him. More people screamed and Cecil scrambled to hide again, but there was nowhere to go. He dashed this way and that, but it was a tight space and the humans were swiping at him with bags and walking sticks as if he were some kind of horror. Hadn’t they ever seen a cat before?
Cecil dove for an opening between two pairs of legs but he was blocked by a shiny boot. A large hand grasped the fur behind his head and hauled him up in the air, and another hand clamped around his chest.
“I’ve got it!” yelled the Captain. “Calm down, everyone, I’ll take care of this. Just keep calm.” He held Cecil as far away from his face as he could and strode swiftly to the door of the carriage. Cecil knew he had no time left.
“Anton!” Cecil yowled, struggling in the Captain’s grasp. “Don’t come out! Stay hidden and I’ll find you at the next stop!” He hoped like crazy that Anton could hear him.
The Captain reached the door and yanked it open with one hand, then stepped into the space between carriages and turned. Cecil could see the land rolling swiftly by as the wind whipped past them and the wheels clacked deafeningly over the tracks.
“Off you go, Mr. Stowaway, back where you belong,” said the Captain.
He grasped Cecil with both hands and tossed him, firmly and without hesitation, in an arc through the air and over the tall prairie grass.
CHAPTER 7
Prairie Town
I’ve just been thrown off a train, Cecil thought as he flew. This is turning out to be quite an adventure.
He swiveled his body midflight and landed softly in the waving grass, right on his paws.
The grass was tall. That was the chief problem with it—it was taller than Cecil. Otherwise, it was soft and easy enough to move through, and sweet-smelling in a way. But after plowing ahead for a bit and finding no end or edge to it, Cecil stopped. Stuck in the middle of a field of the stuff, he was bound to get lost or go round in circles.
The dust in the grass tickled his nose and he sneezed, which didn’t help matters. A small flock of birds fluttered by overhead, sparking an idea. I’ve got to get a better view, he thought, and he tensed his springy back legs and jumped straight up above the wispy tops of the grasses, glancing around quickly as he did so. A wide vista of emptiness, with a few hills and low trees on the horizon. Hmmm. Where’s the train? Cecil faced the opposite direction and jumped again.
Ah! There were the train tracks, on a rise at the edge of the field. That was good. He sprang up again and looked down the rails to his left. Nothing. Once more up, turning right. Far in the distance he spotted the plume of smoke from the train, drifting to join the clouds overhead, the engine disappearing behind the hills. Anton’s still on that train, Cecil thought. That’s my path. He’d noticed that the rails were set on raised ground where no grass grew, so he pushed through the green stalks, leaping every so often to check his bearings, until he stood upon one of the massive wooden beams set in the ground under the tracks. From there he gazed about.
After days of nonstop train rumbling, dog yapping, and human chatter, the quiet was profound. Wide swaths of grass stretched away from the rails in all directions, flecked with small flowers in bunches of blues, reds, and yellows, spreading across hillsides and filling ditches. Pushed into swells by the wind, the grasses swayed in a way that made Cecil think of the sea, and with a pang in his belly he realized how much he missed seeing and being out on the water. The sshushh of the breeze in the fields and the faint buzzing of insects were all he could hear, and he felt strange, unsettled. He’d never been completely alone like this, without food or companions, even human ones, in the middle of nowhere. Would anyone know if something were to happen to him? Would Anton?
Cecil gave himself a thorough shake, ears to tail. Come on, he told himself. Time to explore. He set off along the rail bed, trotting in the dirt to spare his paws, following the path of Anton’s train. Somebody who knows this place will come along here pretty soon, he assured himself. Something will turn up. But as the wind plucked at his ears and slipped through his fur, he shivered despite the warmth of the day. He could see a very long way ahead as the rails snaked through the undulating grass, and he wasn’t at all sure that anything would turn up.
The sun had warmed Cecil’s tail and backside all morning and it now beamed down on his face energetically as it traveled the same route as the rails. He had started out at a trot, but by early afternoon he plodded along the treeless track in the unsparing heat. His ears drooped, his tongue thickened; even his nose felt dry. He kept an eye out for water or anything that looked edible, but so far had seen only birds and a few fast-moving rabbits from a distance. The waving grasses thinned to bare tracts in some places, clearings of sandy dirt strewn with small and large piles of rocks. A couple of darting lizards chased each other through the crevices, but Cecil didn’t have the energy to pursue them. No easy supply of fish or crabs out here, that was for sure.
Good grief, I am getting soft, just like Anton always says. Cecil squinted ahead once again to see if he could spy a town or train stop coming up, but the rails wound away into more of the same green-brown landscape. A faint sparkle caught the sunlight off to his right—something he thought might be a pond or pool. He struck off through the grasses and emerged in a meadow of stubbly plants and rounded mounds of earth dotted with holes. Just past the mounds was a clump of small bushes next to a pond of rippling water, beckoning to his parched tongue. Cecil hesitated. A sense that he was being watched quivered his whiskers, though he didn’t see anyone. The holes in the ground were fairly large, big enough for a cat certainly, but not for anything much bigger. He chose a path between them and started toward the pond, treading quietly, staying low.
A scrabble and a flash of something off to his left made him jump, but when he turned his head it was gone. He padded faster. Another movement behind him, and this time he caught the barest glimpse of a little head, yellow and furry, before it popped back down into a hole. Cecil jogged the rest of the way to the pond and circled around to the far side, gratefully lapping up the cool water w
hile keeping his eyes fixed on the mounds. Moments passed with no movement from the holes.
Then suddenly a voice piped up from directly behind him. “Hello?”
Cecil sprang sideways, his tail fur puffed and water dripping from his face. “Gah!” he spluttered. Next to the pond was a creature about half his size sitting up on its hind legs, with golden-brown fur, wide, dark brown eyes, tiny flat ears on the sides of its round head, and a stumpy black tail. Its paws were tipped with long black claws that looked useful for digging. The creature placed one front paw on the ground, as if poised to spring away.
“Sorry to startle you,” it said in a clipped, high-pitched voice. “But we’re curious to know what you are.” Its inquisitive eyes took in Cecil’s pointed ears, white whiskers, paintbrush tail.
Cecil shook the water from his face and raised his head. “I’m a cat.”
“A cat?” The creature cocked its head as if measuring this news against what he was seeing.
Cecil swung his tail. “Friendly.” He gestured toward the pond. “Just thirsty.”
The furry creature nodded, lifted his face to the sky, and gave out several short yips in a repeated pattern. Cecil heard a scraping and shuffling in the mounds, and other heads delivering answering yips popped up from the holes. A few here, more over there, until there were dozens, large and small, scampering over to line the edge of the pond, all chattering and watching Cecil with interest. Their voices overlapped one another in quick, excited exchanges. It says it’s a cat! Look at its ears! Look at its tail! A baby cat? What about the long black fur? Is it lost? So little!
Cecil took issue with the comments. “I’m not a baby,” he said to the first creature. “I’m actually huge, for a cat.”
At this the whole clan tittered. He says he’s HUGE! Did you hear that? A huge cat.
“You are small compared to some cats we know,” said the creature, smiling.
“Well, what are you?” asked Cecil. He felt a little nervous confronted by so many of whatever they were.
“We are prairie dogs. I’m Jojo.”
“I’m Cecil. You’re dogs?” Cecil gazed around at them, sitting tall on their stubby hind legs. “You don’t look like the dogs I know.” A group of young pups in the front row giggled so hard they fell over onto their tails.
“Where have you come from?” asked Jojo, eyeing him closely.
Cecil pointed with his paw, and then paused. How to tell them? “I’m from a land far away, across the ocean.”
The prairie dogs exploded with chatter. Did he say ocean? What’s an ocean? Is it a village? How far away?
Cecil gestured widely. “The ocean is . . . really big water, like if this pond covered all of this land.” The prairie dogs gasped and shrank back. “I traveled by ship, and then by train to get here.” He pointed to the raised rails in the distance as the crowd wailed and shook their heads.
Jojo pulled his head back in surprise. “You traveled on the thundercloud? You did this alone?”
Cecil shook his head. A jolt of worry surged through him—had Anton made it to the next station? Was he waiting there? “I was with my brother,” he explained. “But we got separated.” The prairie dogs immediately sat up with stricken faces, peering in all directions as if they might be able to spy the brother cat. Jojo turned and yipped to several of the others, who dashed away to the holes. They returned with their paws full and placed before Cecil an array of grasses, seeds, flower buds, and dead insects. Cecil looked at Jojo for guidance.
“You must be hungry,” said Jojo. “Have some of our food.”
“Oh,” said Cecil, looking at the pile doubtfully. “Thank you.” Flowers as food? He used his claws to fish out a few grasshoppers and beetles—he could eat those at least. After a time, the bigger prairie dogs skittered off to other tasks, keeping an eye on the black cat in their midst, but the younger pups stayed around the pond, creeping as close to Cecil as they dared. Cecil noticed that the series of holes went on as far as he could see—there must be a whole town of these creatures, he thought.
“Will you play a game with us?” the pups asked, hopping joyfully.
“What kind of game?” asked Cecil.
“Just watch,” said one.
“Look at what we can do,” said another. They scampered to the nearest mounds and disappeared into the holes. Cecil stood before the mounds and waited. Do they want me to follow them down there? he wondered. Is it hide-and-seek? Suddenly a pup popped up, giggling raucously. Cecil stepped toward her and in a flash she disappeared again. Another popped up from a different hole, chittering at Cecil. Oh I see! He grinned. A game of catch.
Cecil sprang toward the second pup but he, too, was gone in an instant. More pups appeared, first in front of him and then behind, teasing with their little squeaks and yips and then ducking back out of sight. At first Cecil was a step too slow each time, but he quickly learned to anticipate their moves. He crouched low next to a hole and waited, his tail swishing, and when the pup peeked out he swiftly tapped it on the head with his paw. “Got you!” he laughed. The pups shrieked, trying to outwit Cecil, but he only got better, once tagging three of them in rapid succession. Finally he collapsed next to the mounds in exhaustion, chuckling all over again when the pups rushed over and sat on his belly, begging him for a story. After a drink from the pond, he curled his tail over his front paws and recounted a lively tale about a pirate ship, a stolen jewel, and a daring rope swing across the dark sea.
Jojo lingered nearby, listening attentively until the story was finished. “May I ask, what do you usually eat, if not flowers?”
“I eat a lot of fish,” Cecil admitted, “when I can get them.” He recalled the mouse’s warning about things that ate cats. “So, does anything eat you, out here?” he asked.
The prairie pups yipped and growled in a show of bravery, but Jojo’s dark eyes grew serious. “Lots of things,” he said. “Eagles and falcons, badgers and ferrets, rattlesnakes.” He paused. “Lynxes.”
“Lynxes?” said Cecil. “What are they?”
“Big cats, much bigger than you, very quick with long front legs to reach into our holes.”
The pups fell silent and huddled together by the pond. In the quiet, Cecil thought about what Willy had told him and Anton about another kind of dog out here.
“What about . . . coyotes?” he asked.
The prairie pups squeezed their eyes shut and shivered; Cecil heard one of them whimper and sigh.
“They are the worst of our enemies,” Jojo answered quietly. “They come at night in packs, endlessly patient and ruthless. We’ve lost many friends and family to those fiends.”
Cecil sat up and glanced over his shoulder at the sun, now low on the horizon. Jojo read his thoughts. “You should stay with us tonight, to be safe,” he said.
Cecil regarded the mounds warily, hesitating. “Underground?”
“Better than above, Cecil, small cat from the ocean,” replied Jojo, herding the pups back to their holes. “Better than above.”
The night passed slowly and was unlike any Cecil had ever spent on land or sea. Stuffed into one of the prairie dog tunnels—though not so far that he couldn’t stretch his neck and still glimpse the stars in the blue-black sky above—he squirmed, trying to get comfortable in the shifting dirt. This is ridiculous! he thought miserably. No self-respecting cat should be crammed into an underground dog burrow. After several hours of restless dozing, he decided to crawl out for a breath of fresh air, despite Jojo’s repeated warnings about staying inside. He’d just begun to wriggle his bulk toward the opening when he heard a chilling sound. A howl, long and sharp-edged, not far away. Joined by another, rising and falling in an eerie tone, mournful but eager at the same time.
Could it be them? wondered Cecil, his fur on end. Coyotes? He shrank back and listened intently. After a time there came pawsteps from something bigger than Cecil, and there was more than one. He heard them trot past the mounds and circle back, stopping and sniffing, panting. The
beasts gave off a pungent, musty scent, dry and stinging to Cecil’s nose. They barked to one another; he couldn’t quite make out the words but they sounded cruel, ugly.
A shadow fell across Cecil’s hole and he held his breath, motionless. In the moonlight he saw a large-eared sharp face, like a dog’s but wilder. Its mouth was full of spiked teeth, and its black-rimmed yellow eyes searched the darkness. Cecil’s heart stuttered—this must be a coyote. The passage was too tight for Cecil to back up farther, so he shut his eyes and hoped that his black fur looked like emptiness.
And it might have, except for one thing.
“Whiskers!” snarled the coyote to the others. “White whiskers plain as day.” It leaned into the hole, its tongue flicking across its black lips.
Cecil quickly turned his face into his paws but he knew it was too late. The coyote growled and then drove its snout straight at him, snapping its jagged teeth in the tunnel inches from Cecil’s head. The creature scrabbled furiously with its paws to widen the opening. Cecil was trapped, the smooth tunnel walls squeezing him on all sides. He pulled into a tight ball as clods of dirt rolled down around him. The coyote’s yelps knifed through the small space and Cecil flattened his ears against his head. A splat of vile drool hit one ear and he shuddered. He could feel the warmth and meaty stink of the creature’s breath as it inched closer, and he cringed and shook and wished he’d had time to say goodbye to Anton. Would he ever see his careful, quiet brother again?
