Hellcats: Anthology

by Kate Pickford

  “Duke!” Princess called. His tall ears peeked over the top of his doghouse. He turned, wagging his tail.

  “Hey, Princess, what are you doing?”

  “Captain sent me on recon. Grumpas has a kitten.”

  “Yeah, I smelled her. And the rats. Poor thing won’t last long if she stays. Glad Captain is on it.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “Not much. Grumpas is an idiot and doesn’t realize a kitten won’t kill all the mice in ten minutes. I’m not even sure she’d ever seen one before. I guess she knocked over something, and that’s what he was yelling about. Maybe that’s what Captain heard.”

  “Probably.”

  “There’s something else odd about the shed, though. I think he’s back to making that stuff he sells to those kids in town.”

  “The stuff that makes them so crazy and stupid?”

  “Yep. He’s got a bit of a different recipe, I think. It smells different from before. He’ll blow the place up again, though. The rats are no loss, but the kitten doesn’t deserve that.”

  “Blow it up?”

  “Oh, right, you weren’t here then. A while back he was making something and it exploded. The neighbors called the police, who cuffed him and took him away for quite a while. I was just a puppy, but my people talked about it. I guess if the mixture is bumped, it explodes a few minutes later. They weren’t too happy when he was released a couple years ago. He seemed to have cleaned up his act, though, until recently. I guess the cops don’t check on him as much as they used to.”

  “My people were talking about some kids in their classes at school. They said they recently went back to some bad habits or something.”

  “I bet Grumpas is where they’re getting it from, then. The man’s a menace.”

  “You’re right there! Okay, I’m going to get back to Captain and see what’s up. I’ll let you know what happens.”

  “Thanks! I’ll keep an eye out to see if there’s any change. I can just see the door of the shed from that gap in the fence over there.”

  “Perfect.”

  "Is that everyone?" Captain looked around. The feathers gathered by the fence except for Raven who was in the tree opposite. The furs sat just on the other side. All had given their reports. The feathers were indignant, although trying to keep their voices down so that they did not alarm Lettuce Lady. Colonel was on watch duty, resting with her head tucked down, one eye open toward the house and the other ear open and listening.

  “Yes, but what are we going to do?” Smoke was getting impatient with the rehashing of what he already knew.

  “Patience, furry one.” Captain cocked an eye his way. “Now, let me think.”

  Silence. A look from Raven quieted a chuckle from a robin nearby.

  Minutes passed, but no one dared move a whisker or feather.

  “I’ve got it!” Captain stretched her neck up and her wings out, flapping them until she was nearly airborne. “Gather close y’all, this is what we do. . .”

  Seven crept back under the shed, listening overhead for the rats. She wished the hole was bigger so Ginger could be with her, but she knew she could do it. She listened for the rats and hunched down to wait for the signal.

  Princess raced into Duke’s yard, breathless. “Captain did it! Listen, this is what we need you to do.”

  Raven settled into the tree as before. The kitten was sitting up, eyes wide as the rats became bolder. She had climbed as high as she could, but that wouldn’t protect her from the nasty vermin.

  Smoke dashed through the yards on the other side, trying to reach Rufus and the boys. Those crazy dogs on the other block would create quite a ruckus. He pulled up short, just out of sight and waited.

  Captain, Colonel, and the feathers were quiet in their yard. Lettuce Lady rustled about in the kitchen, so she might bring out some treats soon. But for now, the board was set, the pieces moving, and all they could do was listen. And wait.

  Duke and Rufus’s deep barking ripped through the tense silence as Princess and Smoke ran from yard to yard, encouraging the other dogs to join in. Soon people were coming to windows and doors to see about the deafening noise.

  Inside his house, Grumpas put down his beer and moved to get up from his recliner. “Stupid kids, I told them not to come here. I better check on the shed.”

  Seven dashed through the hole in the shed’s floor, wishing she had time to warn the kitten. The kitten jumped up, back arched, hissing and spitting.

  “Don’t be afraid, I’ll get you out of here, but you must be quick! Follow me. Can you do it?”

  “Y-yes, I think so.” The kitten started picking her way down from her perch. The rats scurried around in confusion.

  “Just ignore them, I’ve got you. Don’t be afraid.”

  Raven cried out, “Grumpas!”

  “Quick, little one, he’s coming. Down here.” Seven led the way through the hole in the floor, and the kitten followed. When they reached the path through the weeds, Seven gestured to Ginger just beyond. “He’s a friend. Go with him, and I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

  “But—”

  “There’s no time to explain now. I promise, we’ll keep you safe.”

  The kitten hesitated. Ginger leaped across and picked her up by the scruff of her neck and took off. Seven dashed back under the shed, swatted an empty bottle at the contraption brewing on a table, and was back out again a few seconds later, racing after Ginger. Ginger stumbled, his speed hindered by the kitten. Seven reached Ginger just as he vaulted over the fence at the Lettuce Lady’s house.

  “Here they come. Oh, look at the poor wee thing!” Peking waddled toward the oncoming felines.

  “Not that way, Peking. Remember, we need to get her out of sight!” Darkwing rolled her eyes. Peking reversed directions, heading toward the coop instead. The cats ran through the door and dropped the kitten in the soft nest the chickens had prepared. Goldie and Cluckella had outdone themselves. She looked silly, nearly covered in feathers with her pointy ears and little pink nose peeking out at them, eyes wide. Darkwing followed them inside. Several chickens clucked at the tiny kitten in soft, soothing tones. She looked completely confused.

  “It’s okay, little one, I promise. You’re safe here for now. They have food and water. It’s not the best for cats, but it will do, and there are no rats or mice to worry about.” Seven smoothed the kitten’s fur with her tongue, and she relaxed a bit.

  A loud boom rocked the coop, and a cloud of smoke rose in the distance.

  The chickens and ducks rushed to the fence, except for Peking, quacking and clucking at the top of her lungs. The dogs were still barking like mad. Voices were shouting over the noise of the animals as they ran toward the sound of the explosion.

  Lettuce Lady rushed outside and through the gate phone to her ear. “Yes, I’m telling you, an explosion! Send help. No, I don’t know what, I’m not there yet. But it sounded like it came from near the highway and about second or third street. . .” Her voice trailed off as she turned the corner. Soon sirens wailed in the distance.

  “All right, troops, that’s enough!” Captain’s voice rose above the tumult, and the feathers proudly strutted towards the coop. They arranged themselves casually just outside and waited for further news.

  Princess dashed over, breathless from her run and her laughter. “We did it! That Grumpas is being loaded in a police car with those silver bracelets on. The fire department put out the fire and found the nasty stuff. The police bagged it up and took it all away.”

  Raven settled quietly on a branch of the pecan tree above. “I think the explosion took care of most of the rats. I saw one or two injured and slinking back toward the highway.”

  “A job well done, everyone!”

  “But what are we going to do with the kitten?”

  Colonel yawned. “It’s getting dark and time for bed. Lettuce Lady will be here soon to close the coop.”

  “Can we keep her?”

  “No, Pek
ing, we’re too close to Grumpas’s house, and Lettuce Lady has those three cats in the house. She won’t mind that the kitten is here, but it’s best to find a better home for her.”

  “Mrs. Sanders across town lost her Fluffy recently. I’ll check and see what my friends over there think. We could smuggle her over easily enough, and she’d be safe from Grumpas when he comes back. Although I doubt that will happen anytime soon. I’ll let you know what I hear in a day or two. Think you can keep her here that long?” Ginger’s tail swished.

  “Oh, I think so.” Captain motioned with her head.

  Inside the coop, the kitten now had a full belly and was curled up and purring under Peking’s wing. This was nearly as lovely as being back with her mom.

  “How could anyone call that sweet thing a hellcat?”

  Alice Briggs writes fiction under AA Briggs. She's inspired by the beauty and irony in the world, and intrigued by the interactions between her feathers and the neighborhood cats. Her new cozy mystery series is in answer to the question, "What are those feathers and furs plotting?"

  Find out more at aabriggs.com.

  21

  Moon-Kissed Cat

  By Judy Clothier

  Mr. MacFluffypants is no ordinary house cat. But can even he take on an entire street gang bent on terrorizing an old woman out of her home?

  A bottle shattered against the brick wall, splattering the old woman with warm, stale beer and bits of glass. The reek of it nearly made him sneeze as he crouched in the shadows and watched, the end of his tail twitching with aggravation.

  "Oops!" One of the young punks sneered. "Sorry lady. Guess it slipped."

  Three of them had her cornered in the narrow alley between a small shopping mart and the side of some apartments.

  "Why are you doing this?" Her voice had a tremor of fear, but was stronger than he would have expected, given her small frame and advanced years. For all of that, she stood straight and stared them down.

  "Doin' what? We ain't doin' nuthin. Free country and all that."

  "Yeah," another one chimed in. "Free country. And you's free to move if you ain't got balls enough to live round here."

  She stood up taller, clutching her shopping bag to her narrow chest. "I've lived here longer than any of your parents have been alive. You're not going to push me out with a little trash talk."

  Unseen in the shadows, he watched with glowing blue eyes. The three punks seemed to swell with indignation as their leader spoke.

  "You bringin' our mamas into this?"

  The old woman started to say something but never got the chance as another half-full bottle smashed against the wall, much closer to her head this time. A tiny stream of blood oozed from a cut somewhere in the wiry white hair frizzing over her scalp, turning pink as it mixed with the pale beer.

  He'd seen enough. He gathered his feet under him, crouching low even as his rear lifted off the ground and wriggled into the perfect launching position. He aimed for the one with the third bottle cocked back at the ready.

  He gave no warning, made no sound as he leapt. Twenty-five pounds of pure feline fury slammed into the side of the young man's head, knocking him sideways. Razors raked along face and head while rear claws dug into neck and shoulder. He didn't stick around long enough to be knocked away. He used his momentum to spin and launch before the shrieking had even begun. A low growl escaped his throat as he landed on the back of the next youth, the "leader" that was considerably taller than his peers.

  Claws dug in and in a flash, he'd pulled himself up to the neck and head as the man tried to spin and catch him with flailing arms. He bit, released, and bit again, leaving deep punctures along the side and back of his neck while claws continued to dig deep. As tempting as it was to do more damage, he didn't stick around. He dropped to the ground and spun to avoid a kick, positioning himself between the woman and the punks. Long, thick fur bristled straight up along his arching back as he stared at them with a low, menacing growl.

  Their last bottle had fallen and broken. They gaped at him for a moment before giving one last hateful glare at the old woman. "We're not through with you," the unscathed one growled, then they all turned tail…so to speak…and ran.

  Behind him, he heard her draw in a deep and shuddering breath. "Well," was all she managed to say.

  His back and tail tingled with itchy energy as fur settled back into place. He shook and turned to look up at the woman. Deep brown eyes watched him with wary wonder. Something inside of him stirred. He'd been alone for so long. Of course, he was meant to be alone. His days as a house cat had been ripped away from him as surely as he'd ripped away any dignity those idiots had thought they had.

  He pushed away old memories and returned his attention to the woman. She smelled of cat. Five cats, to be precise. She also smelled of fresh bread, wood polish, and faintly of that stinky stuff some humans rubbed on their joints.

  "Well," she said again, more firmly. "Where in the world did you come from? Should I call you Lancelot for saving the damsel in distress?" A still trembling hand brushed at the trickle of blood and beer on the side of her head, but it didn't seem to be bothering her much.

  He considered the name. It was a strong name. He liked it. He wanted to tell her so, but he had no way to do that. Instead, he took a slow step toward her, trying to appear as harmless as his shadowy bulk would allow, and rubbed his cheek along her legs, leaving a trail of black and gray hairs across her pale, tan pants.

  "Hmm. Well." It seemed to be her favorite word. "I should get going now. Need to clean up, and I don't want to be here when those sad boys come back with bats or something. I think you earned some new enemies tonight. So…well…good luck with that."

  He sensed the struggle within her. Her words did not align with her body language. She wanted to scoop him up and take him with her, but her arms were full of groceries and she also seemed a little scared of him. He sighed and gave her one more rub across the legs, then stepped away so as to not trip her up.

  He watched her walk out of the alley, looked carefully up and down the street, then turned and disappear. His heart ached. His fur itched. He desperately wanted to groom, to soothe the last of the agitation out of his coat and clear away the traces of blood on his claws and face. But he could not stop staring in the direction she'd vanished. Lancelot, she'd called him. A strong name. How long had it been since he'd had a name? Once, he'd been called Smokey, but that was long, long ago.

  He was moving before he realized he'd decided. He raced out of the alley and around the corner until he'd caught up with her slow but steady steps, then fulfilled the age-old quest of strays around the world by following her home.

  They walked past the shabby apartment building and three blocks through a neighborhood of small eclectic homes. Most were run down to some degree or another, but a few had owners or tenants that still cared. Hers turned out to be larger than most, a neat little Victorian covered with gingerbread charm that had been well-loved over the years and was only just now beginning to show some wear around the edges. The yard was neat and tidy with well-tended flower beds along the foundation. He took all this in as she mounted the four stone steps up to a broad porch. Never once had she looked back to see him following her on silent paws. What if it had been the punks following her? The thought of it sent an angry flick through his tail.

  Just as she got her door unlocked, he raced up the steps and brushed along her leg once more. She tottered to the side and looked down at him and said, "Well!"

  Instead of going inside, she dropped her bag of groceries onto a small tea table and sat on the rocking chair beside it to study him, wrinkled hands clasped together as she leaned with forearms on her knees. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

  "Keep me," he wanted to say, but could not. Which was a good thing because he didn't really want to be kept. He would not be able to stay long. But…maybe for a little while…it would be nice. He didn't meow. Meowing was for kittens and house cats that never grew up. He
studied her face for a moment before finally giving in to the urgent need to groom. He sat his rump down and swiped a long tongue over one shoulder, all the while keeping one ear turned toward her.

  "You're way too fine to be any old alley cat. Pure Maine coon, if I'm any judge, and I think I am. Where's your mama?"

  He switched shoulders and then began the twisty work of soothing the ruffled fur along his spine.

  "You know, I've already got a house full. I never wanted to be one of those old cat-ladies, but I guess I turned out to be one. They're good company since Greg passed. The kids all moved away and too busy with their own grown-up lives. But I've got five, and five's my absolute limit!"

  The paws came next, flashing his long, pink tongue carefully between his toes and under the claws. The shadows of the porch deepened as the last of the sun's rays slanted down the street.

  "Lemon Drop wouldn't have any of it, you know. She barely tolerates the crew we have now. She was my first, and never did approve of me bringing more home. And the two young ones…I really have my hands full already. Last thing I need's another mouth to feed."

  Finally, the face. Humans loved it when he washed his face. He didn't really understand why, but the whole thing fascinated them. With carefully studied indifference, he licked at the mitt of his paw and rubbed it across his cheek, pulling long whiskers the wrong direction and letting them fall gracefully back into place. Clean the mitt and do it again. And then over the ear. He really worked the ears and watched her with surreptitious glances. For reasons he didn't understand, he wanted to charm her. At least for a little while. And he wasn't afraid of anything named Lemon Drop.

  "Well," she said finally. "I do owe ya, I suppose. And you don't have a collar. I can put some flyers up at the vet and the post office in case your mama is looking for you. If you can't get along with the others, though, I'll have to lock you in one of the bedrooms alone." She gave him a narrow-eyed stare of warning. "So I do hope you know how to mind your manners."