One bright spark tried to take over my position at the head of the line, but a quick swipe from Fat Bobby put the confident creature back in its place. I led them in a rapid procession, and soon we could gather in a group while staying well out of sight.
“First up, how much have you told them?” I asked Fat Bobby.
“Just enough to get them to join,” he answered.
“He told us about the factory full to the brim with food.”
I turned to as the new voice entered the conversation—a brown cat, with mottled scarring down one limb, ending in a twisted paw with six claws, one permanently protruding. A fighter, useful in a scrap, though edging into the older years to be entering many battles.
“There’ll be food, but first I need you to help me out with another task. Today, One-Eared Whitey’s humans are going to rough up a woman. Your first mission is to stop them at any cost.”
“Food first,” the battle-weary soldier said, popping out the remainder of his claws and ruffling up his back. “I didn’t come all this way to be led on a runaround. I’ve been on fools’ errands before, and I’ve no intention of doing one again.”
“It’s not a diversion or a pointless task,” I growled back, hackles rising. “This is an integral part of getting the food production back on track for the township.”
The soldier muttered underneath his breath but retreated a step and put away the claws he could still retract.
“How are we meant to do that?” Fat Bobby asked. His tone wasn’t challenging—just a standard inquiry—and I felt a shot of gratitude. If he turned on me, then my plans would come to a quick end.
“We get into the property and form a barrier between her and the thugs.”
“A barrier?” This time, it was the old soldier. “You think that a group of cats can really form a defensive line strong enough to hold off two full-grown human males?”
I stood firm, not conceding to his line of rational thought. “I do.”
“Do you see these scars?” The soldier turned his body this way and that, as though I had failed to notice the marks that took up more space on his skin than fur. “That’s just from fighting other cats. A human’s ten times the size. Twenty.”
In the back of the pack, some of the troops began to mutter in agreement. I was losing them!
“You’ve seen how people react when cats go about in a group? They get freaked.” The muttering stopped, and a few of the assembled felines nodded. “With the number we have gathered here, that’ll easily be enough to throw them off their mission.”
“They’ll just wave their arms, and this lot will scatter,” the old soldier insisted. “None of them have the spine for this task. They’ll fold as soon as a human looks at them funny.”
I expected that the cats would stand up for themselves. After all, this old battler was insulting each one of them, questioning their bravery in the face of danger.
Instead of rising up in indignation, the group just nodded, agreeing with the old soldier’s assessment!
“Is this a group of cowards?” I called out.
The expected cry of “No!” never eventuated. One by one, the cats turned and wandered away, back to what they’d been doing. I gave it one last solid try. “There’ll be food once we get this sorted. More food than you’ve ever seen in your entire lives.”
“Once you’ve finished up your portion,” one departing cat said, “give us a call, and we’ll deal with the leftovers, then.”
As I looked out on the group in horror, Fat Bobby shrugged and turned his back on me. The remaining cats followed his lead and melted away.
I was on my own.
Chapter Five
The level of disbelief that I felt when the cats left fueled my energy so I set off on my own. Within a few steps, I remembered that I didn’t know where I was going. I had to motor to catch up with Fat Bobby before he moved out of sight and beg him for the address.
That action left a worse feeling in my mouth than the so-called food that my owner had left in my bowl.
“You won’t get anywhere on your own,” Fat Bobby observed. He turned and walked away, not offering any further help. Fair enough. He’d already spent a few hours doing what I’d asked, only for the whole venture to turn into custard.
If I was the only one who believed that I could sort this mess out, then it was only right that I should do it alone. Wasn’t that how real heroes were forged?
While my mind insisted that it was how fools died, I trotted off to the address that Bobby had given me.
The row of houses leading up to the target was in a different world than I was used to. Cats wouldn’t forage around these parts—everything was sealed shut and locked up tight.
The fences were higher, the grounds bigger, the houses larger than I was used to. Just before I reached the right number, I sat and cleaned myself from head to toe, suddenly feeling dirty.
The house at the number Fat Bobby had provided was more significant than the others on the street. If the usual pattern of human consumption had been followed, then it seemed this was either the residence of the most prosperous man or the one most in debt.
I prowled the perimeter, checking for an easy way in. The gates and fencing that surrounded the home seemed impenetrable. If I wanted to get in, I’d need to go over the top. The very-high-up top.
Once the decision had been made, I wriggled my behind, locking in a target for my intended leap. At the last second, my flying jump turned into a shallow pounce, however. My senses alerting me that the scent around the gates was the same as I’d encountered before at home.
The smell of ozone. That meant there was electricity somewhere. Having already learned my painful lesson in the past, I wasn’t keen to repeat that syllabus.
Rather than leaping, I edged closer to the fence as though if I got near enough to the power, I’d be able to see its trail. I didn’t, but what I did see was the spark as a leaf fell from an overhanging branch. Instead of ozone, now the scent in the air was of burning. The foliage jumped at the touch, landing safely on the ground inside.
I wouldn’t be so lucky.
If only the overhanging tree had been planted outside, I could have been up its trunk and jumping down in the time it would take to fire the starter’s pistol. However, it was planted inside the grounds, its stretching branches on my side, too thin and too high to be useful.
Without the ability to go up or over, I examined the foliage around the base. The hardy shrubs located between the fence and berm was planted a foot out from the walls. It left a nice gap of turned earth for a tunnel. Not that I was fit for such a purpose, but I knew an annoying neighborhood dog who came well-equipped.
The run back home was uneventful, except for a darkening of my vision on one corner when I couldn’t catch my breath. I made a promise to myself that as soon as this mess was sorted, I’d stuff myself so full of cat food that I wouldn’t be able to walk.
The idea of a buffer of fat beneath my skin for emergencies held a magnetic attraction. No wonder so many humans liked to keep themselves rotund. I now knew firsthand that I couldn’t count on anything. Not for certain.
I approached the rear of Beamer’s backyard, jumping up onto the fence from the property behind. The dog was back inside the enclosure—right where he should be. Judging from the exuberant jumps and barks, he enjoyed it greatly.
“Hey,” I called out, not too loud in case rival dogs were lurking. “Hey, Beam-Me-Up-Scotty, I need your help.”
At his formal name, the dog turned with a look of astonishment. His liquid brown eyes stretched wide when he recognized me, and Beamer took a wary step back. “Get out of here. This isn’t your house.”
I felt a niggle of indignation squirm inside my stomach. “It wasn’t your house that you decided to come jumping into yesterday morning. Didn’t stop you. Bad dog.”
The dog’s face crumpled into dismay. “I’m not a bad dog.” Beamer started to jump back and forward in increasing distress. “I’m
a good dog, my master says so. ‘Perfect dog, Beamer,’ he says. ‘Excellent dog.’”
“He’ll think you’re a naughty dog if you don’t help me out today.” I leaped down into the dog’s backyard as though it was my own. The trepidation running through my muscles only showed in the faint tremor in my front legs. I sat to conceal even that small gesture of anxiety.
“What’s that? I like to help. It’s my favorite thing. Tell me what to do—I’m always a good dog.”
“I don’t know.” I placed my chin down on my outstretched front paws, raising my eyebrows in a doubtful expression. “I need an enormous hole dug. Now, I’m not sure that you’re the right dog for the job.”
The joy that suffused Beamer’s face at the word ‘hole’ almost caused me to break into laughter. I stifled it, covering the small curve of my mouth with a shake of my head.
“I’m the best dog at holes. Just the best.” Beamer ran forward and back, then jumped up and down on the spot. “You won’t find a better dog at holes than me.”
“That’s what the other cats said, but I’m not so sure.”
Beamer bounced off to the edge of his fence, just below where I’d jumped down. “I’ll show you,” he panted, getting stuck right in so that clods of earth flew up into the air. “I’ll show you who’s a good dog.”
Even I had to admit that Beamer’s digging skills were impressive. It didn’t make up for the horrendous odor that spilled forth from every pore of his body, or the spittle that he didn’t seem able to keep under control, but it came close.
For today, at least, he was a perfect choice. Enough so, that I quickly overlooked his shortcomings.
When Beamer stuck his head through into the neighboring property, I was already back on the fence above him, peering down. He struggled through the hole, not seeming to care that he was now covered in dirt, and stood beside it, stumpy tail wagging. “See.” Beamer puffed his chest out and tipped his chin higher. “I told you I was a good dog.”
I gave a small nod and jumped down next to him. “It’s not a bad hole,” I conceded, “but can you do that on command? It’s no use to your master or me if you can’t dig another like it in a few minutes’ time.”
Beamer turned and started to dig another hole, right next to the first. I ducked out of the way to avoid the flying dirt and had to yell to be heard above the noise.
“Not here. I’ve got another spot in mind. Follow me.”
I turned and ran, trying not to skitter in fright when Beamer leaped into the path just ahead of me.
“Get in behind,” I scolded him. “I need to show you the way.”
He obeyed, sniffing so close to my tail that my skin crawled. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though. Already, this early in the day, I’d run through all my options.
“Here you go.” I stopped in front of the other Agnes’s house and stepped back to make room for Beamer’s activity.
Instead of jumping into the task like I expected, the dog looked at me with a curious stare.
“What?” I asked, prickles running along my spine. “Get to it. You’re the diggingest dog of holes, remember? Don’t you want to be a good boy?”
“This isn’t my house.”
“You have my permission to dig here. It doesn’t matter that it’s not your house.”
Despite my confident words, Beamer just looked more worried. “My master won’t like it.”
“I’ve already checked with your master. He told me that you’d be a good dog and do what I asked. Do you want me to pay him a visit and tell him that you refused?”
Desperation was starting to tug at my vocal cords. I swallowed it down for the moment, but I knew that it would be back if I couldn’t get this sorted.
“Fine!” I turned my back on Beamer and started to trot away. Slowly. Very slowly. “I’ll just go to my second choice, then. I wish you hadn’t wasted my time.”
Beamer howled at me to come back. He ran the length of the fence in frantic steps, then bowed down at the front, laying his chin on the ground. “I’m sorry. Of course, I’ll do it. I love digging holes. It’s my favorite thing.”
The dog rose and ran back to where he’d started. His front legs began to work furiously at the soil, flinging it out behind his wriggling rear with gusto. In seconds, his forelegs had disappeared into the growing hole. In minutes, Beamer’s midriff was shoved half under the fence.
I jumped with joy myself, waiting to ensure the dog couldn’t see me before I indulged in such kittenish behavior. After three bounces, I stopped, freezing in midair.
The little girl from the animal control shelter this morning was headed straight for me. Her finger pointed out, and she yelled so loudly that the entire township could hear.
“That’s my cat. Stop! That’s the cat that my daddy bought me this morning.”
Chapter Six
I crowded into the unfinished hole behind Beamer, pressing my nose into his butt like I was just another dirty dog. Ugh. My hind legs were exposed, and I expected at any moment a pudgy hand would grab hold, pulling me back out.
Then Beamer broke ground above me, allowing a bright spear of light to pierce through. I pushed harder up against him, even as I turned my head to one side, closing an eye so it wouldn’t see a sight it couldn’t later unsee.
The fresh breeze on my face as I exited was the best thing in the world.
I turned, looking back through the gaps in the fencing to ensure the girl didn’t head straight after me. Although I hadn’t given her much credit, she didn’t try to squeeze through the narrow hole nor grab hold of the electric gate. She did pick up a long stick and give a tentative poke of the wall. When it gave a sizzle, she backed away, her brow furrowed, and her lips pouting.
The girl stood a few yards back from the property, arms folded tightly across her chest. After one last yell, “My daddy paid for that cat!” she turned and ran away.
I breathed a sigh of relief and gave the house in front of me a once-over. Beamer was dancing with joy over his accomplishment, and I gave him a grateful nod. “You dug a perfect hole.”
“I know. I know.” His words were sung in a breathy bark in time with four-legged jumps. Although he looked ridiculous, I gave him a broad smile.
“Now, what?” he asked, bringing his frolicking to an abrupt end.
“Now, I get inside the house and stop something awful from happening.”
Beamer turned and surveyed the building before us as well. “I can dig a tunnel underneath it if you like.”
I jerked my head toward the door. “I’ll just use the cat-flap.” I walked over, my tail lifted jauntily in the air, and gave it a push. Locked solid. A second later, a gray streak flashed in front of me, and a loud crack echoed from the door.
Beamer sat back, shaking his head to rid the aftereffects of the blow. “Do you want me to give it another whack, or will that do?”
I reached out and pawed at the small opening—to my astonishment it now swung freely open. I cast a look of pure admiration back at Beamer. The dog may be a disgusting animal, but he’d proved useful.
I nudged the cat flap further open and stuck my head inside. After a few seconds spent scanning and sniffing, I judged that nobody was in the room, though there was definitely at least two people in the house.
I pushed my shoulders through, then eased in my midriff, finally letting the flap swing down over my rear end to close. A piece of splintered wood was sitting a yard away on the gleaming floor tiles, and once again I admired Beamer’s solid head.
Speaking of whom…
I turned around, but the dog wasn’t poking his muzzle through the flap to follow me inside. After giving the room another second’s surveillance, I pawed the flap open the other way and looked out to see Beamer’s doleful grin. “Aren’t you coming in?”
Pure excitement lit his face up, and the slobber running from the dog’s loose lips increased in volume. I ducked back so he wouldn’t get any on me and watched with amusement as he came barreling thr
ough the small hole—long nails scratching on the polished floor.
“Now, I need to find a woman—her name’s Agnes.” Before I’d even finished, Beamer took off at a run. So much for my closing sentence, a warning to be careful. With a shrug of my beautiful shoulders, I followed along behind.
Beamer ran across the room, along the hallway, and up a flight of stars. Without a moment’s hesitation, he paused in front of a door, laying one paw flat against it and turning to give me a nod. “She’s in here.”
I could smell the woman now that we were closer but was in awe of Beamer’s superior sniffing sense. “Do you want me to bark to call her out here?”
I shook my head, sitting back and staring at the door as though it would tell me its secrets. Though my nostrils weren’t as talented as Beamer’s, I could sense that the woman inside this room was alone.
There wasn’t the sharp copper tang of blood in the air—I’d arrived in time to prevent the coming attack.
If only I had a herd of cats to command, I might be able to think of a plan now that I was inside. Stand on guard was the only one that presented itself to me now.
“We wait.” I nodded to Beamer, and he took his paw down off the door and sat in attention instead. “There’s a pair of thugs on their way here to rough this woman up. We need to protect her at any costs.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll be a bad dog.”
Beamer frowned at me for a second, then nodded and turned his attention back to the wooden door. I felt a pang of guilt that I didn’t have the time or the words to explain, accompanied by a side-dish of fear that even if I did, the dog wouldn’t care. A dog-food factory, sure, but what did he have to gain from cat-food?
Nothing.
If my reliance on his good-boy, bad-boy references grew any weaker, I’d have nothing else to hold him here, apart from doing the right thing.
That hadn’t been enough for the cats in town. I was ashamed to admit that our species was currently being bested by our sworn enemy.
Food Bowl Mysteries Books 1-3 Page 12
