Marco leaned in closer to the tube. “It doesn’t smell like water, Polo. It’s awful.” Marco jerked his head back and crinkled his nose at the biting odor. The red tube was about half-full of liquid.
“That’s disgusting. What do you want it for?”
“It goes with my red jewelry collection. Look here! See the little wheel?”
Marco did not like Polo’s latest stolen good. Lucy’s father had one almost like it. He recognized it by the smell. It was a flame shooter.
Chapter 28: Finders keepers
Marco escaped back to the tree while Polo loped across the weedy backyard, the cigarette lighter dangling from his mouth, and crawled through a fence hole into the neighbor’s yard.
A tire swing swayed gently in the evening breeze, and the promise of hidden spaces lured the ferret. He dropped the lighter and pulled himself up into the rubbery den, exploring pretty much everything there was to see inside a tire. When he heard voices, he stood straight up and looked out through the wide hole. There were three large animals with black masks sniffing their way around a bunch of kid’s plastic toys. He recognized their bandit faces. Raccoons.
“We’re being watched,” said one of them, suddenly noticing Polo. “Look’it that varmint in the hangin’ tire. What is it?”
“Looks like a deformed rat, don’t you think?” said another.
“Who, or should I say, what are you?” asked the biggest one.
Polo felt no obligation to explain himself and ignored their comparing him to a rat. It happened all the time.
“In case you haven’t heard, we own this part of town now. My name’s Sting and these are my two fine young companions.”
Even though a vagabond and a thief, Polo was completely devoid of cruel intentions, and he did not recognize a bully for what he was.
“You deaf or something?” asked Sting. “You gotta be, with those puny ears.”
“Yeah, deaf and dumb,” said Tank.
Polo had had enough. He drew in a breath. “Hey, bugle ears!” he yelled. “You’re hurtin’ my eyes. How come you’re so fat?”
“No one talks to me like that!” Sting said, and before Polo could blink, he was yanked out of the tire by his neck and tossed to the ground.
Polo was undeterred. He raised himself to his fullest height, bared his teeth and challenged Sting with his fiercest look.
Just as Sting was about to take another swipe at him, the smallest raccoon ran up.
“Hey, Sting! Take a look at this!” He handed him the cigarette lighter.
“My, my,” said Sting. “This is interesting.”
“Hey, that’s mine!” Polo yelled.
“Shut up,” said Sting. “This here trinket might save your life if you was smart enough to keep your trap shut.”
Polo had no intention of letting it go. He tried grabbing the lighter, but Sting seized him by the throat until his eyes bulged and the lighter fell out of his hand gone limp.
Chapter 29: David and Goliath
Scuffling noises from the ground woke Marco from his nap. Through the tree branches he saw three large animals scavenging plastic kid’s toys in the yard next door.
“Nothing here worth eatin’, boss,” said one.
He recognized them immediately, but he was in no mood for another fight with raccoons. Besides, they weren’t hurting anything and they’d never notice him. He curled up to resume his nap, when all of the sudden, there was Polo in the middle of the raccoons—nabbed right out of a tire swing and thrown to the ground.
He saw Polo rise from the dust and face his assailant, like David defying Goliath.
But Marco knew Polo wouldn’t stand a chance in a battle with these thugs and skittered rapidly down the tree and through the fence hole.
“What the….?” Sting said, shocked.
Marco was quickly flanked by Sting’s two cohorts. They peered at him through their black masks.
“Hey, isn’t he one of those dead cats, Sting?”
“You’re about to be a dead raccoon,” countered Marco. “Let him go!”
Polo was squirming in Sting’s grip.
“Sure thing, buddy. Tank. Crimmany. You know what to do.” Sting tossed Polo aside.
All three raccoons launched themselves at Marco. One bit his tail and Marco whirled around, smacking him with claws extended. Next thing he knew though, he was at the bottom of the heap. He clawed furiously, tasting dirt and blood. Then… pain pierced his body, first his ear, then his nose. He could barely breathe.
His saving grace came from pure instinct, a cat trick he didn’t know he had until he needed it. He jerked his body like a corkscrew, twisting his bones inside his loose skin. Free from the vicious bullies, he darted up the tree and watched the raccoons claw at each other until they discovered he had disappeared.
The raccoons, dazed and confused, rummaged around for a minute.
“I hate cats,” said Sting. “They’re freakin' me out. Let’s scram.”
“Hey Sting, you still want this?” asked Crimmany, holding up Polo’s lighter.
“Sure, you never know. It might come in handy.”
Chapter 30: Wild disregard for order
For security reasons, Cicero moved the Dead Cats meetings from the Café parking lot to a room inside the library—a storage area where the window was permanently stuck open. Not that any librarian could even see the window, let alone get to it.
The room was crammed so full there was no pathway left for people. Wooden card catalogs took up half the space. A large bust of Mark Twain kept company with an ancient manual typewriter on an overstuffed chair. Piles of cardboard boxes, books and magazines looked as though they’d given up their struggle for organization and succumbed to the gravity of neglect.
Cicero thought it was perfect. The room had the right balance of coziness and wild disregard for order.
Already most of the cats had found something of interest. Gypsy browsed through Mothering Magazine while her kittens pounced over her. Skitzo was reading an article in the Daily Observer titled “Missing Baby Found Inside Watermelon!” Caffeina looked bored as she flipped the pages of Cat Diva.
Heads raised as Marco climbed into the room through the narrow window opening, his ear and nose torn, dried blood on his tail.
Caffeina was the first to jump up. “Mee-oow! Marco, what happened to you?”
Tweezer asked, “Who won?”
Marco held his head and tail high, battle scars and all. “I did pretty well, considering,” he said proudly.
“Considering….?”
“Considering the face-off Polo and I had with the raccoons.”
”Raccoons!”
“Who did you say you were with?” asked Skitzo.
“My friend, Polo.”
Tweezer came closer and examined Marco’s injuries. “Did you leave your mark on them?” he asked.
“They won’t soon forget me,” said Marco.
“Who’s Polo?” Skitzo insisted, peering suspiciously at Marco.
“He’s a friend.”
“Do we know him?”
“Not exactly,” answered Marco.
Skitzo circle Marco, inspecting him like an interrogator. “Why doesn’t he come to meetings?”
“I thought it was just for cats.”
“What? He’s not a cat?” asked Skitzo, appalled.
“Well… no,” Marco said. “Polo’s a… well, he’s a ferret.”
Dead silence.
“A what?” asked Sophie, who was never afraid to admit when she didn’t know something.
“A ferret.”
“You have a friend who’s not a cat?” challenged Skitzo.
“You’re repeating yourself Skitzo. A sure sign of psycho-ness. Anyway, so what?” said Caffeina. “No law says we can’t be friends with other species. I have a good friend who’s a dog.”
“You should be careful who you’re friends with, Caffeina.”
“That’s funny, coming from you Skitzo. Since you don’t have any friends,” retorted the cheeky feline.
“Here. Here,” interjected Cicero. “Marco, inform the others about ferrets.”