The Flying Flea, Callie and Me

by Bill Wallace

  Flea tucked herself into my fur and the chase began. I looked those mice in the eye, and sure enough it was no time at all before I had a trophy to take back to the house.

  As we walked past the woodpile, Flea began grabbing and tugging on my fur.

  “Gray! There’s the snake!” she cheeped.

  “So?”

  I looked at the woodpile. Curled up near the bottom of the tree was the snake. He raised his head. Clinging to my hair, Flea began to bounce up and down.

  “Hurry, Gray! Get away!”

  “That’s just Bullsnake.”

  “But Mama warned me about Snake. She said that snakes are as bad as cats when it comes to eating baby birds.”

  I rolled my eyes to look up at her. “I thought you wanted to be eaten. That’s what you kept saying yesterday—‘Eat me!’ ”

  “That was yesterday when I was starving. Now that my tummy is full, I don’t want to be eaten.”

  I started to explain to Flea that Bullsnake wouldn’t bother her. All he wanted was to be left alone, but Snake had already disappeared under the logs, so I didn’t bother.

  “Let’s see what’s going on at the house.”

  I hurried to the porch and put my trophy on the mat. When I jumped up onto the rocking chair, Callie looked up at us from the concrete.

  “I see that you still have your little snack on your back,” she purred.

  “We’ve been hunting for mice.”

  “It won’t be long before it gets cold.” Callie winced when she stretched out her paws.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Arthritis.” Callie flinched again when she arched her back. “My old bones and joints get kind of sore when a cold front is coming in.”

  I glanced at the front door. “Does the Mama let you in when it gets cold?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think she’ll let me come in, too?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  I smiled. “No problem. I will enjoy spending more time in the house. It makes me almost look forward to winter.”

  “But you do have one little problem,” Callie said. She didn’t look me in the eye when she spoke. I felt my eyes roll upward, trying to follow her glance.

  “Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. Do you think the Mama will let her come in, too?”

  Callie shot me a disgusted look.

  “How about the barn?” I suggested.

  Callie rolled her eyes. “The rats would love that.”

  My whiskers twitched. “Surely we can find somewhere warm for her to spend the winter.”

  Callie rested her chin on her crossed paws. “Even if you could find a warm place for her to spend the winter, what would she eat? There aren’t any bugs. Even the earthworms go deep into the ground. Your bird cannot spend the winter here. Birds fly south for the winter. That’s just how things are.”

  I twisted my neck as far as I could. Flea was nestled down into my fur and fast asleep. “But she can’t fly!” I whispered.

  “Is she hurt?” Callie asked.

  “No.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “No. I think she’s just scared. She fell out of her nest when she was very little, and ever since she’s been afraid of heights. Her little wings are very strong. I can feel them when she flaps on my back.”

  Callie sighed and shook her head.

  “Your little Flea must fly south for the winter. If she won’t fly, then she will die.”

  “What can I do? I don’t know how to fly.”

  Callie shrugged. Then, she closed her eyes and went to sleep. But I couldn’t go to sleep. All I could do was lie there and wonder how I could help this pesky Flea.

  • • •

  We spent the afternoon with a flying lesson. I ran across the yard. Flea flapped her little wings. She hopped up and tried to catch the wind, but each time Flea fell back on me. Hop and flutter, Flea tried again and again to fly. I flattened my ears against my head and ran as fast as I could. We raced up and down the yard for hours. Exhausted, I tumbled to the concrete porch. We’d try again after a nap.

  • • •

  A scratching on my back woke me up—Flea was pecking and grabbing at me.

  “Gray! Look out! There’s that snake again.”

  I opened my eyes wide. The brown snake was crawling across the yard toward the woodpile. He stopped and looked back at us. I jumped up on the rocking chair to get a better view. Bullsnake gave a quiet hiss and crawled on toward the woodpile.

  “He’s trying to get me! Mama warned me about snakes,” the little bird cheeped.

  “You’re safe with me. I’ll take care of you,” I meowed.

  “I’ve got to learn how to fly . . . quick!” Flea sounded desperate.

  • • •

  We spent another hour fluttering and hopping, running and flapping before we finally went to the field for a quick snack. I caught a few grasshoppers for Flea and a couple of field mice for me. I even took a trophy home to put by the front door.

  The House Mama found it as soon as she stepped out. Now, she always looked at the mat before walking out onto the porch—especially if she didn’t have her shoes on. When she came outside, I flattened myself against the wall. If Mama saw me, she might try to give me a tummy rub. That would be very nice, but I was afraid that she would toss Flea into the yard like she did my trophies. So I tried to disappear into the brick behind the swing.

  Mama called Callie and finally found her behind the rosebushes. She picked her up carefully and carried her inside. Flea was safe for today.

  “Hey, Flea. We have to find some way for you to get off my back for just a little while. I need a good tummy rub from the Mama.” I suddenly missed those rubs that I got from her.

  “Find me some dirt to dig in, Gray,” Flea chirped. “I could use a nice juicy worm. Those grasshoppers are very dry.”

  I went to the flower garden in the backyard where I had seen the dog digging. The dirt was soft there. Muffy was sound asleep, in a patch of sunlight, at the far side of the yard.

  “I’m not worried about sliding off, but how will I get back on?” Flea moaned.

  “We’ll come up with something.”

  Carefully the bird let go and plopped quietly onto the soft dirt.

  “I’ll be right back, Flea.”

  I shook my whole body as I walked back to the front porch. “MEOW!” I yelled at the top of my voice. I had to get my tummy rubbed. “MEOOW!” I repeated. Finally I reached my front paws up to the middle of the screen door. I stretched out my claws and scratched the screen. I made as much noise as I could. It didn’t take long before I heard the Mama coming.

  “Gray, where have you been?” Mama reached down and picked me up. She sat on the swing and petted me. She started with my ears and chin, then my back and tail. I was feeling quite sleepy by the time she finished with my tummy.

  “It’s late, Gray. I have to go in.” She set me down on the rocker and walked to the door. With a gentle smile she closed it behind her.

  Suddenly I remembered Flea and hurried to the backyard.

  The old dog was still asleep in the far corner.

  “What took you so long, Gray? I’ve been finished with my hunt for a long time.”

  “Sorry, Mama’s tummy rub felt better than I thought. I had to let her finish.” Just remembering made me purr.

  “Get me out of here, that snake could show up anytime. He might be able to smell my fluffy feathers.”

  I flattened myself down on the dirt. Flea took a big hop and fluttered her wings. I could feel her sharp claws grab my fur.

  • • •

  Hop and flutter. Hop and flutter. Each day Flea got better. She really improved when I stopped catching her food. I was totally sneaky about the way I did it, too.

  When it came to catching grasshoppers, I pretended to get clumsy. I kept pouncing, only I would miss every time. Finally Flea told me to get close to the grasshoppers, then stop. She could jump on them. Each time I stoppe
d farther from the grasshoppers. It wasn’t long before Flea would swoop from my back and grab one. As soon as she gobbled it down, she hopped, gave a flap of her wings, and zoomed back to my head.

  Flea really could fly. She just didn’t know it—not yet.

  CHAPTER 9

  When Flea was asleep on my back, Callie jumped down from the rocking chair and eased over beside me. “How are the flying lessons coming?” she whispered.

  “She’s doing great!” I was careful not to move or disturb Flea. “She’s flying and catching grasshoppers now. The only trouble is, she never gets more than six inches off the ground.”

  Callie glanced at my back. “Have you tried putting her up in the tree?”

  “Tried that day before yesterday. She wouldn’t leave the branch.”

  “Did you try pushing her off? I’ve seen other mama birds do that with their babies.”

  “Yes.” I nodded, then gave a disgusted sigh. “She just hung on, and when we got to the tip of the branch, she ended up holding on to the bottom of the limb. She looked like a stupid bat hanging upside-down. She really can fly. She just won’t.”

  Callie wiggled her whiskers. “I believe you. I was watching you two the other day, when she was chasing the grasshoppers. She’s really pretty good. Maybe she just needs more confidence.”

  I frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “What does what mean?”

  “That confidence thing. What is it?”

  “Well,” Callie began as she nibbled on her bottom lip. “You know that Flea can fly. I know that Flea can fly. Flea just doesn’t know that she can fly. She still thinks she is going to fall and hurt herself like she did when she fell out of her nest. We have to figure out some way to make her believe in herself.”

  “But how?”

  For the next couple of days that was all Callie and I thought about. Flea was a bird who could fly but wouldn’t fly more than six inches off the ground. The two of us had to figure some way to make Flea believe in herself. No matter how hard we tried, we just couldn’t figure out how to do it. Until . . .

  • • •

  “You’re getting too close to the woodpile!” Flea dug her little bird claws into my back and started bouncing up and down. Then she scampered to my head and began bouncing up and down there.

  I went way around the woodpile. Callie was smiling when we got to the porch. “Gray, why don’t you take Flea and put her in the redbud tree on the other side of the house. The wind is blowing from that direction. Maybe if she feels the air flowing under her wings, she will try to fly.”

  “No way!” Flea clutched tighter. “I’ll sit in the tree, but there is no way that I will jump out of something that high.”

  “I told you so,” I whispered to Callie.

  “Try it anyway,” Callie said. Then she gave me a quick wink.

  I climbed halfway up the redbud tree and made Flea get off. I left her there, then went to see what Callie was up to. She was at the far end of the sidewalk when I got back. With a jerk of her head she motioned me to follow her.

  “What’s going on?” I asked when I caught up with her. “Why are we headed to the woodpile?”

  “I’ve got an idea how we can get Flea to fly. But we’re going to need Bullsnake’s help. It’s not going to be easy.”

  When we got to the woodpile, we looked underneath the logs. We looked between the logs. It was dark and hard to see, but there was no sign of Bullsnake. Suddenly, from a dark shadow, we heard a soft hiss.

  “Leave me alone.”

  Callie’s tail jerked. “Bullsnake, is that you?”

  “Leave me alone,” he hissed again.

  “We need your help with Gray’s little bird. Please.”

  “No! Leave me alone. Get away from my woodpile before the people see you.”

  I tapped Callie with my paw. “What’s the deal with the people seeing us?” Why should that bother him?

  “If the people see you hanging around my woodpile”—it was the hiss who answered instead of Callie—“they might find out that I am here. Please go away. Leave me alone.”

  I leaned close to Callie’s ear. “Why doesn’t he want the people to know?” I whispered very softly so that Snake wouldn’t hear.

  “Most snakes are okay,” Callie explained. “They don’t bother people or even us cats. They eat mice. In fact, if it wasn’t for Bullsnake, I would never have been able to keep up with the mouse problem around here. There would be so many mice, there wouldn’t be room for the people.

  “But some snakes are very, very bad. They are poisonous. If they bite a cat, they can kill. If they bite people, they can make them very sick. Trouble is, most House People don’t know the difference between good snakes and bad snakes. They think all snakes are bad. When they find one, they look around for a big rock or a hoe so that they get rid of them. I don’t blame Snake for being afraid.”

  Callie leaned down to peek under the logs. “We really do need your help. Pretty please!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  I nudged Callie with my shoulder, smiled, and licked my whiskers.

  “Mr. Bullsnake,” I began politely, “we will leave you alone if you promise to help us. But if you don’t help us we’ll stay here all day. Callie will meow. I’ll climb on top of the woodpile. We will both make so much racket, the House People will have to notice us. When they come out we will show them where you live!”

  Callie winked at me and nodded her head. She leaned down to peek under the woodpile. “If you help us, we’ll leave you alone. We promise.”

  A forked tongue stuck out at us. Slowly and carefully a brown head appeared from under the logs.

  “You promise that you’ll leave me alone?”

  “We promise!” both of us answered at the same time.

  “I don’t like it, but all right. What do I have to do?”

  Callie sat down and wrapped her tail around her legs. “Okay, Snake, here’s the plan. . . .”

  CHAPTER 10

  The next morning Flea and I headed out early for the field. There were a lot of mice scurrying around, but there weren’t many grasshoppers. I guess, like Callie, they could tell that another big cold front was on the way. It took a long time to get Flea’s breakfast, but it was easy for me to find a trophy for the mat.

  I told Flea that I wanted to see if Mama would give me a tummy rub. I took her to a limb on the pecan tree and told her to wait there until Mama came out.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked Callie while we waited on the porch.

  “I’m sure. Saturday is always grocery day. We have to wait until she leaves, otherwise it wouldn’t be fair to Bullsnake.”

  It seemed as if we waited forever. At long last Mama came out of the front door. When she saw the trophy on the mat, she patted me on the head and said, “Good kitty.” Then, as usual, she said, “Yuck,” and threw my trophy into the yard. Just like Callie promised, Mama went down the sidewalk and got into her car. It groaned and growled when she tried to start it. Finally, after three times, it roared, sputtered, and chugged down the driveway.

  Once she was gone, I glanced at Callie. She nodded.

  I made a big show when I stood up, stretched, and arched my back. “I feel kind of stiff this morning,” I meowed loudly.

  “Sounds like you need a little catnap in the sun,” Callie said, making sure that her meow was loud, too.

  “Good idea.”

  I strolled out to the driveway and found a nice spot where there was plenty of sunshine. I curled up for my nap. It was really hard to keep my eyes closed. But no matter how badly I wanted to peek, I forced them to stay shut.

  A scraping sound on the gravel came to my ears. The closer it got, the harder I squeezed my eyes.

  “Gray. Gray! Wake up!” The loud, shrill, frightened shriek came from the pecan tree.

  I didn’t move. I didn’t even twitch my whiskers or my tail. The scraping sound came closer. My eyes were closed tight. The noise from the little rocks
clicking together stopped.

  “This is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard,” a voice hissed. “It will never work.”

  “Quit griping,” I whispered back. I struggled to stay still. “Just do it.”

  “Gray! Wake up quick!” This time the chirping that came from the tree was a scream.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Ready.”

  “Gray! Run! Get up! You have to get away!” Flea chirped as loud as she could.

  With my eyes still closed, I raised my head and yawned. I opened my eyes. The second I opened them, I forced my eyes as big and round as I could. That’s the way we had planned it—only my eyes got a lot bigger than I ever imagined.

  All coiled up, Bullsnake looked HUGE! I sprang to my feet. Every muscle inside of me wanted to run. Even standing, Bullsnake’s head still towered above me. I took a step backward. His forked tongue darted out. I backed away once more. Quicker than I could blink, Bullsnake scooted closer. He was right in my face.

  This time I sort of leaped back. But when I did, I bumped into something—the woodpile. Bullsnake darted toward me again. He opened his mouth. The loud hiss that came out was ugly and frightening. I felt my fur fuzz. He dug the tip of his tail down into the gravel, and shook it as fast and hard as he could. Suddenly I realized that I really was scared.

  I hissed back at him. I raised a paw. My claws sprang out.

  “Watch it,” he hissed. “You’re supposed to look scared, remember.”

  I blinked a couple of times and got myself under control. Crouching low, I pushed back against the woodpile.

  “Help me, help me!” I cried.

  Nothing happened. Snake hissed again. I pushed myself harder against the logs.

  “Help me! Snake has me trapped. He’s going to bite me.”

  Still, nothing.

  Bullsnake took a deep breath. It made him look even bigger than before. He raised his head higher. He opened his mouth wider.

  “I’ve got you now, Gray Cat! I’m going to eat you for breakfast.”

  Zoom! From the tree came the flutter of wings.

  Thunk! Flea smacked into the side of Bullsnake’s head.