The Flying Flea, Callie and Me

by Bill Wallace

  What a trophy! If I brought this to the mat, Mama couldn’t help but be proud of me. Even if she forgot to look and stepped on it barefoot, she’d still be excited and impressed. I bet she wouldn’t even yell at me.

  Inch at a time, I crept toward it. I kept low. Just a few more feet and I would be close enough to pounce.

  Suddenly I got this weird feeling. It kind of tingled the fur on the back of my neck. It made me feel strange—as if someone was watching me. I stopped. Looked around.

  Another giant mouse glared down at me from the top of a haybale. His beady eyes never blinked as he sat licking his lips.

  Two giant mouses. The Mama wouldn’t believe her eyes. She would know I was the best mouser in the world if . . .

  The little scratchy sound behind me made me whirl around. Now there were three. A huge mouse had appeared between me and the door. Crouching close to the ground, he glared at me with beady yellow eyes. It made the hair on my back stand up. It was a weird feeling, like my hair was crawling and got stuck up in a sharp ridge down my spine. My tail jerked back and forth, all by itself. It was like I had no control of it.

  “Hey, Cat.” The giant mouse on top of the hay bale sneered. “What do you think you’re doing in my barn?”

  “Your barn? Mice don’t have barns. It doesn’t belong to you. I thought this was the House People’s barn.” My tail flipped again. Quickly I sat on it so they wouldn’t see how nervous I was.

  He grinned and licked his lips.

  “I’m not a mouse.” He smiled. “I’m a rat!”

  “A rat? What’s a rat?”

  The one behind me moved closer.

  “Rats are big. Rats are very smart. And rats are always . . .”

  “Rats are always what?” I tried to get him to finish what he was telling me.

  The one on the hay jumped to the floor of the barn. His teeth glistened when he glanced toward the other big mouse who was eating the yellow grain. “Hey, Nora,” he whispered, “look what we got here.”

  The one he called Nora dropped the piece of grain she was munching and moved toward me. Her eyes were small and beady. When she smiled, her lips curled. She had big, long yellow teeth.

  “Ooooh.” She licked her lips. “A little kitty cat.”

  “Rats are always what?” I asked again.

  All three mice—I mean rats—moved toward me. They came closer and closer. The ridge of hair that stood up on my back went clear down to the tip of my tail now. All fuzzed up, it was so big that it was almost impossible for me to sit on it. I eased to my feet. My tail shot straight up in the air behind me. It was nearly as big around as the rest of me.

  The huge rats moved closer. One stood between me and the door. On trembling legs, I took a step back. The one named Nora licked her lips again.

  “Rats are big. Rats are smart.” Her eyes seemed to sparkle. “And rats are always . . . hungry.

  I couldn’t hold still. My legs took off. I ran!

  At the far corner of the barn was a pile of hay. That didn’t stop me. I scampered up the bales of hay. I got as far away from the huge rats as I could.

  My legs shook so hard, I could barely stand. I shoved myself into the corner of the barn, panting and gasping for air. The rats were no place in sight. But I could hear them—somewhere—they were giggling and laughing at me.

  A puff of red exploded in front of my eyes. “You’re a cat!” I growled to myself. “Cats aren’t afraid of mice. Cats aren’t afraid of rats. Cats eat rats for snacks. What’s wrong with you? Get down from this stack of hay and go get ’em!”

  I took a deep breath and stepped out from the corner. I’m a cat, I thought. I can do this. . . .

  “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

  The voice came from above me. Eyes wide, I looked up. One of the rats stood on a wood rafter, just over my head. My bottom bumped the tin wall when I backed into the corner once more.

  A sharp, pointy nose appeared over the bale of hay where I stood. Nora’s beady eyes followed.

  “There you are. I thought we lost you for a second.” She smiled and licked her lips once more. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

  I was trapped like a rat . . . I mean, like a cat. The huge rats had me pinned in the corner. They had me surrounded. There was no escape.

  CHAPTER 6

  I meowed and hissed as loud as I could. I raised my paw and my claws sprang out. It was no use.

  The third rat appeared at my left. I shivered. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Cats are supposed to eat rats. Rats aren’t supposed to eat cats! The instant Nora climbed to the top of my hay bale, I took off again.

  As she pulled herself over the edge, I leaped from the pile of hay. She snapped at me, her long yellow teeth just missing my leg. The hay was so high, I had to wave my paws and swing my tail to keep my balance. When I hit the floor, it knocked the wind out of me. I stumbled, but scrambled to my feet once more. Fast as I could, I raced for the other side of the barn. There was no hay there, so I backed into the corner. Watched. Waited.

  Nora hopped down and hurried across the floor. The big rat, on the wood rafters at the top of the barn, scurried toward me, too. Frantic, I looked all around. I couldn’t find the third rat.

  “Hey,” a voice called. “Who’s up there. Who’s jumping around on my roof?”

  Suddenly another pointy nose appeared out of a hole. It was so close that I could see his black eyes squinting at me. He blinked.

  “What’s going on up there?”

  “Hey, Smitty,” Nora called in her squeaky rat voice. “It’s a kitty cat. He’s on the roof of your rat hole. Help us get him cornered.”

  The eyes blinked. The pointy nose wiggled.

  “Oh, boy. Fresh meat.”

  A single strip of light shone through the opening between the two doors. It made the hay shiny green and brought a brightness to the dreary, frightening barn. Nora blocked my path, but it was my only chance.

  I ran straight for Nora. At the last second she squeaked and jumped aside. I dodged in the other direction, slid a tiny bit on the loose hay, then shot through the opening between the two doors. I didn’t stop running until I was safe beside Callie on the porch swing.

  Callie raised up and looked at me, but she didn’t say anything. That was okay because I was breathing so hard that I probably couldn’t have heard her, anyway. It took a while for my hair to unfuzz. It took even longer for my legs to quit shaking and for me to breathe without wheezing and rasping.

  “Want to talk about it?” the old cat finally asked.

  I took a deep breath. A little shudder raced through me, so I took another breath.

  “I went in the barn. And . . . and . . .”

  “Met the rats, huh?”

  I nodded, digging my claws into the swing to keep the shudders from shaking me again. “They chased me. They were gonna eat me!”

  Callie made a little snorting sound and put her head back on her paws. “I bet the reason they chased you was because you ran. Rats are cowards. They won’t even take a kitten like you on in a fair fight. Probably at least three or four of them, right?”

  “Four. They were big, too. Really big!”

  Callie nodded. “Like I said, they run in gangs. Only cowards run in gangs. If you hadn’t run from them . . .”

  “You mean, they wouldn’t have done anything to me if I hadn’t run from them?”

  Callie raised her head. Her whiskers twitched from side to side. “Hard to tell. You’re not a kitten anymore, but you’re not a full-grown cat, either. You can’t always figure out what rats are going to do. But, like I said, they’re cowards. Usually, they won’t fight a cat. Not even a young, small cat like you. Still . . . well . . . probably would be a good idea if you stayed out of the barn until you’re a little bigger.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever go back in the barn,” I said, shaking my head. “Not ever again.”

  Callie only smiled.

  “You will. Cats hate rats.”

&
nbsp; “Why?”

  “Well, rats are destroyers. They eat or gnaw or tear up all our people’s things. We cats love our people. We can’t put up with rats making our people miserable or hurting their stuff. It’s just the way we are.”

  “When will I be big? When will I not be afraid of rats?”

  “You’ll know,” Callie said. “You’ll know.”

  With that, Callie kissed me between the eyes. She washed and cleaned my forehead with her rough tongue. Then she washed behind my ears. After a while I didn’t feel so scared anymore. I felt like a baby kitten again with Mama loving me and taking care of me. Before I knew it, I fell asleep.

  • • •

  Catnaps always make us cats feel better. When I woke up, I strolled straight to the door of the barn. My eyes narrowed. I felt mean and strong and . . .

  “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” a voice called from inside.

  I stopped running when I got to the woodpile. Okay—so they looked like mice. But I never saw such big mice—I mean, rats. I never saw such long teeth. I could explore the barn—later. Maybe when I was bigger and stronger.

  • • •

  It was three days before I got the nerve to go near the barn. I wasn’t bigger or stronger—at least not yet—but I was a cat! Cats aren’t afraid of mice, even big ones like rats. Although I was a tiny bit scared, I knew that I would have to face them.

  The woodpile was as close as I got to the barn. I watched and waited from there for any signs of the ugly rats. Suddenly a gentle thump hit me on the head. It wasn’t as sharp as Bird’s beak. It didn’t sting, then go away, only to swoop back and sting again. But something was there. Something was on my head!

  CHAPTER 7

  Eat me.”

  “What?”

  “Eat me!”

  “Who said that?” I looked up. That’s where the voice came from. But I couldn’t see anything. I twisted my neck to the side. Still nothing. I flipped my back end around trying to find who was speaking to me.

  “Cat, I’m up here. On your head.”

  I waved my ears. I wiggled my whiskers.

  There was something on my head, all right. I could feel it. It was not very heavy, but something was there! Sharp needles kind of scratched my skull. Almost cross-eyed, I looked up again.

  A small, pointed, feathered head peeked down. Beady bird eyes blinked.

  “Get off my head!”

  “Okay—if you’ll eat me.”

  “No.”

  The beady bird eyes blinked again. The corners of the beak wiggled down to a frown.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “No means no! I don’t eat birds.”

  The feathered head cocked to the side. “But cats eat birds, don’t they?”

  “Well . . . yes . . . I guess. Most cats do. But I don’t eat birds. Now get off.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t eat birds?”

  “Well, when I was little I was attacked by a mad rooster. I don’t like feathers in my mouth, and the rooster was so big and mean and frightening that—”

  “Look, Cat,” the bird interrupted. “I don’t want your life history. I just want to get it over with.”

  I lay down and flopped over on my side. Maybe I could knock her off. Only when I rolled over, she just clung to me. When I lay on my side, she walked to the other side of my head. When I rolled to my back, she walked to my face. She stood right on my mouth and glared me in the eye.

  “Get what over with?” I mumbled. (I mumbled because it was hard to talk with a bird standing on my mouth.)

  “I can’t fly.” She pouted. “All my family went south for the winter, and I’m here—all alone. I don’t want to starve. Mama told us that cats eat birds, so I figured . . . well . . . it’s quicker than starving to death.”

  I shook my head. Her little claws clamped harder to my mouth. She was starting to smush my whiskers. I flipped over so I could get my paws under me. She walked around my head as I rolled. By the time I stood up, she was perched between my ears again.

  “Look, bird. I wish I could help you, but—”

  “Just my luck,” she chirped. “I’m starving to death, and I land on the only cat in the country who won’t eat birds. If you won’t eat me, then feed me!”

  “What?”

  “I’m hungry. Get me something to eat!”

  “What? You’re a bird!”

  “Look. We’ve already been through that. I’m a bird. You’re a cat. Only you don’t eat birds. Either eat me or feed me. I’m hungry!”

  I twitched my whiskers, thinking for a moment. “Well, there’s some cat food inside. I didn’t eat all of it this morning. I guess I could take you in there and—” I broke off what I was saying when a sudden vision flashed through my head. I could just see me, marching into the People house with a bird on my head. I was a cat! What was I thinking?

  “Bird, you are going to have to get off my head,” I yowled.

  “Feed me first.”

  “I’m a cat. I can’t go around with a bird on my head. Get off!”

  “Nope. Not until I get something to eat.”

  “I need to hunt and take catnaps each day. I can’t go around with a silly, little bird on my head. Get off!” I growled deep in my throat.

  The bird tightened her grip. “No.”

  “Will you get off if I find you something to eat?”

  The bird didn’t answer.

  “Will you?”

  “Look, Cat, I really am hungry. Can you get me a snack? I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Mama always brings a nice breakfast as soon as the sun comes up. But today she didn’t come back.”

  “What does she bring you?”

  “Well, Cat, she brings moths or caterpillars or—”

  “Listen, you. My name is Gray. Quit calling me Cat.”

  “Okay, Gray. She brings caterpillars and moths or grasshoppers.”

  “Look . . . uh . . . what do I call you?”

  “Mama called us all Birdies. You can call me whatever you want,” the bird chirped.

  “How about Pest?” I asked.

  “I don’t care. If you get me something to eat, you can call me anything you want. Just feed me!”

  “Okay . . . Pest is a little too much. How about Flea? I had a flea once, and he was as hard to get rid of as you are.”

  She cocked her head to one side.

  “Flea is a great name. Now, please get me something to eat.”

  “I can’t think with a bird on my head. Would you please move to my neck or back?” I flattened my body on the ground, hoping that the bird would move.

  “Okay. Just remember that you promised to feed me. You have to feed me or eat me, okay?” Flea moved to my neck, then to my back.

  I could still feel those tiny claws moving around, but somehow they didn’t seem to be as bad as when she was on my head.

  I tried to figure out how I was going to feed this little bird. Birds don’t eat mice. I saw plenty of moths flying around the yardlight at night, but they were always up high in the air. And caterpillars . . . well, just the thought of catching one of those wiggly, little crawly things . . .

  “Hey, Flea, do you like grasshoppers?” I asked, remembering the ones that I had seen this morning.

  “Mama brings them to us sometimes. They’re not my favorites, but I am hungry.”

  I walked toward the yard where I had seen the bugs. They didn’t seem to be as slow, now that the sun was up. I spotted a small, thin one on a blade of grass. I crouched and moved slowly toward it. Inching up, I watched it carefully. I pounced. Got it!

  I twisted my head around so the bird could take it. “Here, Flea.” I mumbled because I had a grasshopper hanging out the side of my mouth.

  Little bird feet moved toward my head. Suddenly they stopped.

  “I can’t reach it. I’ll fall off.”

  “So?” I mumbled. “If you fall off, get back on.”

  “No. You’ll have to throw it to me.”

  I too
k a deep breath and sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. I tossed the grasshopper over my shoulder. It landed in the grass. Flipping around, I pounced and grabbed it again. I tried the toss once more, but Flea missed. Being a determined cat, I tossed it over and over and over until it finally landed on my back.

  Flea gobbled it down. “I’m hungry,” she chirped as soon as she had eaten the small insect.

  I spent the next twenty minutes hopping around the yard like an idiot, pouncing on grasshoppers. I got better at tossing them onto my back. When Flea finally quit her demands for more food, we walked to the porch for a catnap.

  “Nice bird.” Callie grinned from her rocking chair.

  “Yeah, thanks. Got any ideas to help me?” I twitched my ears.

  Callie looked back sleepily. “Sure, you could have a morning snack.”

  I flopped down on the cool concrete. “You know I don’t eat birds.”

  Callie shrugged and closed her eyes. “I don’t have any other ideas, but you do look pretty silly with a bird on your back.”

  Flea was being very quiet. I could still feel her small claws. I looked around, trying to see what she was doing.

  The pesky bird had nestled down into my fur—and was fast asleep!

  It made me shudder. What was I going to do with a stupid bird on my back? Cats don’t go around with hitchhiking birds—it’s just not natural. I sighed, crossed my paws, and put my cheek on them. Maybe things would be better after a nice nap.

  CHAPTER 8

  After some time and practice, my tossing got much better. Flea’s catching improved, too. We could get that bird fed in just a few minutes. I had some trouble with my mouse-catching, though.

  As soon as I crept into the hayfield, and the mice spotted the bird on my back, they started laughing. Now, it should be easy to catch a giggling mouse. But somehow it was embarrassing to have your snacks laugh at you.

  “Flea, you are going to have to hide down in my fur,” I moaned. “These mice aren’t taking me seriously.”

  “Take your time, Gray. Look them in the eye. When they see that you mean business, they won’t laugh at you!” Good advice from a parasite bird.