Highway Cats

by Janet Taylor Lisle

  Both cats awoke suddenly about mid-afternoon. All sound of machinery below had stopped. Silence broke like a long, peaceful sigh over the woods. In the distance, a hunting hawk’s triumphant shriek pierced the air. From a closer place came the rustle of a small animal scurrying through weeds. Then, just as Shredder’s ears had grown accustomed to the quiet, new vibrations rose from the ground. Footsteps. They moved steadily up the hill toward the graveyard. Someone was coming!

  Perhaps the kits heard it too. They chose this moment to at last wake up, to sniff, stretch, and look sleepily around.

  “Not now!” Shredder whispered to them. “Stay out of sight!”

  He pushed their fuzzy heads down.

  They didn’t understand and pushed back. More dangerously, they decided to become playful. They began to wrestle with each other and to leap.

  “Stop that!” Shredder hissed. “For your own good, lie down and be quiet.”

  It was no use. The kits were now wide awake, and like all young things cooped up for too long, they were surging with energy. The closer the footsteps came, the rowdier they became. They twisted, heaved and squirmed to get away. There was only one thing to do: like a mother hen on her nest, Shredder sat on them. And just in time!

  Three orange hard hats appeared not forty feet away, stamping through the grove of tall pine trees near the barn foundation. The cats hidden in the graveyard lowered their heads until only the glimmer of their eyes showed above the weeds. Not a tail twitched. Not a whisker flicked.

  The hard-hats paused and glanced around in surprise. An old foundation? A field of crumbling gravestones? One worker brought out a square of paper and consulted it with a frown.

  What a nuisance—no mention here of obstacles, his expression announced. And also: No time for this!

  He waved the others forward. The men went to work pounding red pegs in a wide path across the middle of the cemetery. A roar came from the bulldozer below as it began to grind uphill. The access road was going through!

  At this moment, a violent struggle erupted under Shredder. The kits churned furiously, mewed and squeaked, pushed and pried, and finally broke free by lifting the old cat’s body completely off the ground. Who would have guessed they had such strength? They bolted from underneath him into the sun and rolled in a silly tumble through the gravestones to the very feet of the hard-hats, who leaned over for a closer look.

  Shredder let out a howl, but it was too late. Hands were already reaching out, scooping up the tiny kittens, holding them high in the air. Beside him, Khalia Koo’s eyes flashed sapphire through the potato sack mesh. In a second, she had jumped off the wall and was racing tooth and claw to the rescue. As she ran, the potato sack flapped and crackled around her and began to drag along the ground. Khalia pulled at it desperately, but the sack snagged on the branches of a small bush. For a moment, she was trapped and struggled to break free. Then, with a frantic hiss, she threw the sack off her head. When she leapt forward again, the cats watching in the graveyard caught their breaths. Under the sun’s blazing spotlight, the ruined landscape of her face was plainly revealed. Ragged ridges and deep cracks, bald patches and fibrous scars were all that remained of her once-great beauty.

  To her credit, Khalia never broke stride. On she went, strong and unflinching, and this produced an unforeseen result. The hard-hats took one look at the hideous creature bounding toward them and dropped the kits. They staggered back and turned to run. At this, Shredder jumped out with a frightful snarl. In a flash, the other highway cats rose from their hiding places to follow him. A savage swarm of fur-coated monsters catapulted out of the graveyard on the heels of the hard-hats, who yelled in terror and fled down the hill toward the parking lot. Even this wasn’t far enough. On the men ran between the cars, to the Three-Minute Egg Roll, where they flung open the door and rushed inside.

  What a charge! What a chase! What an amazing turnabout! Never had any cat there felt such a rush of excitement. It was as if they’d been living undercover for years and were suddenly set free to show their real selves. No one wanted to stop! They might have hurtled on into the jaws of death if Khalia’s fierce command hadn’t brought them to a halt at the edge of the parking lot. Just in time, the cats came to their senses and veered back into the forest. They made for the shelter of the cemetery in a joyful surge.

  There was not one second to trade war stories. They were barely inside the old stone wall when footsteps could be heard coming up the hill again.

  “Take cover!” Khalia warned. A minute later, a much larger group of hard-hats entered the graveyard and began to look around for what had frightened the first bunch. Once again, the cats hid in the weeds. So well did they make themselves invisible (this time even the kits were quiet as mice) that not a whisker or a tail was seen between the gravestones, and the men went away looking mystified and uneasy.

  That afternoon, to the delight of the cats, the bulldozer at the bottom of the hill didn’t start up again.

  Potterberg Evening News

  HAUNTED CEMETERY HALTS ROAD CREW; OFFICIALS INVESTIGATE

  A crew of town road builders was reportedly set upon and terrorized this afternoon by unknown attackers in a long-forgotten cemetery along Interstate 95.

  The crew was clearing land for a new access road to serve the Potterberg Shopping Center, west of town, when the assault began. Some workers interviewed said whirling devils descended without warning and appeared to rise out of the graves themselves.

  “It was terrifying!” one worker reported. “We all ran for our lives. I believe the place is haunted!”

  Mayor J. M. Blunt, appearing before reporters with his chief of staff Milton Farley, urged the community to remain calm.

  “We are in the process of investigating this incident, which I’m sure has a logical explanation,” he said. “I encourage residents to go ahead with their shopping at the Potterberg Shopping Center.

  The area is being monitored for security. Police see no immediate danger to life, limb or the pursuit of business as usual. Shoppers are urged to contact authorities should they encounter any further disturbance.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The victory of the cats over the highway construction crew was so unexpected that at first no cat could believe it.

  Even after the second road crew had gone away, wary silence continued in the graveyard and all eyes remained watchful. At last, a few cats crept from their hiding places to sniff the air. Others slunk forward to peer down the hill. “All clear!” they signaled with a wave of tails. Then the rest straggled out to see for themselves and begin the task of smoothing their rumpled coats.

  The kits! Where are the kits? A cry went up. Everyone looked for those tiny balls of fur, those helpless babies whose strange appearance among them had so far brought such a change of fortune.

  A short distance away, the little ones were spotted with Shredder. They were in high spirits, scampering under the trees, leaping off the stone walls, clawing each other playfully and acting, as usual, like the most ordinary of kittens.

  No one looking at them would think they were at all special. No one would guess they could change anything, much less inspire a mass of down-and out cats to drive off an official road-building crew. For this, all believed, was what the kits had done. As dusk fell, the cats crept near the little ones and set up watch again. When Shredder mentioned that the kittens might be hungry, a dozen cats sped away to the Dumpsters to forage.

  Later, while the kits dined royally on shrimp rolls, other cats made them a mossy bed between some gravestones. Only after all three were tucked in and had fallen asleep did the highway cats close their own eyes and take some much needed rest for themselves.

  In this way, several days passed. No sound came from the clearing below. The road workers didn’t return, though at every hour they were expected and dreaded. The bulldozer remained where it was, looming silently over the chewed-up path of forest floor. The cats steered clear of it. Most hardly dared venture from the gr
aveyard at all. Only hunger could bring them down the hill to the Dumpsters. (The highway seemed too far to go.) A quick bite and they padded back to set up watch again, drawn by the kits’ mysterious sparkle.

  It was in the evening that this enchanting phenomenon was most visible. The velvety darkness of the little forest drew close around their glowing mound, magnifying it to a jewel-like brilliance. By this light, pine needles seemed to give off a new and intoxicating fragrance, the wind became musical, the air turned silvery with spring dew and a delicious peace descended. If this wasn’t magic, nothing was, and every cat there knew it. They had not properly appreciated the little wood before, they saw.

  They did now.

  Though most among them had never known the comfort of a family, they felt something like it as they bedded down together around the kittens in the graveyard and dropped off to sleep one by one.

  Curled on his side near the kits, gazing at a far-off sparkle of stars, Shredder also was swept by a deep contentment. For the first time in many years, he felt a sense of belonging that came close to how he’d felt in his lost home. The evening air seemed as soft here as it had been there. The sky was as wide and mysterious. Spring was coming, as it always would, dependable as the sun that rose every morning. How he loved this old earth for its ancient and beautiful ways.

  These happy thoughts were followed by such a pang of sadness, however, that the old cat laid his head abruptly on his paws.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Khalia Koo sat nearby, ever alert to his moods.

  “Nothing.”

  “I thought you might feel ill.” She came over to him. Through the murk of night, her profile was barely visible, and that was just as well. She had given up wearing her containers. What was the use of hiding her face when the others had seen it anyway? She was ugly. So be it. Somehow she must learn to live with her disgrace.

  “I was just realizing,” Shredder replied, “how all this will be gone soon: the trees, the smells, the wind, the darkness. I’m glad I won’t be around to miss them.”

  “Won’t be around?”

  “Time is passing. I’ve grown old.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Khalia snapped. “You mustn’t talk that way. There’s too much to do and…you’re more important than you think. To the kits, for instance, and all the cats here. And also…” She paused. “You’re important to me.”

  “To you?” Shredder’s head jerked up in surprise.

  “Yes.” She held her breath after this admission.

  Shredder peered at her doubtfully through the gloom. It was the last thing he could have expected. Now, looking at her, he realized something he must have known all along, even before she’d thrown away her containers.

  “Khalia,” he told her, “I hope you won’t mind if I say that I think you’re still very beautiful.”

  Against all her business principles, Khalia’s eyes welled up. Here were the words she’d been longing for. “Shredder…” she whispered, and couldn’t go on.

  It didn’t matter. They both understood. There was no need for either to pretend anymore. They’d seen through each other’s masks and poses. They were two of a kind, whatever happened next. And whatever happened next, they’d be in it together.

  For some time after this, they sat silent atop the cemetery wall while overhead the stars seemed to sparkle with applause.

  “I ss-saw the road builders today,” Khalia said, drawing herself up finally. “They were in the parking lot behind the shopping center unloading new machines. I think they’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Well, we bought ourselves a little time,” Shredder said. “It was nice while it lasted.”

  “Yes,” Khalia agreed, “and I’ve been thinking about that. How would it be if we bought ourselves a little more?”

  “A fine idea, but not likely,” Shredder said.

  Khalia’s tail twitched. “You mentioned, I think, that Murray the Claw owed you a favor? Well, I’ve requested one on your behalf.”

  “What could Murray possibly do for us? He’s down on the highway with Jolly Roger, gorging himself on road food.”

  “Exactly. In perfect position!”

  She’d spoken too loudly. Below her, the sleeping kits were disturbed. They lifted their tiny heads and looked directly at her, then they glanced around for Shredder. Discovering him right beside them, they reassembled in their luminous mound and fell back asleep.

  “What have you asked Murray to do?” Shredder whispered.

  “To bring us disguises!” Khalia’s intelligent eyes glowed with pleasure. “Containers of all kinds, soup to nuts, cereal to cottage cheese. They’re down there on the highway, you know, by the hundreds.”

  “But how…?”

  “Scare tactics, Shredder. It worked once, why not again?”

  She had no more time to explain because at that moment a bustle of movement interrupted their conversation. The overburdened shapes of two large cats appeared. They entered the graveyard through a break in the stone wall, dragging a mass of stuff behind them.

  “Murray the Claw, is that you?” Khalia hissed through the dark.

  “Yes, id’s me, who else?” came his nasty, nasal growl. “Where do you want us to dump this garbage?”

  SCENE: Potterberg city hall, high up in Mayor Blunt’s office. His Honor stands at the window gazing at a distant cluster of roofs: the shopping center. He frowns and waves a hand in the air as he speaks to Chief of Staff Farley.

  MAYOR BLUNT. So what’s the problem? There’s nothing up in that graveyard, is there?

  FARLEY. No, sir. Not that anyone can see. We’ve had a surveillance team watching it the past few days. All they’ve observed is a few stray cats coming and going.

  MAYOR. Well, let’s get a move on with this road project! Time is running out. The election is in a couple of weeks!

  FARLEY. Yes, sir. I’ve ordered the road crew to start up again. They should be going in this morning. They’re a little nervous, some of them, after that business with the ghosts or whatever.

  MAYOR. Ghosts! Bah! What nonsense.

  FARLEY. Right. Absolutely. But (worriedly) there have been suggestions put forward that maybe we should be thinking twice about—

  MAYOR. (Cutting Farley off) Building a road through a graveyard? Hogwash! I didn’t hear any protests when we laid out our plans. Nobody’s cared about that patch of brambles out there for fifty years! It’s the scaredy-cat road crew. Fire them! Get somebody in there that can do the job.

  FARLEY. Yes, sir! I mean, no, sir, this crew will do it. They’re starting this morning, like I said. The road is going through. We won’t have any more trouble.

  MAYOR. Good work, Farley. You’re my man. Now on to more important matters. Have my campaign signs been put up yet? “Blunt Is Better!” “Blunt Is Blunter!” “Blunt Gets the Point!” Which slogan carries my message best?

  FARLEY. (Looking tired.) All of them—you’re a winner for sure.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The sun had barely risen the next day when the startup roar of an engine ripped like an explosion into the peaceful hush of the little forest. It was joined by a second roar and a third until the air itself seemed to scream in pain.

  The noise came from the shopping center parking lot. A small army of men had gathered there during the predawn hours and was now ready, with a battery of earthmoving machines, to advance on the woods. The men’s boots were laced, their hard hats were strapped down and their faces were grim, as if they really were soldiers about to enter a combat zone.

  Khalia Koo, watching from the top of one of the tall pine trees that grew near the cemetery, smiled her knowing Siamese smile. The hard-hats were scared of the forest. This boded well for her plan. She signaled with her tail to Shredder below: They’re coming!

  “As if that weren’t obvious!” growled Murray the Claw to Jolly Roger. The two cats were huddled together behind the cemetery’s stone wall, keeping a cynical eye on the proceedings.

  “
It’s sad, sad how Khalia and Shredder have got everyone believing they can beat the odds,” Murray went on. “Rejects conquer the world! Highway trash fights back! Who would you put your bet on?”

  Jolly Roger grinned his gruesome grin.

  Around them, an extraordinary scene was taking place. Several dozen highway cats were attempting to rig themselves out in what appeared to be, in fact, rubbish. Tissue boxes and cracker boxes, chip bags and burger wrappers, fried chicken tubs and paper cups, takeout food containers and instant cocoa packets were just a few of the items that were being snatched up by the cats and tried on for size. They came from the pile of trash that Murray and Roger had brought up from the highway the night before.

  More than a few cats had already chosen their getups. They were hard at work gnawing eyeholes, a tricky task requiring concentration (and a lot of spitting so as not to swallow) to get the spacing right. Khalia, an expert at this, had shown them the technique. She herself wasn’t preparing a disguise.

  “I am frightful enough already,” she pointed out. No cat disputed her. She was outstandingly horrible to look at even at that moment as she climbed down the pine tree to stand among them. One or two cats backed away, still shocked by her appearance, but a larger number crowded around to hear what she had to say.

  “Our plan of attack is as follows,” she began. “We’ll lie low until the road crew is just outside the graveyard. When I give the first signal, it would be best if everyone could howl. Can you do that?”

  A few of the younger cats, delighted by this invitation, began to yawp and meowl in excruciating tones at the top of their lungs. The effect was ghastly. The older cats flattened their ears.

  “Excellent! That’s just what we want,” Khalia told them. “Much more of the same from you all, please.”