Cat Tales Issue #3

by Steve Vernon

  Back at the river road, the cars rolled by, denser than ever. I frowned down at the pole from the wall. From here, I couldn’t see the shiny. Maybe this was the wrong angle.

  I leaned over the wall and jumped onto the safe path. I walked up to the yellow pole and began circling it. From here, I could see two shinies‌—‌one facing the road I wanted to cross, and one facing the road on my cleaning paw’s side, the one I was traveling parallel to.

  I jumped and smacked the one facing the direction I wanted to go with my paw. At first, nothing happened. I turned in a circle, mrring to myself. The monster cars roared on.

  Then, to my surprise, a loud bird began to chirp, easily heard over the cars. I looked around, but couldn’t see it. But I could hear it‌—‌chirping to a second bird in the yellow pole across the road on my cleaning paw’s side.

  The dog was right!

  I fixed my eyes on that pole, waiting to see the bird.

  CHIRP!

  CHIRP.

  CHIRP!

  CHIRP.

  My ears spun, listening to them chirp back and forth. Then, a car rolled up towards the two poles where the birds were chirping. But as it approached the pole-birds, it stopped, grumbling to itself.

  A few seconds later, the chirping stopped, and the machine went forward.

  My tail wagged. Well, I’ll be a sphinx’s brush! The cars did stop for the invisible birds.

  I circled to the other side of the pole and smacked the other shiny. Almost immediately, the chirping began, but this time my pole bird was calling to the one in the direction I needed to go in. And all the rows of cars had stopped, and were grumbling in place. I ran forward, keeping my nose pointed straight at the yellow pole opposite my crossing. I flung myself onto the safe white road on the other side, tail straight up. Ha. Take that, rumbly monsters!

  I sneezed out their awful smell and kept heading up my path, keeping my nose alert for any dumpster smells.

  10

  I had to cross two more roads before I began smelling the restaurant’s dumpsters, but the dog’s trick worked both times. I was glad he had a Forever Home and a good cat taking care of him. I was even sorry I called him dumb.

  I turned off the safe path and into the shadowy parts behind more human boxes. My nose brought me scents that reminded me of a special kind of fry they used to throw out in my dumpster‌…‌Pungent, buttery, but minus the potato smell here.

  I followed the smell back to a dark yard behind a human box that smelled like spaghetti night at our house. The dark yard was walled in except for a metal gate that was cracked open. It was like a box with no top and street for the bottom. Up this close tomatoes and spoiling beef joined the pungent butter on the air.

  Leaning around the gate let me safely see the green dumpster sitting just inside the gate. I sniffed again, checking for rats. None here‌—‌yet. It’d only be a matter of time, though, before they moved in on this hot spot.

  This place must be REALLY new if the rats haven’t arrived yet.

  The corners of the walls had been marked by several different cats and at least one raccoon, with none of the scents sticking out in particular. It was one big pileup as everyone raced to claim the dumpster, and no one had chased away the others for good.

  I minced inside the gate, whiskers tingling as they brushed the metal edge. I stalked the gap in between the dumpster and the walls. If a cat was hiding back here, it’d be tough to smell him over the spaghetti-night odors. The dumpster threw a deep shadow back in the corner.

  Klitterklitterklitter!

  My fur exploded and I darted out the gate. After a second to catch my breath, I realized what I’d heard sounded familiar‌…‌not an animal, not a human‌…‌but I couldn’t place the sound! What could it be?

  The sun was rising higher. More cats could be here soon. I didn’t like the thought of being trapped in that corner if they came, but I couldn’t get that rattling out of my head. I growled at myself and padded back in.

  Klitterclatter, went the shadow. But this time I wasn’t so keyed up. I stuck around and really looked at the shadow. It was a cage‌—‌like my carrier, but without the plastic sides. And inside was a kit, shaking.

  “Hello?” I said. I could only make out his shadow, even his scent was muddled.

  “Back off! Back! Off!”

  He spat at me, tiny needle teeth gleaming in the shadow.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “It’s my can! My can! But now I can’t get out!”

  Can?

  I circled the cage, out of reach of his arm, trying to claw me. Sure enough, at the back of the cage was a can. A quick sniff‌—‌tuna, crusted dry on metal bars. Damien had set traps like this‌—‌for “darn varmints”, he called them. I think he caught something once, but I’d been sleeping when it happened and only heard about it after he and Gina had come back, smiling and smelling like Outdoor wood and fresh air.

  But now this kit had gotten himself stuck in one and I didn’t know what kind of human had set it or where he might take the kit when he came back.

  I checked over my shoulder at the gate. I didn’t know what would be worse‌—‌alley cats showing up, or a human.

  All the while, the kit was hollering at me. “You puffy dogface! If I wasn’t in here, I’d claw you to rat tails! Come over here so I can cut you. This dumpster’s MINE!”

  All this noise would bring a human by any second now!

  “Hush!” I hissed.

  He shrunk into a ball. Big talk, little claws, that’s what my mother used to say about us kittens.

  “I don’t want your dumpster. I’m trying to find someone.”

  “Yeah?” he said. “Who is it?”

  “A kit‌—‌about your age, I reckon‌—‌white, with gray patches on his head, back and tail.”

  “Got a name?”

  “No,” I said. “I just got here. But I have to find him.”

  “Well, if you leave me in here, you’re making a big mistake. I know all the kits around here!” I could hear the way he puffed out his chest out as he spoke.

  I studied him, but still couldn’t make out much more than a dark shape. Too dim. On the one paw, he’d spent almost all the time I’d known him cursing and swiping at me with his claws. But on the other paw, Shade and Jules had been helpful, and I hadn’t exactly liked them at first sniff, either.

  If this kit did know everybody‌—‌and he could be lying, I knew‌—‌it’d help me with my mission. And that’s what I was down here for, wasn’t it?

  My tail wagged as I thought. But the kitten sat quiet, not even trembling.

  I guess it’s good I can’t see him. Don’t want any sad kitten eyes making my decision for me.

  “This angel stuff is hard,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Listen, you get in the back and stay still. I need some light so I can look at the latch.”

  He sat back by the upset tuna can and I got behind him. I bowed my head against the prickly cage and pushed forward.

  Squeak! Snakkasnakka! The cage’s bottom scraped against the ground. I got it closer to the gate, but had to stop to get it around the tight corner. We were still in shadow. I needed light!

  I was checking out a better angle to push at when I heard the unmistakable click of a door opening. Me and the kit froze.

  My ears tracked the whistling of a human‌—‌and then a thump-clang. Garbage bags were raining down into the dumpster! How long before one hit me?

  I shot back into the dark corner.

  “HEEEY! Don’t leave me!” cried the kit.

  “We got one!” said the human from the other side of the wall. A woman. I flattened my ears even more, trying to become one with the ground. The kit’s shadow was looking all around.

  “Off to the shelter with you, mess maker!” The human footsteps beat the ground, and then the gate was pushing open. A woman wearing black shoes with thick soles and black pants stepped inside. I was frozen in
place, unable to swipe at her or even call out.

  On sight of her, the kitten wailed. Poor, stupid kit, he’s just bringing her closer!

  The woman scanned the shadows.

  I closed my eyes tight.

  “Aha!” She pointed at the cage. I peeked one eye open, but her legs blocked my view. The cage was shaking again, klitterklitterklitter! There was no way for him to escape!

  The kitten needed a miracle to get out of there, and I was carrying three of them.

  He can’t help me if he’s not safe and free. I need to use my miracle NOW!

  The stripe across my legs squeezed against me like a warm hug and then left me feeling light, just for a second. I leaned to one side, excited to see what would happen to her or the cage.

  But the woman bent down, blocking my view. The cage was still shaking.

  The kit was still inside. The latches or whatever hadn’t popped open and the trap was still closed. Panic fluttered into my heart. Did I just waste my first miracle?

  The kit cried again, louder than ever. “I’m scared! I don’t like this. I want my mama!”

  There was a pause. And then: “Awww!”

  My ears perked. The woman’s voice was sweet now, the way Gina used to talk to me. “Poor little guy!”

  “Maaa,” whimpered the kit.

  “It’s okay, sweetie! It’s all right! I know you’re not the one making all this mess at night! You’re too small to make any trouble, aren’t you?”

  “Maaa,” said the kit.

  “That’s right!” she nodded her head. “Only a mean ol’ raccoon could lift the lid. You just got stuck in here by accident, didn’t you, kitty?”

  “Maaa.”

  “OK, then.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I won’t tell Mr. Baker if you don’t,” she said to the kit.

  I heard more cage noises. Then:

  “There you go! That’s better! C’mon! Good boy!”

  I still couldn’t see past the woman’s back. But then the woman stood, cage dangling in her hand. It was empty.

  “Don’t come back, now! If you do, I’ll have to take you to the shelter!” She shook her finger at the air. Then she left the dumpster box, closing the gate behind her. At last, I became unfrozen.

  What happened?!

  After I heard the door click shut, I leaped to the top of the wall. Decent sightlines, except where the human-boxes blocked the view. I scented the air, but the wind gusted and all I got was car fumes and butter.

  “Kit?” I said. I turned around. “Kit?”

  “Mew.”

  It was the tiniest squeak, more mouse than feline, but my ear found its source: between a little bush with purple flowers, part of a weird little island-box of plants next to the car lines. I leaped down and scooted into the bush with him.

  “You okay, kit?”

  He was trembling again. I gave his ears a good wash, but he was still twitchy as a bird. “You’re all right now.”

  I thought back over today. “What’s your name?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’m Gingersnap.”

  Still nothing. I licked the fur bristling on his back, but it only popped back up again. I touched his face with my paw. I was an angel now and I wanted to be kind, but it was hard to resist batting him in the nose when we were surrounded by car lines and no shiny things in sight to stop them. Not to mention other humans with traps, maybe ones who were miracle-proof.

  “Hey. Wake up,” I said to him with a voice much gentler than I normally could have used. “You said you’d help me find that other kit. If he’s in a cage, we have to save him. Can you get your fur smooth for me? We can’t go if you’re puffed like a sparrow dressed for winter.” The picture of him toddling behind me like a big cloud of fuzzy gray made me chuckle. “At least, I’m not going to walk around with you looking so hilarious.”

  He gave me an indignant look, then swooped around to groom his back. I leaned over to flatten the hard-to-reach spot behind his head. When he was finished, he threw out his chest again, frowning face so serious I could have laughed.

  “Ready to come out?” I said.

  He hopped out of the bush onto the black road. I just about fell over.

  “You’re my kit!” I said. “I know you!”

  In the full sunlight I could see him tip to tail. It wasn’t just that he was a white cat with the correct number of gray patches‌—‌I recognized him from decorating the tree at Cleanwhisker.

  “What?!” He took a step back, gawking at me like I was crazy.

  “I’m supposed to find you and‌…‌and get you to Nikki! This is great!”

  “Huh?!”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but instead, the kit bolted.

  I sat for a second watching his gray tail grow smaller as he got further away from me. My angelic patience deserted me. I took off after him.

  “HEY!” I yowled. “I’m trying to help you! Stop!” The little hairball!

  The tar road was warm under my paws. I was almost on him when he veered off, turning the corner out of sight behind a building.

  “Stop, stop!” I called.

  I turned the corner and my anger turned to fear. He was heading towards a car that was zooming in front of the building, both moving too fast to stop.

  The monster screeched.

  The kit looked up from checking behind his shoulder at me and saw the monster bearing down on him. He froze.

  NO!

  Everything slowed down. I saw individual strands of his pelt bend with the wind, I saw tar grit being thrown out by the machine’s giant smelly wheels in an arc, slow and smooth as a dangling string.

  And yet I never stopped running at full speed. I blinked and was right on top of the kit, the world still moving slowly, impossibly slowly. I heard somehow the sound of the little kit taking a deep breath. The car continued forward, crawling towards us, its metal mouth brushing my whiskers. But I grabbed the kit by the scruff with my teeth and ran, ran as fast as I could out of the way.

  Woosh.

  I looked around. Green surrounded us. My claws were dug into the wood of a leafy tree. And the kit was still hanging from my jaws, his blue eyes wide. Time had returned to normal.

  “Hummina‌…‌hummina‌…‌” I thought I heard him say.

  My legs were shaking too, so I gripped the thick tree branch extra hard with my claws, creeping back towards the trunk. Where the branch connected to the tree made a safe, wide cradle for us to sit in, so I finally set the kit down. We crouched together, tails around each other, trembling together.

  After a few minutes, he finally spoke.

  “You‌…‌saved my life.”

  I sighed. “Yeah. Just don’t ask me how we got up this tree.”

  We both started laughing‌—‌out of relief, more than anything. When we were done, I licked the top of his head again.

  “My mother named me Graypatch,” said the kit, wrinkling his nose. “But I like ‘Patch’ better.” Then he blinked up at me. “Now tell me your story. From the beginning.”

  11

  The kit‌—‌Patch‌—‌took the news of me being an angel pretty well‌—‌until he asked me what an angel was. Then it was a thousand questions, just like it is with any kit‌—‌was it weird being dead, did I have wings, were any of my siblings still alive, could I always use that super speed‌…‌I finally had to put a paw in his face and tell him to hush and that I couldn’t tell him EVERYTHING about me. Besides, it seemed like every time I wanted to talk about my life in Heaven, the words wouldn’t come, but would sit there peering over their backs at me.

  Luckily, there are two things you can count on with any kit: first, they’re always only a few minutes away from a nap. Second, they’re always hungry.

  So he stopped asking questions about me and started asking about lunch. I got a feeling this warm winter‌—‌well, warmer than I was used to, anyway‌—‌would confuse some birds. Luckily, I was right, finding some bird eggs in a nest on a
lower branch.

  “Here,” I said after dropping it at Patch’s paws.

  “Oo! I love egg goop, thanks!” He lapped it all up before I could blink. I hadn’t felt hungry anyways. Thinking back, I realized that the spaghetti-night smells at the kit’s dumpster hadn’t even made my tummy gurgle. My tail curled, wondering. Maybe angels don’t need to eat.

  Eggshell dry, my kit stretched, tongue lolling in a big yawn.

  “Have a nap, kit. You’ve had a big morning.”

  “Thanks. Don’t mind”‌—‌he yawned again, so wide I could see his molars‌—‌”if I do.” He dropped off in the flick of a whisker.

  I sniffed the branch he was on. Satisfied it was strong and safe, I kicked the empty eggshell out of the tree and climbed out to the edge of the limb to get a better look at things.

  We had taken up residence in a big tree that was just one in a line of them that followed a hard white footpath in grass. All of them, including ours, seemed to have paper balls in them‌—‌Christmas decorations?

  I could also hear cars faintly, but couldn’t see them. I crossed to the opposite side of the tree. Over a wall was a fence around a big grass field, which was around a huge human building and a couple of kiddie condos. It’d only take us a couple minutes to get there.

  Brrrrriiing! The building shrilled, making my ears flatten. Then hundreds of human children poured out of the building and scattered‌—‌though most of them were going to the far side of the building where I couldn’t see them. I was thoroughly confused until I caught a glimpse of a macaroni-noodle yellow, big long machine leaving the building. I’d seen Gina off on the bus like that for years. Was this where it went? Was it “school”? Was this where Patch needed to be?

  Soon, children were clumping down the white path beneath us. They wore backpacks just like my Gina did, chattering like mice. One boy passing under our tree pointed. He had a funny cap on, green.

  “Hey! An eggshell!”

  He looked up and I caught a glimpse of brown eyes. I darted back to the trunk.