“The Winners” were easy to spot because winning takes a toll and that high price was always on display. I would’ve felt sorry for them, each and every one, but… Well. I’d always been on the other side of that equation and being part of the losing “Winners” gang wasn’t an easy thing, either.
A cat was only born with a finite amount of pride. Once that was gone, it was visible in the slump of their shoulders and the hesitation in their gait.
Sad creatures.
I was well on my way to being one when I got out of the gang game altogether and found myself a sugar daddy of a human to take care of my needs.
In the time that had passed since I got out of that scene, it looked like Fat Bobby had gotten bigger off the proceeds of many a title fight. His belly swelled out and then draped forward over his feet as he sat upright. The swathe of white fur that covered his stomach was crisscrossed with a dozen long battle scars.
That he’d triumphed in so many fights was a testimony to the cat’s fortitude. Although it fitted right in with his current appearance, the slash that cut across his right-side eye, slicing deep into the soft folds on either side before piercing the cornea itself and turning it milky, wasn’t a battle scar. At least, not from an equal fight.
Fat Bobby had been born into a human home and lived there until he was near full-grown. The scar occurred when a disgruntled wife tossed a paring knife at her drunkard of a husband. She missed and hit the cat instead.
Fat Bobby left the so-called safety of that residence as quick as a sparrow will startle off a fencepost when a cat walks by.
To prove himself worthy of a position in “The Winners” gang, Fat Bobby had started to fight the smaller cats around town. Like many, I was barely more than a kitten when he launched himself at me one time outside the hot springs. I was sitting peacefully, waiting for the kitchen staff to dispose of their scraps in the cat-proof bin that it took me three minutes to work out how to open. I’d been keeping to myself, no bother to anyone, then this big lump pounced on me and taught me a lesson.
Don’t get into a fight with a cat who’s bigger than you.
That’s the golden nugget of wisdom I took away with me that day. Within a few minutes, I knew that I was bested. The choice remained to run or stay and fight literally to my death.
The world needed more me in it, not less. I ran.
All that flitted through my mind in the few seconds after I stared at the cat in my path. My shoulders slumped a little lower at the memory. Although I’ve overwritten it with a thousand others, all with me the most successful cat in the world, that one defeat was greater than their combined pulling power.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Fat Bobby growled at me. “Main Street from here down to the Hot Springs is my territory, and I don’t remember issuing you a pass.”
I sat back on my hind legs, mirroring his stance. In deference to his bulk and skill in battle, I bowed my head slightly.
At that concession, I also felt my shoulders slump a little lower. “I need to get to Old Man Jack’s dairy,” I said.
The truth was my best offering at that point. No use entering a lie into the equation when I might soon have to think for my life. Who needed that kind of pressure muddying up the situation?
“What do you want with Old Man Jack’s, Wilber?” Fat Bobby asked.
My eyes sparked at that, and I reared back, showing my teeth. They felt as sharp as needles, cutting like a blade.
“That’s not my name.”
“It’s the name I first knew you by,” he said. “So it’s what I’m going to call you.”
“I’m Thor!”
My human had given me the new title after watching a show on the television. He’d still been laughing at the program—for what reason, I don’t know—then turned to me. “That’s you,” my human had muttered in his strange voice. “I’ll call you Thor.”
Nobody had called me Wilber since that day. Nobody.
As though Fat Bobby knew the trail of my thoughts, his mouth smiled wider, showing his own impressive range of teeth. “Wilber!”
Was that where I wanted to spend my energy? I quickly decided against that particular battle and moved onto the next instead.
“Can I pass, please? I have business at the dairy.”
Fat Bobby wriggled in excitement and lay down, his bulging belly flat against the ground. “You don’t have business at the dairy,” he said with a confidence that made me wary. “Nobody has any business there today.”
“I do,” I insisted, though a shadow of doubt entered my voice. I cast another quick glance toward where the dairy would be, checking again for floods, locusts, fire, brimstone. Nope. The sky above was clear.
“Old Man Jack has shut up shop.” The glee in Fat Bobby’s eyes was terrible to behold. It was that dance of joy that told me straight away that what he said was the truth.
I mirrored Fat Bobby’s posture again, pressing against the ground, but this time it wasn’t deliberate. My legs just collapsed and spilled me out on the pavement in shock.
“Is he dead?”
At that, Fat Bobby craned back his neck and twisted his head from side to side, wriggling his upper body in a disturbing shuffle of happiness. “What would it matter to you if he was?”
“I told you, I have business there.”
Fat Bobby wrinkled up his nose, so his whiskers spiked out to either side and laid his ears flat back against his head. “And I told you, you ain’t. Where’s your human?”
“Not throwing knives at me,” I spat back, suddenly bold. “That’s where he is.”
The look of surprise that tore across Fat Bobby’s face soon turned to one of fury. I was ready for it, though. My legs had recovered from their collapse and were tensed, poised to spring away. If I could get Bobby to follow me as I ran, then I could lead him on a winding dance through the center of town that would deposit me straight outside the dairy.
Too late, I saw the flash of movement in the corner of my eye. While concentrating all my attention on Fat Bobby, I’d failed to realize that other members of his gang were gathering.
I’d just insulted their leader, and I was surrounded.
Chapter Five
No amount of tensed muscles would help me now. Fat Bobby stalked toward me, his movements so slow that each step heightened the suspense. Dread filled me, rising from my paws up through my stomach until it pounded a steady beat of doom inside my head.
Then a cat behind Fat Bobby was caught in a net. The swish of the device came out of nowhere, followed by a cry of triumph.
The council!
Cats tore in all directions, save for Fat Bobby and me. I couldn’t run until I knew that my path to the dairy was open. He wouldn’t run because to do so was to lose face.
More face than he’d already lost to knives and scarring.
I twisted to one side as I heard the slam of the council van door and the steady stride of footsteps returning. I paced in a semi-circle, hoping that Fat Bobby would fall into the trap and move in the opposite step to mine, getting out of the way.
Fat Bobby may have lard wrapped around his body, but he certainly didn’t have it squeezing in around his brain. The cat stayed staunch, planting his paws where he stood and readying his claws for battle.
I stopped, not wanting to get any closer to him. The footsteps of the council worker grew louder in my ears. I tilted my head forward, knowing that Fat Bobby would be aware of him, too.
We stared at each other, motionless, counting the footsteps until a hand would reach out to grab one of us by the scruff of the neck or scoop us up in a net.
“My human will see me out of there before nightfall,” I said in a low growl. I hoped those words were true. “If he gets you, good luck on ever seeing another sunrise.”
Fat Bobby scowled, his face distorting into a look of such hatred that my heart began to thump in my chest like a drum. “Your human won’t save you,” he said, ears flattened so far against his skull that it
seemed like they’d been torn off in battle. “Not when I come into your backyard at night and tear you apart.”
The footsteps were now so close that they filled up the world with their sound. Fat Bobby broke, turning and fleeing down the alleyway beside the Greek restaurant, his bulging belly swinging from side to side. A second after he ran, I pounced away too. There was a swish of air across the fur on my back as I scooted out of the circle of the council worker’s net.
I ran so fast that my feet nearly caught on fire.
When I turned the last corner to see Old Man Jack’s in front of me on the strip, I nearly cried with relief. Already, I was rewriting the story of my encounter with Fat Bobby. If I’d had food in my belly, I was convinced I could have torn him limb from limb.
As soon as I walked in through the door, Old Man Jack would recognize me. He’d have a can of my favorite food ready and open—totting it up on my human’s bill.
My hunger would be settled, and my confusion would be swept away.
My pace slowed down, letting the anticipation build like when I played with a field mouse. That sweet tension was one of the best feelings in the world!
On slow paws, I made my way up to the doorway of Old Man Jack’s dairy. The door was shut. Bright yellow tape was stretched across, sealing out the humans.
For the first time in my living memory, the dairy was closed for business.
For a long moment, I could only stare at the closed door with shock. I mean, I know that Fat Bobby had teased me with the same information just a short time before, but I hadn’t believed him. I just thought that was him being the same old bully he’d always been, trying to rile me up with nonsense so he could best me in a fight.
To find out that he’d spoken the truth was almost as shocking at the shut-up shop.
There had to be a reason for this crime against felinity. Old Man Jack was the one food seller in the entire township who had his head screwed on when it came to cats. Nobody else bothered, treating the whole business of feeding as though it was an afterthought.
Old Man Jack had saved me from a life of torture, attempting to eat small bowls of the inedible just to keep myself going.
I scooted further away as the bell on the shop next door tinkled. I’d been caught too close to the fish ‘n’ chip shop there when I was little, and I didn’t want to endure the results of the same mistake. That owner was a grumpy man, always spoiling for a fight. Something about spending long, hot days surrounded by the overwhelming scent of dead fish. Seemed like heaven to me, but it had been made very clear that it wasn’t to his liking.
Why would you spend your life doing something that you didn’t love?
I had no earthly idea, but I’d observed the same behavior in humans over and over again. Even with my chosen human, I could tell he didn’t enjoy whatever crazy thing it was that filled his day. Just from the tone of voice on the phone when work came calling long after the hour it should have stopped, I could comprehend that simple fact.
“Go and find something else that you enjoy!” I had shouted at him on occasions when it seemed that the very thought of going into work would make him cry.
On those occasions, he pretended not to understand me. I mean, he often does that, but for that particular shout, he seemed to willfully misunderstand, if you get my drift.
I may only be pint-sized compared to the humans who make their home here beside me, but I’ve never been stupid enough to let myself get into that situation. Even Fat Bobby knew enough to make himself scarce after the first knife was thrown.
Humans seemed to make a point of working all day doing something they hated then going home to somebody they disliked. Who knew why? I couldn’t fathom it, and the other cats in town didn’t understand either. At least my human had me waiting for him, but if I hadn’t made an effort to pick him out? I shudder to think.
All that thinking of people doing jobs they loved had my thoughts turning back to Old Man Jack. He fried chicken for humans and stocked cans of the best variety of food for cats. No doubt, even a dog could find something scrumptious to eat on his shelves after a hard day of butt-sniffing.
I had to find out what had happened to him and if there was something that I could do to help.
That wasn’t going to happen by sitting on the pavement outside Old Man Jack’s closed dairy.
I wandered around the back, passing the sublime scents of the coffee shop on the corner as I did so. Although I’d learned the hard way that the brown liquid didn’t taste nearly as good as it smelled, I could still appreciate it on that level.
In the alleyway behind the café was a dumpster, filled to the brim with empty coffee cups and the remnants of snacks. If I hadn’t filled up a bit on the cupcake, the lady offered so kindly earlier, I might have had a nosy in there. As it was, I could wait a little longer for some real food.
The brickwork of the buildings jutted out behind the dairy. It was easy to tell from the foundations that this had been the original shop and the others had sprung up later on either side. As part of the dairy, a four-room residence was affixed to the property. When you’re in demand that Old Man Jack was, it made sense that you’d live in easy reach, out the back.
I wandered up to the first door and pawed at it to see if it would open. No luck there, so I headed to the other side.
Bingo!
Although I knew from the odors emerging from the premises that there was no cat there now, at some point a cat had made this place its home. A tiny cat flap was carved into the wood and—unlike the technologically superior model that my house sported—there was no micro-chipping to keep me out.
I stuck my nose in with a bit of hesitation. It wouldn’t do anybody any good if I barged on in only to find that nobody was home.
I sniffed the air carefully, sorting out the layers of scents according to age and group. The most recent: human, greasy food, electricity, and desperation.
That last one struck me with such force that I jerked my head back out and tumbled back a step. It’d been a long time since I smelled that particular odor and the memories it triggered came flooding back.
A pile of newspapers filled my mind. Shredded to make a bed for a clutch of tiny kittens. Even though I’d been blind at the time, I could feel the texture, smell the newsprint and the ink. My small mews were answered by my siblings and when they grew too loud, by a warm nipple bursting with milk.
I shook my head, shaking the memory loose so it wouldn’t trouble me any longer. There would be nothing down that particular path that I wanted to visit. Memories that started with my original family, always ended in pain.
I glanced over my shoulder. If I wanted to, I could just get going. Be home in time for my human to turn up and never know a thing was wrong. There might be a raised eyebrow over the collar, but that was easily weathered in the scheme of things.
I could go where things were safe. Where the worst emotion permeating the air was mild frustration.
Instead, I gulped down a lungful of the fresh coffee-flavored breeze and headed inside.
Chapter Six
I found Old Man Jack almost immediately. A quick diversion led me to an overflowing wastebasket in his kitchen, but when I backed away from that to follow the trail of sorrow, I found my target in the lounge.
A television screen flickered in front of him and judging by the warmth of it, had been going for hours, if not days. A pile of paper-wrapped chips from the shop next door sat next to him. They’d been left uneaten for so long they’d grown cold.
I jumped up on the other end of the couch, muscles tense and eyeing him warily in case the good-natured fellow I knew of old had changed into a moody devil. At first, the man seemed not to notice my arrival. When he did, he turned a tear-streaked face my way, blank of expression as though devastation had wiped his face clean.
“What’re you doing here, cat?” he asked after a long pause. He shook his head. “Get back home, why don’t you? The shop’s closed. There’s nothing for you here.�
��
Instead of leaving, I let myself sit down gingerly on the sofa near him. Although I now believed that he wouldn’t harm me, I still kept my eyes glued to his face.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” He laughed and turned back to the screen. “That’s my Agnes.” He waved his hand at the streaky image. “Someone came and took her, right out of the shop while I was out doing a chore. I came back, and the shop was empty except for a pint of her blood.”
Old Man Jack drew in a ragged breath and let it flow out of him on a sob. He shook his head, slowly at first and then harder, with anger.
“Who would do such a thing, eh? It’s not even as though they’ve called through with a ransom demand.”
The tape playing on the machine stopped, and the whole contraption whirred as the man ordered it to rewind to the beginning. When he pressed play again, I moved my eyes from his face to the screen. I didn’t understand what was going on, but it must be related to the movie he was playing.
I jumped to my feet in surprise when I recognized the shop on the screen. After a second of staring, I jumped down from the sofa and made my way closer, putting my nose up to the image as though I could make it appear.
“Oh,” Old Man Jack said with a forlorn chuckle. “You recognize that, huh? Well, it’s not open, if that’s what you’re after. Won’t be neither, not until I get my Agnes back safe and sound.”
I was so close to the screen that the details in the image faded away into swirling dots that made my stomach feel funny. With a few steps back, they reassembled into a clear picture, and I lay down at Old Man Jack’s feet to watch the whole thing.
The clip was short enough. It showed a movie of the inside of Jack’s store, with Agnes serving behind the fried chicken counter. She had her hair tied back with a bandanna that on the screen was black and white—just like the rest of the picture—but in my memory was a riotous confusion of reds, yellows, and greens.
Food Bowl Mysteries Books 1-3 Page 3
