The boss man snatched it off him, suddenly discovering that his limbs could carry one more thing.
We trooped downstairs, me leading the way to clear it of impediments. While the two of them loaded up a gleaming black sedan, I sat close to the roadside, wondering how long it would take for Philip to arrange a fresh delivery to Old Man Jack’s including my tea.
“There you go!” a voice suddenly exclaimed while a hand grabbed the scruff of my neck. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
I turned my head to see the half-glaring half-dancing eyes of the bus driver as he dangled me in the air.
Chapter Eight
“Hey, what are you doing with my cat?” Philip asked, dropping the last of the boss man’s belongings in the trunk of the sedan in one bunch and hurrying over.
“Your cat?” The bus driver’s face crumpled in confusion. “Are you certain? I was pretty sure this was the fellow who stowed away on my bus earlier today.”
“Stowed away?” Philip looked at me with raised eyebrows. “This guy seems to get into all kinds of adventures, I guess.”
The bus driver was still waiting for an answer, and Philip slowly shook his head. “No, he’s not actually mine. It was just that he turned up out of nowhere today and helped me out. Somewhere along the way, I just got used to the thought that he’d be coming home with me.”
“Hey, boss!”
The voice called Philip’s attention away, and he smiled broadly as he appeared to recognize the man headed his way.
“Gary!” Philip pulled him into a man hug. “How did you know to come in so quickly?”
Gary tipped a big wink in Philip’s direction. “I have my ways and means. Heard that you might need a new set of drivers on tonight.”
“That would be great. Can you do a run up to Hanmer Springs tonight? I’ve got some overdue items, and I wanted someone to check in on Agnes and make sure that’s she’s okay.”
“It’d be my pleasure,” Gary said, then turned to the bus driver and me. “What’s going on here, then? You moving into selling pets?”
“You’re headed to Christchurch?” The bus driver lowered his arm and cradled me to his chest instead. “I think that’s where this cat comes from. I’m not going back there until tomorrow morning, but would you be able to drop this guy at the bus station?”
Gary turned to Philip who nodded. “It appears that I can do that. Is he friendly, or should I wear my claw-proof gloves?”
“He’s friendly,” both Philip and the bus driver said in tandem, then burst into laughter.
Dusk was softening the harsh light of the day as the delivery van crossed the bridge on the way to Hanmer Springs. My heart filled with happiness—a mix of anticipation at my homecoming along with the satisfaction of having finally sorted out my food.
I didn’t like to weigh the joy I’d feel at seeing my human against the fulfillment of a good meal, but they tussled around inside my mind, anyway. I decided as the delivery van pulled up outside Old Man Jack’s dairy that they could use up as much of my affection as they liked—I had room enough for both.
Agnes gave a squeal of recognition as I climbed down from the passenger seat. She reached out to tickle me under the chin while Old Man Jack had to settle for second place in her attention.
“Lucky that you found him,” Old Man Jack told Gary. “If he hadn’t turned up I think his owner would have gone quite mad. He’s already stopped by twice tonight, checking to see if this was where he’d ended up. I’ll have to give him a call as soon as we’re settled up here.”
Gary gave a deep chuckle and shook his head. “I found him in Christchurch if you can believe it. Or rather my boss did, and he handed the cat on to me. You know his owner well, then?”
“I do of late,” Old Man Jack said with a laugh. “Although if it hadn’t been for the past few days, I’d have placed him level with everyone else in town. He has been making a nuisance of himself lately.”
The words were said with such affection, that it was impossible to take them at face value.
“I hope you’ve got a nice supply of ‘Divine Dining’ cans in the back of that van, young man.” Old Man Jack slapped Gary on the shoulder. “Otherwise, this cat is not going to be happy at all.”
The sudden stillness that fell over Gary’s former jocular expression signaled immediately that something was wrong.
“What is it?” Agnes asked. “Don’t you have our order?”
“I do,” Gary said. “But not that part of it, sorry. It’s the only thing that’s on the list that we couldn’t fulfill. I’m afraid that the manufacturer’s shut down at the moment. Some violation or other. They reckon it’ll be six to eight weeks before they can deliver again.”
I was sure that Philip back in Christchurch could have heard my resulting howl.
Chapter One
The task ahead of me seemed insurmountable. Late that night, long after my human had picked me up from Old Man Jack’s, I was disconsolate. I would never again taste the sweet flecks of gently roasted lamb, suspended in a bone marrow jelly. Instead, the mouth-fouling slop that other companies pushed out as ‘food’ would be the only option.
Sleep stayed in the corner, banished there by grief and hunger. It would have no claim on my consciousness tonight.
Even if I’d wanted to do something, mount an attack in the name of all that was righteous, I didn’t have the strength. Energy needed a top up and the smatterings of food that a willing public had bestowed on me in the last two days just wouldn’t cut it. Not for such a fine figure of a cat as I was. Cupcakes and prawn chips were tasty snacks, but they couldn’t fill the space of a grown cats’ meal.
The conversations that I’d overheard at the distribution yard filled me with a sense of hopelessness. I was one cat. Much as I wanted to control the world, even my ego had to concede that most things were outside of my ability to affect.
From the thugs who owned One-Eared Whitey, I knew that a millionaire’s wife would be leaned on. The graphic CCTV footage of Agnes’s attack played in my mind.
The violence shown there would be repeated—this time, on the intended target and perhaps to more effect. Old Man Jack’s Agnes was a feisty thing, capable of holding her own. A softer woman might succumb to those beasts. A more refined soul might be lost after the first brutal swing of the thugs’ fists.
The fat boss had also said that when the correct target wasn’t identified, he’d had to send in a false health and safety inspector to shut the factory down. The same building that somehow mixed industry and magic to produce my favorite food had been felled by a fake report. Shut down on the whim of a man who couldn’t even do up the middle button on his sports jacket.
How could a cat compete?
The moon shone in through the lounge window, and I sprang onto the back of the sofa to stare out at the stars. Night creatures swept across the sky, intent on their business. If I were still loose on the streets, I’d join them, hunting in the crepuscular hours when prey was distracted by other things.
There was no reason not to join them. The collar with its warning bell had still not been replaced around my neck. I snuck out through my small door, careful not to set it swinging hard enough to wake my human.
The poor man had seen better days as well. I fancied that some of the worry lines wrinkling his brow were due to me.
Outside, I followed the snorting and snuffling of a hedgehog, stealing a fat bug before it could disappear into its mouth. That wasn’t even a mouthful. A tasty amuse-bouche, rather than an entrée.
Feeling the small burst of energy from the bite, I sprang up onto the fence and ran along its edge. My balance was improving by leaps and bounds. A skill lost over the long months of disuse reemerged now that I’d rekindled the need.
From that vantage point, I could see much of the immediate neighborhood. Other cats were out prowling—the soft forms of house cats, pursuing a natural instinct that didn’t need to be sated, and the harder, sharper forms of the fer
al population, who hunted because that was the only way to fulfill their needs.
The sound of a cat scratching at the gate caught my attention. I nimbly trotted along the top of the fence until I’d be in the line of sight for whoever was there. After that, I leaped down and used the foliage as a shield while I moved still closer.
The scratching was weird. Not the sound of a cat trying to get into something or sharpening their claws ready for battle. This was a small sound. I could almost have sworn that it was explicitly designed to draw attention, without ‘drawing attention,’ if you know what I mean.
I saw the scar before anything else. Its rough edges caught the moonlight, so the hairless lumpen flesh appeared carved out of silver. From the ear down across the eye, then trailing away into the tip of the cat’s nose.
Fat Bobby. Sitting large as life at my gate, trying to attract just me, nobody else.
Fat Bobby, a former sworn enemy, who I’d worked with yesterday closer than any friend.
Despite all my misgivings, a thrill ran down the length of my back. This signaled an adventure.
“What do you want?” I didn’t mean to sound harsh, but any politer and Fat Bobby would think he had the best of me from the start.
This was my home turf. I ruled here. If he needed something from me—and I couldn’t think of another reason for him to drop by—then he could be the one to bow and plead for my help.
Well, not quite that far. But Fat Bobby did nod toward me in acknowledgment before he began, and that was almost as good.
“You got any more of that food indoors?”
I was taken aback. I’d given Fat Bobby five cans just a half-day ago. Five! Even for a greedy guts like him, that should have lasted a wee while longer.
“I’ve got more. What do you have for me?”
Fat Bobby sniffed and looked over his shoulder, scanning the street behind him for any witness to our meeting. Nothing stirred except a morepork flying high above, searching for smaller prey than us.
“We’ve got a problem in town. More and more of you house cats are spreading beyond your domain.” Growing anger lurked beneath the surface desperation in Fat Bobby’s voice.
Change isn’t something that any cat seeks out. I felt for my old enemy, I really did. Even if things hadn’t altered so drastically for me lately—giving me far too stark a lesson—I would have held a measure of sympathy.
“The pampered brigade has started to eat into my food sources. I’m getting close to the wire here, and it’s not just me. I had to share the rest of those cans. There’re fellows in town can barely walk.”
I stared at Fat Bobby in horror. For a cat to be in such a terrible way that this selfish monster would readily share his own food supply, well… That didn’t bode well for anybody. The desperation in Fat Bobby’s eyes lit a spark that jumped to me, setting off a trail of fire all the way down into my belly. All the cats—street and house—fighting over an ever-dwindling food supply could only end in disaster. Fellow sufferers would grow careless and end up feeding the council’s coffers.
The very balance of nature in our township would be destroyed.
“There’s a factory,” I said, a new fear evicting caution from me like it hadn’t paid rent in three months. “It’s been closed down. That’s why the house cats are expanding their territory. If we can get it reopened, then it’ll solve your problems.” I waited a second before admitting, “It’ll solve all of mine, as well.”
Fat Bobby eyed me as though I was an empty food wrapper. “What do you think we are? Supercats? How do you expect us to get a factory up and running?”
I didn’t know. That was the enormous obstacle that I kept tripping over. Even if I now understood the root cause, how did that help unless I had a plan to put it right?
Still, whenever I’d been on the spot in the past few days, the ideas had come along when they were needed. I’d showed some of my cards to Fat Bobby—that didn’t mean I had to show him the whole hand.
“You leave that to me,” I said. “What I need is numbers. Pull together all the cats you can and meet me in the morning. We’ll mount our attack then.”
Fat Bobby didn’t look convinced, but he was the one who’d come to me.
“When this mess is sorted, once and for all, you’ll have more food than you can handle.” I stretched my paws high into the air in demonstration. “There’s a whole factory stuffed full of it for the taking. Isn’t that worth a few hours’ work? Unless you’re not up to it.”
I sniffed and tilted my head up, shifting my eye line to the skies. The expression of disdain tipped Fat Bobby over the edge, right where I needed him. “Fine. I’ll get the numbers. You can count on everyone in the winner’s gang at your service.”
“That’s not enough.” I moved my eyes back to a level with Fat Bobby. “I need everyone you can get ahold of. This isn’t a time to take sides—we’re all going to be affected if this continues. We all need to sort it.”
Fat Bobby glared at me for such a long moment that I thought I’d finally lost him. Then he nodded so deeply that it almost looked like a bow.
“Okay. Nonpartisan, then. I’ll have the troops ready for your command at dawn.” He stalked a few steps away from the front gate, then turned around to look back at me. “You’d better have a good plan by then, Wilber. Otherwise, you’ll be our only focus for attack.”
I turned my back, tail straight up in the air. A show of confidence that got Fat Bobby trotting off to perform his assigned task.
Sure, I’d have a plan. Just as soon as I thought of one.
Chapter Two
After Fat Bobby ran off to raise the call to arms, I followed in his footsteps. Not to enter the township and gather troops, but to find Bobby’s boss and talk to him.
One-Eared Whitey was the key to some of this mess. Without his involvement, there wouldn’t be much use in the rest of us trying.
Whitey’s owners were the ones dispatched by the big boss to rough up Agnes. That they’d chosen the wrong target the first time didn’t mean they’d hesitate for a second before doing his bidding once again. Now, they had something more to prove.
When the two thugs had picked on Agnes at the dairy rather than the Agnes married to the cat food millionaire, they’d overstepped the mark. Instead of roughing her up and putting the fear of God into her, one of the men had kidnapped her, and the other had hidden her in his cellar.
If that was what they did on the first try, it didn’t bode well for wealthy Agnes.
One-Eared Whitey was already gunning for me, but I was sure that if I had the chance to explain things logically, he would follow the right path. Either that or he’d tear me limb from limb and food would cease to be my chief worry.
Whitey’s house was a long way from mine. Halfway there, I had to stop and rest—my breathing already turning to panting. The energy loss from just a couple of days of cut rations was more terrible than I would have thought. If I couldn’t sort things out today, I’d have to conserve my energy just to eke out a few more days.
What Fat Bobby had told me was worrying and pleasing at the same time. If it was just me trying to change things back to how they had been, the trouble might be insurmountable. With many paws marching in step toward the same goal, we could have a shot.
I passed through a shortcut leading behind the main row of shops in the town center. Back here, the bins were overflowing with close to a weeks’ worth of waste. Instead of hearing rats scurrying away from my movements, I heard nothing.
No rats meant that cats had been hard at work in this area. Not for cleanliness—though that would come as a consequence—but for a good meal.
If rats were so scared of being caught and eaten that they no longer ventured out to suckle free food from the dumpsters’ putrefying contents, then Bobby was right. The very balance of nature itself was being disturbed.
Whatever the big boss that I’d seen at the distribution center wanted, I could hardly believe that this result fitted into his
plans.
I nosed up closer to a dumpster, taking a cautious sniff. Once, when I was just a kitten, I’d learned how to sort through the bounty of odors that emitted from these giant tin cans to determine if there was anything in them worth the risk.
The tops of these great trash cans had fancy lids that were hard to get into, and once penetrated, might keep a cat trapped inside forever. If I closed my eyes, a memory would well up of sliding down a steep tube, then scrabbling for what seemed like days to finally fight my way back out.
A cat doesn’t go to that bother for just a nibble or a slurp—I learned quickly how to weigh up the benefits against the cost. Now that I was bigger, the gain had to be worth a lot more.
The first one was useless. There were tantalizing scents, sure, but in such limited supply that I could picture the drips sticking to wrappers, the single bite in the base of a cardboard container. No good to me.
Moving on to the next, I found a more enticing equation. The richness of fishy goodness was plentiful. I’d almost catapulted my body up and over the lid when I caught an underlying odor and hesitated.
Bones. That thought put me off. There was a lot of fish in this dumpster, but far too many bones. That meant carcasses rather than leftovers. The meat, even when dragged from the trash, would be hard work. Each bite would come at the added cost of working it free—maybe just one mouthful per skeleton. I reluctantly turned my back. There was no joy to be had here.
It shouldn’t have surprised me. Other cats would have been by here earlier in the day and made the same determination. I shook my head, loosening the last vestiges of that attractive odor, and carried on.
There’d be no snack to reenergize me tonight.
My head started to spin with dizziness as I grew closer to One-Eared Whitey’s residence. I fought back against whirling nausea. Now wasn’t the time for me to give in just because my body insisted it was done.
I’d poked my nose into his cat flap once before so knew that there would be nothing stopping me once I got there. Only a weak fool would let physical needs overwhelm his desires, and I was neither of those things.
Food Bowl Mysteries Books 1-3 Page 10
