And the well-intentioned humans? Well, Zach regained his balance and Niki her composure. They both felt as if the cats had been, somehow, rather ungrateful. Didn’t this pack of pusses realize that they had only been trying to help them? That all they had wanted to do was learn more about the wild cats of Piran.
There couldn’t be any harm in that, surely?
LATER, AT RAT HEADQUARTERS, WHICH WAS A DUMPSTER hidden in a thicket of trees in the suburb known as Arze, General Rat paced up and down in front of his troops. “You are a miserable mischief of mice, the whole lot of you!” (In case you didn’t know, a “mischief” is a group of mice, just as you might say a “flock” of sheep, or indeed a “rabble” of rats or “colony” of feral cats.)
“I give the order to hold your ground, and what do you do?”
“Uh, we, uh, swim away, sir?” replied one of the sergeant rats, reveling in his newfound eloquence.
“It was a rhetorical question.”
“Huh?”
“Meaning to say, you gibbering idiot, that you weren’t required to supply an answer!”
“Oh.”
“I’m tempted to make an example of you, but we’ve lost enough lives today. They were Yfrtbm (Heroes)! And they shall be remembered as Yfrtbm, at least until they are forgotten!”
“Yfrtbm! Yfrtbm!!” chanted the rats, but to tell the truth, they were already beginning to forget the rats that had died that day. They hadn’t exactly been very popular rats. Mind you, what rat ever is? Aside from General Rat. And the only reason he was the most “popular” rat was that he was the loudest and, in a pinch, the most ferocious.
Growing weary of so much sticky sentiment, General Rat motioned to two of his most trusted corporals to join him in private, at the bottom of the compost heap.
“If we made any mistake today, it was this: we tried to bite off more than we could chew.”
“General?”
“I mean, the next time we attack, we make sure not only is there nowhere they can run, but we do it where we can go about our work unobserved.”
“Ah, a stroke of genius, General.”
“Of course it is! What do you expect from your brilliant leader?”
We shall not eavesdrop further on their conversation, most sensitive reader, for once again it is simply too revolting to audit. But to summarize, as humiliated and defeated as they felt, the rats of Piran would indeed be sure to fight another day. The wild cats of Piran would thus have to remain on the alert for this old enemy, one that had so obviously gained in strength and in cunning.
AND WHAT OF ZACH AND NIKI, THE YOUNG HUMAN COUPLE? How did they feel about their intervention in cat-rat affairs? Did they even believe what they thought they saw? Maybe they had sunstroke or perhaps they had drunk too much wine at dinner the night before. That would not have been so unusual for Zach, but Niki was of a somewhat steadier disposition.
The adult human mind is very quick to find so-called rational explanations for such things. As Zach and Niki walked back to their hotel in silence, they were both already rewriting what they’d seen. “It all happened in a flash, didn’t it?” Zach said eventually.
“It’s hard to tell.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s what I feel as well.…”
“We’ve both been under an enormous amount of stress recently,” said Niki, and Zach could only concur.
The human mind isn’t particularly supple when it comes to such matters—at least, not compared to the psyche of untamed Piranese cats. But the following night they both lay awake in the dark, repeatedly piecing together what they had seen, then imagining it from different perspectives. It was as if they were directing a film, a film about cats that were highly animated.
When Zach suggested prolonging their stay in Piran another night or two, Niki acted as if doing so was the most natural thing in the world. This was unusual because they both had something they called “careers” back in London.
IN THE CRYPT, FELICIA AND DRAGAN were treated as heroes by the other wild cats. Especially after the two of them had described in detail how heroic they had been. It’s enough to say that all of the cats were mightily relieved that their best and brightest were alive to fight another day. At the same time, although the wild cats had done a good job of depleting rat numbers, they were quite sure they’d be hearing more from them. And what about that young human couple? What could anyone say about that? The two lucky cats discussed the battle from their own perspectives, stressing their own bravery and downplaying the human role, which is the wild cat way.
As Dragan said: “It’s been a big day.” And as Magyar said, “Day big a been it’s.” The entire colony of the wild cats of Piran was now well aware that the peninsula’s rat population had become the team to beat this season, and that it had a leader, one capable of strategic thought.
Of course there had been one more surprise for the other wild cats that morning. Leopold had been waiting outside the entrance of the crypt for a signal from Felicia.
“Come in, Leopold. You’re among friends here,” she said finally. The mere mention of his name caused the fur on the back of Magyar’s neck to stand up. You can forget anything you’ve heard about Austro-Hungarian alliances. This particular Hungarian tabby cat bore his fellow feline from Vienna little affection.
“Leopold … has decided he cannot live without us,” Felicia declared as Leopold made his entrance. He blushed at this remark, the white of his tuxedo coat turning pink with embarrassment.
“Use good to him put better!” grunted Magyar.
“Don’t worry, my Hungarian friend,” said Leopold. “To good use I shall indeed be put—my first task being to draw up a plan to rescue Beyza from the house which, I believe, you call Dogboy Villa.”
That silenced Magyar for a while, which was an achievement in and of itself. But what indeed of that grander plan, to rescue Beyza from captivity? After pausing to gather your breath if necessary, do read on to find out.
8
Like Herding Cats
It is said the best-laid plans of mice and men often go askew, but what of the plans made by crafty cats from Austria? The answer lies in the ensuing pages.
It was early in the evening at Dogboy Villa, and little Beyza the cat was biding her time until darkness, until night set in, which is when she planned to make her first tentative attempt to escape from the humans and dog who held her captive. She had been put in an unused room in the villa. Here the childhood toys and mementoes of both Fisko and his sister Ivana were gathering dust.
For Ivana, childhood toys meant dolls and their clothes and houses, as well as a goodly number of books. She had been particularly fond of a series about an eleven-year-old girl detective who solved mysteries no adult could ever fathom. Yes, Ivana was a kindly, intelligent sort; all the evidence pointed to that. Once she grew out of music that made Beyza’s head hurt, talking endlessly on the telephone, and drenching herself in makeup and perfume, she would be quite an acceptable sort of human girl.
As for Fisko, well, that was a different matter altogether. All of his toys had to do with war, crime, and violence in general. Guns and knives and still more guns, and an awful lot of computer games with names like “Complete Destruction IV” and “Assault and Battery XII.” They were games in which a skillful player could wipe out an entire civilization in the space of an afternoon. A certain amount of this was normal in a lot of children, especially boys, but in Fisko this interest had been taken to its extreme.
Beyza had the acute sense of hearing so typical of cats, and there were sounds coming to her from within the house. She pressed her delicate pink ear up against the bedroom door and listened. It was Fisko and Ivana, and it sounded very much as if they were going to leave the house together. This was something that hadn’t happened before. Indeed, from what Beyza had observed, the teenage brother and sister did almost everything possible to stay out of each other’s way. When they were in the same room for more than a minute or two, some argument always erupte
d.
“You told me I could give that stupid cat to Katya as a present,” the boy was yelling. “That is the only reason it is even alive!”
“I didn’t say anything of the kind. I will look after her.”
“Oh yes, and what about when Mama and Papa get back? The kindest thing would be to put it out of its misery now.” This didn’t sound good at all to Beyza.
“We can give her to Katya before Mama and Papa come back.” Ivana didn’t sound too sure about this, and in fact it sounded like she was playing for time—Beyza’s time.
“C’mon, Fisko, d’you want to meet with Katya or not?”
Beyza couldn’t exactly understand the response, but she assumed he’d said yes. Soon there were more teenager-getting-ready sounds: the radio playing, a hair dryer blowing, doors and cupboards opening and closing loudly. The voices grew close again, and louder, joined by the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Last but not least came the noises of a panting dog: the boy’s fearsome-looking German Shepherd.
“Oh, no, no, no. You’re not bringing Thor with you,” the girl said. “We’re going to meet at a nice café in Portorose, and then maybe, if Katya doesn’t completely hate you by that point, we’ll go to a discotheque. Leave the dog here.”
“Ivana, you know I don’t like taking orders from you or anyone.”
“Fisko, do you want to be forced to go home because they won’t let you inside the disco with a dog?”
Clearly, the boy Fisko was not one to listen to others, but his sister was occasionally able to appeal to what little sense he had.
“Oh, all right,” he grumbled, in a triumph for rational deduction.
Beyza heard the boy go to the back door and let the canine out. Then she heard the footsteps drawing closer again. So she ran away from the door, to the little corner of the room that Ivana had made up for her—complete with scratch mat and kitty litter. The door opened and it was her, Ivana, kindly and affectionate girl that she was, checking in on Beyza, giving her one last cuddle before she went out. Fisko loomed in the doorway, sneering.
Eventually Ivana closed the door behind her and left the little Angora alone in the house, or so she thought.
OUTSIDE THE VILLA WAS A DESPERATE BAND of wild cats, ready for anything. Now that the sun had gone down it was time to implement the “covert mission” Felicia and Leopold had been planning. The wild cats had watched as the teenage brother and sister emerged from Dogboy villa, locked the front door behind them, and disappeared down the hill on their way into the old town.
“Excellent, they are both out of the way for a while,” said Felicia.
“And the dog is out back,” agreed Leopold.
Now was no time to be a scaredy-cat. The cats advanced stealthily and with purpose upon the house, with Felicia at their lead, Dragan and Leopold not far behind.
INSIDE, BEYZA SENSED SOMETHING ON THE OTHER SIDE of the door that turned her innards to jelly: the unmistakable presence of dog breath.
With no further preliminaries, Thor, that great beast of a German shepherd, came tumbling into the room, practically landing on top of her. Beyza squirmed and shrieked under the weight of such a creature. All she could think of in that moment was the noble Magyar, and how she was sure he would have sprung to her defense in a situation like this. He was such a brave and strong old Hungarian tabby tom, she thought to herself. This was ironic, because just a few days before, she had been referring to him as a “silly old puss.” Interesting how absence can make the heart grow fonder. Absence, and a great big German Shepherd breathing down your neck.
OUTSIDE, THE CATS HAD SNEAKED UNDER A FENCE and crossed into what Felicia and Leopold referred to as “enemy territory.” Leopold had studied the place carefully and discovered a small window the humans always left open when they left the villa—namely, the window of the downstairs lavatory. But that was a matter of small import. What was important was that there was a drainpipe right next to it, and that the wild cats of Piran could form a feline chain. The fattest of all the cats took his place, not without complaint; then Dragan climbed on top of him, as he was the second heaviest. Next came Magyar, himself generously proportioned. Felicia, leading from the front as always, scaled the pile of cats until she was high enough to leap through the open window. The other cats followed until the only three remaining cats were the fat cat, Dragan, and Magyar. Dragan gave a mighty heave, sending Magyar hurtling toward the window, where Leopold, now inside and on top of another pile, grabbed him by the front paws. Dragan grabbed hold of Magyar’s hind legs, and the fat cat grabbed hold of his. And so they went. One on top of another, whoops-a-daisy, let’s make sure we don’t all go falling down on top of each other now. Thus, one by one, they were soon all inside Dogboy Villa.
“Does it smell to you as if a dog has been in here recently?” Felicia asked everyone as they got back up on their feet inside the WC. On further examination, it appeared the door of this lavatory was locked from the other side: a source of much consternation among the cats, all wedged tight inside the functional little space.
“And how are we supposed to open this door from the inside?” Magyar demanded. “That you have thought about, my Viennese Wunderkind?”
“You forget, comrade, that I grew up in the home of a Viennese master locksmith. There will be no Majikat necessary for this lock, just pure technique.” Leopold produced a silver toothpick that had fallen from a Piran tablecloth decades ago and been stored in the crypt along with other such oddments and souvenirs. He slid the toothpick between his teeth, stood up on Dragan’s broad shoulders, and gingerly inserted the toothpick in the lock.
“One … two … three. Oh, I see. Well, we must try again.” There was one big disappointed sigh from Magyar’s quarter.
“C’mon, Magyar, give him a chance,” growled Dragan.
“It might take me a couple of times to get it right, you know. Very well. One … two …”
IN THE RUMPUS ROOM, BEYZA’S EYES WERE CLOSED as tight as could be, and she had curled up into a little fluffy white ball. She was waiting for the terrible biting pain that she thought was coming any second. Surprisingly brave in her own way, Beyza thought to herself: “Oh come on, dog, get on with it. I’ve got another five cat lives left.” But nothing happened. Oh, a big splash of doggy drool fell—splat—on her cheek, but she was expecting the crunch of two rows of sharp teeth. Instead, a low, husky, and surprisingly kind-sounding voice spoke to her.
“Open your eyes, little one. I’m not going to hurt you,” it said. Beyza opened one eye and looked up at the huge canine head hovering over her.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, little one, that you’re safe with me.”
“You wouldn’t tease a poor little Angora puss, would you?” Beyza asked plaintively, fluttering her eyelids.
“No, I wouldn’t. D’you know, I get tired of barking and gnashing my teeth all the time, but it’s what is expected of a German Shepherd, isn’t it? How I wish I’d been born a Chihuahua. You know, that’s kind of the dog equivalent of an Angora. Small, fluffy, and cuddly; no one expects a Chihuahua to rip the head off cats, or chase small dogs and boys around.”
“No, well, quite,” agreed Beyza, still a bit nervous about this great beast leering over her. Better that it was friendly than not, but still. Dogs were hardly known for their subtlety or their cunning, but this one might be the exception. Maybe it was toying with her—who was to say?
“But I heard that boy lock you in the garden out back.”
“You mean you heard him try to lock me out back. He’s as stupid as he is brutish, that lad, which sometimes works to my advantage.” He really was quite well spoken, for a dog, Beyza thought, examining the German Shepherd more closely. What’s more, when it wasn’t barking and growling and biting, it was actually a kindly looking face, with its great, big liquid eyes.
“Don’t worry. I know all the angles around here,” he said with unmistakable pride.
“But where did you learn to spe
ak Cat?”
“My previous owner, may he rest in peace, also kept a cat. We were quite friendly and so I picked up the rudiments. For the rest, I keep my ear to the ground. I’ve picked up a reasonable amount of Rat too.”
“Euugh.” Beyza shivered at the mere thought of the Rat language. “Still … I don’t understand. Why are you helping me?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. For one thing, I’d do just about anything to make that vicious oaf Fisko unhappy.”
“Why stay with him at all?”
“It’s in my nature. I’m a loyal, domesticated animal.”
“But you’d be betraying your master if you help me escape.”
“Do you want to go back to your fellow felines or not?” asked Thor, wearying of this tautology. Beyza didn’t need to think too hard about that one. What choice did she have but to trust the German Shepherd?
“C’mon, then, my little friend. You can sit up on my shoulders.” The big dog sat down again on his hind legs, and the little cat climbed up on his back. When he rose up to his full height, Beyza rode him like a cowgirl on a horse. And so they set off, leaving the rumpus room behind, and stepping out into the great unknown of the future.
“EIN, ZWEI, DREI,” SAID LEOPOLD (“one, two, three” in Human German), trying to unlock the lavatory door. As if that was going to make any difference.… But then, the splendid thing is that it just might have, because this time when he manipulated the lock with the little silver toothpick … What do you know? It worked! There was an audible click as the handle turned, and the door opened into the room.
As you may have observed yourself, cats are quite capable of squeezing through the narrowest of entryways. To put it another way, they can get in just about anywhere (especially as they are always elegantly dressed).
The Wild Cats of Piran Page 7
