“Marco,” muttered Skitzo. “Wasn’t he some kind of spy?”
“Boy, you should read more, Skitzo. Marco was a famous explorer, not a spy,” said the scruffy tomcat.
“Well, Marco, you know who Skitzo is,” continued Bait. ”This is Tweezer, that’s Pudge and over there is Gypsy with her kittens.”
A long-haired white Persian sauntered in. “Anyone seen my book? I stashed it here last meeting. Now I can’t find it anywhere.”
“You mean that stupid fashion magazine, Caffeina?" asked Tweezer. "That's not a book!"
“Well, it’s a lot better than your biker magazines.” The white cat swished her tail in Tweezer’s face and strolled off.
This is not what Marco expected. Was this some kind of joke Cicero was playing on him?
For all their grumbling, the arguments didn’t get physical. They scattered out and a few of them disappeared into a large dumpster to search for food scraps from the restaurant.
Marco investigated the surroundings. Metal trashcans and empty food boxes lined the back of the brick restaurant. He sniffed lettuce, rotten bananas and dead potted plants. It seemed a waste of time, and he decided to leave.
“Seize the day!” cried a familiar voice.
Marco jumped, along with the others.
Cicero had arrived unnoticed and taken his place on the wooden crate he used as a podium.
“Greetings, fellow Readers,” he announced, unable to hide the fact that he was enjoying the small bit of drama caused by his arrival.
But the drama was short-lived. Now they just seemed bored, licking French fry grease off their paws.
Chapter 20: Stage fright
Cicero sighed. He was well aware his passion for sharing Guardian stories was met with mixed enthusiasm. While they found the idea exciting and a few even dreamed of someday becoming a Guardian, none of these cats had what it took. Still, it was part of his duty to maintain the tradition of the Dead Cats Society as—what was that strange term? Social outreach?
Cicero gave the cats time to finish their grooming. All were homeless, although they didn’t think of themselves as strays. They’d had humans somewhere in their past, for better or worse.
All were tough survivors, though. Tweezer was a drop-off at Mrs. Wilcox’s Cat Rescue Mission, and Gypsy had strong barn cat lineage. He knew Skitzo stayed on the move, lurking behind markets and cafés, skittish of human contact, but Pudge was only too happy to have the café owner for a friend. Marco liked to sleep in tall trees or rooftops, when weather permitted.
Then there was Caffeina, of whom he felt some fatherly affection. She told the others she lived at the Fairmont Hotel, and he never let on that it was a janitorial closet at the Sleep N’Go Motel.
He spotted Bait making small talk with Marco. He knew the most about him; a pedigreed Russian Blue, born at a breeding cattery and adopted by a woman who supplied him with pricy collars, toys and food.
Bait was proud of the awards he won at cat shows and how well he’d learned to read in the long hours he spent alone at home. He favored psychology journals. A strange choice, thought Cicero, but then Bait was a strange cat.
Bait told him he grew bored with the cat shows, and shortly after, a white Persian kitten appeared in his house. They despised each other from the start. When Bait drew blood on the kitten’s face, the woman threw him outside, and that was that.
The important thing was that somewhere along the way, this little group had all acquired the ability to read. It was rapidly becoming a lost art, and so, even if they didn’t read the best stuff, they came faithfully to meetings.
Gypsy kept him supplied with kittens to tutor, and they were his hope for the future. Reader cats were necessary to maintain the tradition of passing on the Guardian Cat stories.
It was the next Guardian Cat he was worried about. He must be sure this time.
“What’s your story about tonight, Cicero?” asked Lily.
Lily and Sophie, two of Gypsies kittens, were always eager for his stories.
Tonight I will tell you the story of a Guardian Cat named Gadiel. He lived long ago in the frozen steppes of the Ural Mountains. That’s in western Russia.”
“Hey, Cicero,” interrupted Skitzo. “What are you gonna do about this stray? I thought we had rules.”
“Yeah, like you live by the rules, Skitzo,” countered Caffeina.
“Yeah, like you’re not a stray,” said Tweezer, the tomcat.
Skitzo ignored them and pushed his point with Cicero. “The one who calls himself Marco. What happened to security around here? Shouldn’t he at least swear by the Code?”
“We’ll get around to that in good time,” replied Cicero patiently.
“Like…?” pushed Skitzo.
Cicero tolerated Skitzo’s rudeness. He didn’t expect much in the way of manners from the strays, but he did enjoy teasing them.
“Okay, Skitzo. Maybe you’re right,” he said.
Skitzo looked smugly at the others.
“In fact, now is the perfect time. Why don’t you recite it for us?”
Skitzo looked like a deer caught in a car’s headlights.
“Way to go, Skitzo! You stepped in that one,” yelled Tweezer.
“I can recite it,” offered Lily. “I’ve been memorizing it this week. Mum’s teaching me.”
“Okay, Lily. Let’s hear it.”
Skitzo, under his breath, mumbled, “Bootlicker.”
“Psycho,” Lily snapped back and scampered up to the front. In her small, confident voice, she began. “I will now recite the Code of the Dead Cats Society… a society created by our beloved Guardian Cats to help promote the cause of reading and other higher pursuits.”
She took a deep breath. “I swear that I will put the welfare of others before my own…” She trailed off and looked to Cicero for help.
“Interests,” he coached.
“Oh, yeah. I swear that I will endeavor to uphold honor in the face of cor-por-a-tions…”
“Corruption,” corrected Cicero, smiling.
“Co-rup-shun. Okay. Uh, where was I? I will seek to be courageous in the face of danger. I will seek to live at peace with others, but never, uh…”
“Hesitate.”
“Yes, never hesitate to defend the weak and helpless against the forces of evil and injustice.” In her softest voice, she said, “I will aim to be gentle spoken and not boastful of my good deeds.” Then she lifted her head and pushed out her chest, raising the pitch of her voice again. “And I will remain true to my word and loyal to the ideals and principles of the Dead Cats Society.”
“Well done, Lily! Thank you,” said Cicero. He turned to Marco. “Lily’s mum can help you learn the Code. I’m sure you will have it memorized in no time. Now, we usually have a Reader share something before I begin my story. Skitzo keeps us posted on tabloid news. Pudge reads from Garfield comics and Caffeina keeps us well supplied with the latest gossip from Cat Fashion.”
“Oh. Wow,” said Marco, trying not to appear stunned.
“You are reading an adventure, right? Why don’t you tell us about it?”
“Oh… maybe next time.”
“There’s no time like the present,” Cicero gently insisted.
Marco threaded his way through Gypsy’s newest batch of kittens. She spoke encouragingly to him. “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. The first time is the hardest.”
All the cats were staring at him. Marco hung his head. He’d never had to give a book report before.
“A little stage fright? Don’t worry, we’ve all been there,” Cicero said. "How about starting with the name of the book?"
He didn’t think this crowd would be much interested in his book, but he took a deep breath and plowed ahead. “The Three Musketeers,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“Can’t hear you,” said Skitzo.
Marco looked at Cicero, who nodded to him. “The Three Musketeers,” Marco repeated in a stronger voice.
“The three what?” asked Caffeina.
“Musketeers. They’re like soldiers.”
"Okay, go on. Tell us what you like about the book," Cicero said.