The Adventures of Caterwaul the Cat (18 page)

Interludes

T
he next morning, a very cold Warwick Vane Bezel III woke up shivering to a pounding headache. His clothes had been removed and were in a pile, neatly folded, on the wagon bench. All that remained to cover him were his well-worn, polka-dotted undershorts. He did not want to move. He hadn't felt this bad since the last time he had consumed way too much grog.

But he didn't remember drinking any spirits. Nor could he remember where he was or how he had gotten there. Most of all, he could not explain why he was practically naked and locked in a cage full of cat droppings.

He tried to reach through the cage to grab his clothes, but he could not get his hand far enough through the narrow bars. Frustrated beyond belief, he shook the cage angrily and screamed for about half an hour in the hope that someone might hear him and come set him free. But alas, no one heard, or if they did hear, no one came.

“So after all of that trouble, it turned out that the white cat wasn't a female after all. It was a male cat named Frankie,” Caterwaul laughingly explained to Coy, who was still recovering from his injuries.

“Well, at least you were able to stop the wagon and free all of the cats,” the kitten said. “I imagine right about now, word of your exploits is spreading all around Harsizzle. You're a hero, pal. Not just anyone can go up against the queen's top man and survive, much less come out the winner.”

“Yes,” said Caterwaul quietly. He also knew he was lucky. But if he didn't find the all-white female soon, his luck might run out.

Then he remembered what was most funny about the night before and burst out in hysterics. He swung back on his tail and rolled forward in the grass toward Coy, laughing. “You really should have been there for what happened next,” Caterwaul said with an enormous smile. “Once I had freed all of the cats, as you might imagine, they were howling mad. They started to attack the constable from all directions at once. Some of them jumped up on him and started climbing their way up his clothes.

“Now, at that particular moment, Warwick Vane Bezel III was in the middle of a pretty powerful hallucination, which as it happens, was caused by my magic sleeping powder going off in his face. When the cats attacked, he didn't know what was happening. I have no idea what horrible creatures he thought were attacking him. I just know that he started freaking out like crazy.

“The next thing you know, he's tearing all his clothes off. Huxley thought that was so hilarious, he started in on him too. The old dog was barking furiously as the cats surrounded the commander. Then old Warwick Vane Bezel III climbed into the back of his own nasty old cat cage . . . and he's lying there, on the floor of the cage, shaking like he just saw a ghost.” Caterwaul was laughing so hard, he started honking like a goose.

In her cave deep in the forest of Red Moon, the Witch rocked back and forth on her chair. In her mouth was a pipe made out of a carved and hollowed out gourd. It wasn't lit, but she chewed the stem nervously. In front of her was her grandfather's beautiful chessboard with its intricately carved pieces. Sitting on the board were almost a complete set of black pieces and only three white ones—a rook, one pawn, and the king. She had the white king in check and was about to put the hammer down on her opponent.

The Witch moved her rook down, making it impossible for the white king to escape. “Check and mate,” she said. Taking her pipe in her hand, she threw it across the table at her competitor, if she could truly call him that. “You stink . . . as always,” she shouted. “Edsel, tell me something . . . How is it that no matter how many times we play, you just don't seem to get any better? You are a rat. You were a two-legged rat before and now crawl around on all four, but a rat isn't a stupid animal . . . Rats are supposed to have problem-solving intelligence. So what, my greasy friend, is wrong with you? Hmmmmm? Why is it that I seem to find myself sharing my home with the world's most moronic rodent?”

Edsel the Rat dodged the gourd pipe and dropped down to the floor below the table. Not wanting to have anything else hurled at him, he scampered away and hid quietly under what passed for the Witch's couch. The rat was afraid to make even a sound, much less say a word, and for Edsel the Rat, that was next to impossible.

“Tell me, Edsel, did your mother engage in many high risk or unlawful activities while she was carrying you?”

The Witch wiped her forehead clear of perspiration. She was starting to become despondent. She had been without her cat, her companion, for months now. She wanted him . . . no, she needed him back. The thought occurred to her that the queen might be trying to weasel out on their deal.
No
, she thought,
the queen is no fool. She knows better than to welsh on a deal with me.

The Witch looked at the remains of the slaughter staring back at her from the chessboard. She really hoped she would get her friend back soon.

Back at the blacksmith shop, Lucius Felino Jr. had egg on his face, both literally and figuratively. He was furious at how easily Warwick Vane Bezel III dismissed him on the road the night before. He was a Felino, and being a Felino is supposed to carry with it a certain level of respect. Lose respect, you lose control. That was what his father Lucius Sr. always said. And if the men lose their respect for you, it's extra hard to get it back.

He was so angry, he could not properly enjoy his breakfast. The yolk of his raw chicken egg covered his mouth, nose, and whiskers, and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't lick it all off.

“Somebody, get me a towel or something to wipe this mess off!” demanded Lucius Jr. Meyer tossed him what appeared to be a square cut from a napkin. The fat kitten dragged it over his face repeatedly. “Is it all off?” he asked. His companions nodded, and Lucius Jr. threw the towel on the ground.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Lucius Jr. signaled for Bugsy to admit their visitor. He soon returned to the audience room, as Lucius Jr. called it, with a pale gray cat wearing a doll-sized sailor's cap.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Gerhard?” asked Jr.

“Afternoon, Guvnor,” he said to the fat kitten underboss with a smile that went from ear to ear. “Word on the street is that you're lookin' to pay for any information regarding that constable fellow. The one who embarrassed you last night.” He smiled fetidly, and suddenly every cat in the room knew what he'd had for breakfast. “Well, I'm here to collect.”

“If it's solid,” the gray-and-white said, “I'll pay for solid, but you better not be yanking my collar, my fancy pants foreigner, or they'll be using your dried, dead body to scrub the toilets around here.”

“Oh, this is diamond solid,” he said. “And you won't have too much trouble finding him neither. You see, he's trapped. He's locked in the back of his own cat-catcher.” He started laughing hysterically. “Can you beat that? Seems that this Caterwaul fellow pulled some kind of magic act on him, and the next thing you know, he's crying like a baby in the back of his own cage wearing nothing but his knickers.”

“Caterwaul you say?” asked Lucius Jr.

Gerhard nodded.

“How well do you know this Caterwaul, my well-paid snitch friend?” Jr. motioned for Meyer to toss him a fat pouch full of money.

“Not well at all, I'm afraid,” Gerhard responded, stammering. He wondered if now, of all times, he might have been better off being quiet. “I mean I only met him the one time. Said he was looking for a good time . . . You know, he wanted to know where the ladies were . . . and all that. That's pretty much all we had to say to each other.”

Two cats stepped from out of the shadows. Each one grabbed Gerhard by an arm. Lucius Jr. strode to where the two were holding him.

“So where did you tell him to go, Gerhard? To find the females?” asked Lucius Jr. as he gently ran one of his claws against the fur of his captive's neck. “A respected, international lady-killer, such as you, must surely know all the best places where the fine kitties go to play.”

Spit was flying from the mobster's fat face as he pushed closer in a most threatening way. “You don't want to make your old pal Lucius upset now? Do you now, Gerhard?”

17

The Party at the Old Windmill

J
ust as Gerhard said he would, Caterwaul could hear the music coming from old man Farrow's farm long before he saw the building, but as the old windmill came into view, he had no doubt he had come to the right place. The joint was lit up like a storefront at Christmastime. He wondered what they had done to make the lights flash on and off and change colors the way they did.

On the outside, it looked to be a typical large windmill. It was made of granite and wood. Though hardly crude in design, it was nowhere near as intricate as Caterwaul had imagined. The renovations he had made to Cathoon, designed to his specifications, led him to expect something greater, so he was slightly disappointed.

As he got close enough to the door to see inside, however, the smile came back to his face. The décor inside the venue was attractive, but simple and clean as most cats usually are. There were already dozens of cats mulling around inside and dozens more playing on the grass and trees outside. Yes, this was going to be some party. There was already a good crowd, and the sun wasn't even down yet.

He noticed that the flashing effect of the lights was achieved by having a group of young cats, far too young to attend the party under normal circumstances, covering their assigned lights with a dark or colored cover, which they moved in synch with the music. Caterwaul thought it made for a very impressive visual.

He hadn't yet touched the funds the queen had given him to play with. So tonight, if he needed to, he felt he'd earned the right to indulge himself. He knew these were mostly simple folk, so he didn't expect the royal treatment when it came to food and drink, but he knew he was going to have himself a really good time.