***
Marco wasn’t sure how to describe a ferret to a cat. “He has fur, but he doesn’t look much like us. He’s long, hardly any ears, and…” What could he tell them?
The cats were waiting.
Then he remembered what he liked most about his friend. “Ferrets are funny. At least Polo’s funny,” he blurted out.
“Oh!”
It was the perfect answer for the cats and broke the tension. For most of them, anyway.
“Funny is overrated,” said Skitzo. “I can’t remember the last time I was funny.”
“That’s because you’ve never been funny,” countered Caffeina.
“You risked your life for a ferret?” asked Bait.
“Well, yeah. I mean, I didn’t stop to think about it,” said Marco. “Polo’s my friend. I had to defend him.”
“Very noble of you,” replied Bait.
“How many did you say there were?” asked Cicero.
“Three. The same thugs who broke into our meeting.”
“You fought all three by yourself and lived to tell about it?” asked Pudge.
There was an admiring squeal from Caffeina. “Three raccoons on your own! You’re a hero!”
Had Marco been human, he would have been blushing.
“I think we should meet this friend of yours,” Bait said. “This one who inspires so much loyalty.”
“Yes! You should bring him to a meeting,” agreed Pudge.
Marco was relieved they were willing to meet Polo, especially since he was waiting outside.
Polo’s head shot up in the window. “Can I come in now? It’s boring out here.” Without waiting for an answer, he leaped through and fell on the floor. He picked himself up and looked around. It didn’t take long for him to decide who was having the most fun, and he immediately joined in with the kittens.
The older cats stared in group silence at the odd creature frolicking with the little ones. Gypsy broke the silence. “Guys. Focus. The raccoons. We can’t keep ignoring this problem by hiding.”
“The raccoons are cramping my lifestyle, that’s for sure,” said Pudge. “They come over every night and raid the dumpster. And would you believe? The human who used to feed me… she thinks the raccoons are cute! Now they get all the scraps. They’re such pigs!”
Cicero tried to calm them down. “Raccoons don’t stay in one place long. They’re drifters, so I believe they’ll move on soon. For now, we need to lie low.”
“Great! We have to skulk around while they terrorize the neighborhood?” Skitzo asked, his voice rising.
“We could turn them in to Animal Control,” suggested Caffeina. “Those guys are always picking up stray dogs in my neighborhood.”
“Oh, you’re so brilliant, Caffeina,” Tweezer said, rolling his eyes. “How are we going to do that? You know some human who understands ‘cat’? ”
Chapter 31: The London Bookshop
The dull ache in his hind leg woke Cicero and the bittersweet memories came flooding back.
He missed Amelia. He missed the labyrinthine maze of books and magazines in her bookshop, the cafés on London’s narrow cobblestone street behind the store, the treats he always found waiting for him.
He even missed dodging the shoes one merchant threw at him and the excitement of never knowing when a motor scooter would come charging down the alley like some avenging angel.
When he greeted Amelia’s customers, they’d exclaim, “Oh, you’re the cat on the mews!” and laugh hysterically. He never understood what was so funny.
His last day at the bookstore, he had been lying in a sunny patch by the front window. Something in the air changed the moment the man stepped into the shop.
A gray fedora shadowed his face. He wore a tweed coat and carried a satchel which weighed down one shoulder.
“Do you carry rare books?” he had asked Amelia, rubbing his hands together as if they were cold, even though the day was warm. Cicero remembered how his moustache bobbed as he spoke.
Before Amelia could answer, the man was talking again. “Ah, um, I should introduce myself. Where are my manners?” he said, fumbling in his pocket. He handed Amelia his card. “I’m Doctor Chin. But most people call me ‘Professor’.”
Amelia had seemed delighted with his presence, but she was like that with everyone. Cicero followed them as she guided the man on a tour of the small crowded bookstore. There should not be a shadow inside, he knew, but sure enough, one was following this man.
“Lovely shop, yes,” the man said. “And I will browse through that art collection in the back, but I wonder if… I feel a little foolish asking.” He laughed tightly. “Are there any hidden rooms?”
“You mean, like in the movies?” Amelia asked, her laugh generous and natural.
“Well, yes. Exactly. You know, a sliding door or revolving bookcase…”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Professor. This is an ordinary bookshop.”
Cicero moved protectively to Amelia’s side.
“Nothing mysterious here. Right, Cicero?” She picked him up and cradled him in her arms.
The man jolted slightly.
“Oh! I hope you’re not allergic to cats,” said Amelia.
“Oh no, that’s not it. I mean… he just surprised me, that’s all.”
The man’s breathing quickened, but he insisted he wasn’t allergic. They had stopped walking and were standing in front of a collection of children’s picture books. Cicero could feel the man’s loathing for him even as he said to Amelia, “Lovely cat. You had him long?”
“Cicero’s been here since... well, since before I bought the place. Oh my, that’s been over fifteen years.”
Cicero glared at the man.
“Fifteen years! He doesn’t appear that old,” said the man. He had been backing slowly away from Amelia as he tried to keep up the conversation.
“Well, Cicero is an amazing cat. He’s quite a fixture here. Everyone loves him.”
“Hmmm, yes.”
Cicero had never encountered a human who had taken an immediate dislike to him in such a strong way.
“He’s an unusual looking cat. More spotted than striped, like an Egyptian Mau.”
“Oh… I don’t know what kind of cat he is. He’s just my adorable Cicero.”
“Do you know about the legendary cats of Iskandriyah?” The man was nervous, but Amelia didn’t seem to notice.
“What?”
“Iskandriyah. Surely you’ve heard of the Library of Iskandriyah? Of course, you may only know it as Alexandria.”
“Of course.” The sudden stiffening of Amelia’s arms wasn’t the main reason Cicero jumped down. The strange shadow moved apart from the man. It seemed to have a life of its own.
“I think I’ve struck a nerve,” said the man.
“Oh now, Professor. That’s silly. He’s just a cat.”
“Such a nice cat.”
Cicero glowered at him.
The bell over the door jingled, and Amelia seemed relieved. “Feel free to look around while I tend to my other customers.”
Cicero tracked the Professor, who alternated between looking at books and making furtive taps on the walls.
“You look like a cat with something to hide,” he said. “I thought the Guardian Cats were just a myth. Filthy creatures like you are good for nothing more than being a witch’s familiar.”
Cicero felt the man’s struggle between desire and loathing for him. It would have made sense to turn and run, but his guardian instincts had kicked in.
“Is this the right place, this sorry excuse for a bookstore? How ironic that it’s supposed to be in London, so close to home.” The man seemed to be in conversation with someone else. “And why did you lead me here and not show me exactly where it is?” Who was he talking to?
“I paid dearly for this!” the man continued, his voice low and strained. “Don’t even think of short changing me on our deal.” The Professor seemed to be in conversation with the shadow.
Cicero kept his distance and breathed a sigh of relief when closing time finally came.
After Amelia locked up, he scooted through his cat door out into the alley to breathe the night air, but he was greeted with the tantalizing smell of fish.