The Adventures of Caterwaul the Cat (17 page)

A Cage Full of Cats

W
arwick Vane Bezel III was extraordinarily proud of himself, and why shouldn't he be? After all, he had a wagon full of cats with which he could do whatever he wanted, and he had also acquired the pure-white female that his employer demanded.

He chuckled to think that soon he would return to Castle Cathoon with the pure-white cat that the hated Caterwaul had been sent to procure. He took delight in the thought that he would get all the credit and the horrible black feline would now be out of favor with Druciah.

He rode slowly alongside the wagon full of cats. After about a half an hour, he came to a roadblock. There was a large, downed tree lying across the road. A number of cats were sitting on top of the tree. One of them was exceedingly fat and bore gray-and-white markings on his fur. As the horses slowed, Warwick glanced about to get the lay of the land. He stopped and dismounted.

“What's going on here?” he asked brazenly.

“Ah, you can speak,” said the leader of the cats below him. “That's a good sign, and a point in your favor, I might add. Those cats you have there belong to me. They pay me protection money, so I suggest that you open up that cage and let ‘em go or it could go ugly for ya.” Two other cats stepped forward from out of the group; it was Meyer and Bugsy. The former flashed his oversized teeth at the secret policeman. My name is Lucius Felino Jr.,” he said. “Perhaps you've heard of me?”

“I can't say that I have,” answered Warwick Vane Bezel III defiantly. “As for me, you can just call me constable,” he responded. A really sinister and twisted smile came over his face. “I believe that everyone who has ever set foot in this land has heard of me.” He led his mount forward. “Fatso, you have no idea whatsoever whom you are dealing with.

“You see I am the chief of police for Queen Druciah, the ruler of all of these lands. I'm what you might call a heavy-hitter around here. In fact I just might be the heaviest hitter of them all. So my advice to you is this: clear out. Get that log out of my path now, and we will go on as if none of this unpleasantness ever happened.” He snatched up Lucius Jr. by his copious neck, and held him up close to his face. “If you refuse me this request, I cannot begin to tell you how bad things will become for you, my fat Felino.”

Warwick Vane Bezel III tossed Lucius, as if he was nothing but a ragdoll, in the direction of the downed tree with a rugged underhand motion. No cat could ever strong-arm him. Humiliated as never before, Lucius Jr., son of the mob boss, signaled for his men to pull the tree out of the road. This was no easy feat. It took Lucius and fifteen other cats a considerable amount of time to haul the tree away so that the wagon could pass.

The police commander smiled and thought to himself:
No cat will ever get the best of Warwick Vane Bezel III.

It took no time at all for Huxley to pick up the constable's scent. After all, Warwick Vane Bezel III was traveling with a wagon full of cats.
He shouldn't be hard to detect,
thought Caterwaul. A hound with olfactory senses as excellent as Huxley's would be sure to pick up his trail from miles away. Caterwaul rode on the dog's back.

As fast as he was, Caterwaul realized that Huxley was much better equipped to cover long distances. Since the two had come to their “arrangement,” he was content to make use of the hound's obvious talents. “How much farther ahead is he?” asked Caterwaul.

“The best I can estimate,” answered the dog, “we ought to catch up with him in the next ten to fifteen minutes.” Huxley looked really excited. After years of living with the unappreciative hunter, he finally felt that he was really a part of something. This was a rescue operation. He howled with delight while Caterwaul clung tightly to his collar, trying his best just to hang on.

“What, I don't understand,” Huxley asked him, “is why you didn't just come to me honest and forthright at the start?” He was moving very fast in pursuit of the wagon. “Why did you feel the need to throw that exploding doohickey at me? That hurt, by the way.”

“Sorry about that, friend,” Caterwaul answered. “My companion and I needed you to do a job, and we weren't aware that you and your master were not really reading from the same script, if you catch my meaning.”

Caterwaul cleared his throat. “I mean, look at it from my perspective. You're a dog and I'm a cat. Usually that makes for strange bedfellows, unless of course we grew up together. Dogs mostly chase us cats. You can't blame me for thinking you might be aligned against me.”

“Fair enough,” said Huxley, not breaking his stride. “But what was it that made you change your mind about me?”

“That's obvious,” said Caterwaul. “As I neared the house, I could hear the hunter beating you. And when I looked through the window and saw him hitting you with that shoe . . . I . . . I . . .” he stammered for a moment, “I just thought that no one should be allowed to treat anyone that way. Especially when he is your master and he is supposed to love you. I just don't understand how anyone can . . .” his voice trailed off sadly.

He paused a solid minute before continuing, “Huxley, I promise you this. If you stick with me, no one will ever beat you like that again. You have my word on that.” The dog howled appreciatively and increased his speed, causing Caterwaul to bounce up and down on his back. “Slow down, dog,” he said laughing. “You're going to knock me flying.”

After what seemed like twenty minutes or so—it was hard for Caterwaul to keep accurate time from his position on the hound's back—Huxley slowed down and started sniffing the ground. “There were cats here,” he said, “and it looks like a lot of them, more than just the ones we're after. Do you see all the footprints?”

“What happened here?” Caterwaul asked.

Huxley pointed to a large hemp rope that was wrapped around the end of a downed tree. “See that?” he asked. “Someone was trying to collect a toll, I'd wager. That someone was most likely part of the outfit. But it didn't work out. Look . . . You can see where they pulled the log back out of the road.”

Caterwaul looked at the spot Huxley indicated. Sure enough, the downed tree was there, just as Huxley said it was, with the rope and everything.
This hound knows what he is looking at,
Caterwaul thought.

“How much farther ahead is he?” asked Caterwaul.

“Not much further,” the dog answered. “It looks like the Felino family held him up a bit. We should intercept him in less than ten minutes, give or take.”

Huxley made sure Caterwaul was firmly ensconced on his back and continued to move quickly after the police commander and the wagon full of cats. The dog really knew his way around the forest. He turned his head back toward his passenger and said, “Hold on tight.”

The dog made a left turn away from the path they had been following. He howled in delight and grinned ear to ear, confident in his command of the terrain. “I'm about to put us directly in his path,” said the dog eagerly.

A few minutes later, the dog and his passenger emerged from the forest. He was back on what looked like the path they had been originally following. There were trees on both sides of the path. “Climb down off me now and go hide up in one of those trees,” Huxley said. “When I stop him, you will know what to do.”

Caterwaul leaped from the hound's back and scurried up a pine onto one of its low-hanging branches. Huxley started digging up the road furiously. Up in the tree, Caterwaul removed his shoulder pack. He was hoping he had enough of his sleeping powder to use on someone as large as Warwick Vane Bezel III. From his stores, he thought in all likelihood he did not. But then maybe he didn't actually have to put the commander to sleep. Perhaps it would be enough to simply confuse him.

He looked down from his tree branch. The dog had dug a good-sized trench in the road. If Warwick Vane Bezel III was not alert, then it might cause him some serious trouble. A few minutes later, the constable and the wagon came into view. Huxley made no move. He went on digging up the road. It was like he was possessed by a single thought.

Warwick Vane Bezel III, who was in no way, shape, or form an animal lover, failed to recognize the dog as the hunter's pet. This played into Caterwaul's hands.

“You . . . dog. Move out of my way,” barked the constable. Huxley continued his digging up the road, unmoved. “Did you not hear me, dog?” he asked again, shouting at the beast who barred his way. “I'm on a mission for the queen.” Still, the hound ignored him and kept right on doing what he was doing.

Caterwaul grabbed what remained of the sleep powder from his pack and jumped down onto the top of the wagon cage. He hissed defiantly at the wagon master and swiped at his face. His claws connected with the flesh of the driver, and the man jumped down and ran away screaming.

Warwick Vane Bezel III swiveled about on his horse. He looked straight at Caterwaul and shouted, “You!” Drawing his sword, he swung it toward his target, flat side forward, in an attempt to knock the cat from his post atop the wagon. But Caterwaul dodged the blow. The commander missed, fanning the air wildly over the cat's head, the momentum from his errant swing nearly unhorsing him.

Seeing Caterwaul, the caged felines began to scream. It was as if they were collectively begging him to save them. Warwick Vane Bezel III leapt from his horse. It was at that instant that Huxley pounced. The hound grabbed the constable by his cloak and pulled him to the ground. Surprised by this sudden move, the constable lost hold of his weapon. He watched it bounce on the ground while he was driven backwards. He stumbled to the earth, the large dog snapping at his throat.

But Warwick Vane Bezel III was strong. Punching the excited hound in the snout, he pushed his attacker away and moved to regain his footing. Huxley yelped in pain and rolled over, growling at the policeman. Just then, Caterwaul launched himself from the wagon. Grasping the commander's leather, jerking with his claws, he clambered onto the angry man's shoulders.

“I don't know why you are here, Warwick, or what you intend to do with these cats, but whatever it is, it's not in accordance with my orders.” He drew in a deep breath, leaned back and tore open the pouch of sleeping powder. Caterwaul unsheathed his claws and drove them into the commander's flesh. Warwick Vane Bezel screamed in pain and sucked in an enormous breath, drawing the sleeping powder deep into his lungs. Just as the cat expected, it was not nearly enough to knock him out. It was, however, enough to make him forget who he was and why he was here moving about the thickets of Harsizzle.

“Get that cage open now,” shouted Huxley, “while you can.” Caterwaul jumped back up onto the cart and moved toward the lock. If there was one thing he'd learned how to do, way before he'd ever encountered the Witch, it was how to pick a lock. Within moments the cage was open, and the cats scampered to escape. But where was the all-white cat?

The cage now stood empty, and still there was no sign of the white cat. Caterwaul glanced over at Warwick Vane Bezel III. He was moving about strangely, in a daze from the sleeping powder. He was staggering about in complete confusion. He was out of his mind, unaware of who he was or even where he was.

“Hey you guys . . . Under here.” It was a voice coming from the front of the cart.

Caterwaul jumped back up onto the bench where the driver had previously been sitting. Underneath the bench, covered by a fine linen cloth, was one of the hunter's cages. Inside the cage was the white cat. As Caterwaul pulled the cover off of it, the cat appeared to be quite frightened.

“It's okay, my lovely,” said Caterwaul. “I am here to rescue you.” Caterwaul took one of his claws and sprang the latch on the trap holding the white cat.

“I appreciate it, friend,” said the white cat, “but ease up on the lovely stuff, will ya? Because from where I'm sittin', you know . . . it just ain't that kind of party.” Caterwaul's jaw dropped in disbelief.

“The name's Frankie,” the white cat said, extending his paw, “and I want to thank you for the rescue.”

Caterwaul was deflated. He thought he had finally found his prize, only to have it pulled away at the last minute.

“I'm a singer. I'm pretty good actually. I do all the classics. You know the style. I'm what you might call a crooner. I always draw a crowd when I perform. You ever want to see me, you got free tickets for life.

“If ever I can do you a favor, just let me know. I owe you, big time!”

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