Caffeina was appalled they thought she was Tweezer’s girl.
“Naw, she’s just a friend,” said Tweezer.
“Sure. We believe that."
“Hey, Tweez! If she’s not your girl, maybe I can have her,” said Boris, an obese orange and white cat. “What about it, baby?”
“No way, creep.” Caffeina said. She was not used to such crudeness. The Dead Cats, except for Bait, were always respectful.
“Aw, you’re hurtin’ my feelings!” said Boris. “I need a pretty girl to talk to.”
“Okay, come here. I do have something to say,” said Caffeina.
Boris came waddling over with a stupid grin on his face, and the minute he was close enough, Caffeina smacked him a good one, drawing a thin line of blood on his nose.
“Geez, you don’t have to get violent,” said Boris, dragging his tail as he walked away.
Meanwhile, Tweezer had jumped onto a table. “Alright. Listen up, everybody. I came here for a reason and I don’t have a lot of time for explanations, so I’ll get right to the point. We need your help."
"We? Like who's ‘we’?"
"The Dead Cats Society. We’ve been attacked by a pack of raccoons. They’re roaming through town, looking for trouble, and…”
“Raccoons! Those mangy varmints,” interrupted a cat.
“What’s a raccoon?” asked a kitten.
“But…” continued Tweezer, holding up his paw. “This pack is particularly vicious and they’ve called for more recruits. The rumors are flying, but if they’re true we won’t stand a chance.”
“What’d you do to get them so riled up, Tweezer?”
“It’s kinda complicated, but they’ve kidnapped one of our friends and are holding him hostage.”
“Kidnapped! Who’d kidnap a cat? I thought everyone wanted to get rid of us.”
“Um, well,” Tweezer faltered. “Polo’s not exactly a cat.”
"What exactly is he?" said one.
Tweezer looked to Caffeina for help. She shrugged. “Might as well tell them the truth,” she said.
"It’s a ferret,” said Tweezer.
“A what?”
“He’s a parrot?” inquired a half-deaf, half-tailed Manx. “Ruby’s been looking kinda’ lonely lately.”
Tweezer’s look was one Caffeina had never seen before. Sort of a helpless, exasperated expression, but this time he was not annoyed with her. He took a deep breath and explained to her, like he was taking her into his confidence. “Ruby is a parrot, a long time resident here at Mrs. Wilcox’s.”
To the others, he said, “No, not a parrot. A ferret.”
There was dead silence until a kitten piped up and asked, “What’s a ferret?”
Again, Tweezer appealed to Caffeina. “Can you help me out here?”
The strays were waiting.
She sighed. “Well, he looks a little like us, but he’s long and has small ears.” That wasn’t much help. Then she remembered how Marco had described him. “Oh, yeah. He’s funny.”
“Ooooh,” the cats all breathed out simultaneously, as if it explained everything.
“So I’m asking for your help,” Tweezer went on. “How about an adventure?”
The cats stared at him in utter astonishment.
Tweezer plowed on. “What are you doing here? You don’t have to hunt for food. You’ve all gone soft. Come on and live a little. Break out of your routine.”
Caffeina thought Tweezer was overselling the mission, but she admired the spirit of his speech.
But the cats weren’t buying it.
“Adventure? Why in the world would we want an adventure? We like eating and sleeping and we love being spoiled by our human,” said one.
“Yeah, why would we risk our necks to fight wild raccoons? That’s not an adventure. That’s suicide!” said another.
Tweezer pleaded with them, which was something he wasn’t used to doing. “What if you were in trouble? Wouldn’t you want someone to come and rescue you?”
“Tweezer. Look around. In case you forgot, we’ve already been rescued."
Tweezer didn’t respond, and Caffeina worried he’d run out of arguments. Before she even realized what she was doing, she jumped onto the table next to him. “You don’t realize how serious this is. These raccoons are not only out for our blood, but you may well be their next victims. And then you’ll be begging for our help.”
“Well, well. The little princess has spoken,” said Lulu, an old female, who was not aging gracefully. “You’re scaring us, Princess.”
Contrary to her normal behavior, Caffeina ignored her. She’d deal with this female later. Besides, she was beginning to enjoy delivering this little pep talk.
“There’s more at stake here than defense and rescue. They’re planning a heist.”
Tweezer leaned over close to her. “You have to use simpler words,” he whispered.
“Oh, sure. Uh, a heist is like a burglary.” She looked at Tweezer and he motioned to go down a notch.
“Stealing.”
“Yeah, what can they steal from a cat?”
She knew it was going to sound strange, but what could she do? “A book. From the library.”
“What’s a library?” asked the kitten.
“Oh, my. That does sound serious,” said Lulu. “You Dead Cats are so weird. The rumors are true.”
“Why would we care about some stupid book?” yelled Boris, the dirty white fat cat.
This was not going well. Caffeina thought quickly and decided to take a different approach. Even though she’d never read much more than fashion magazines, she had absorbed Cicero’s teachings. She had listened to his tales about the Guardian Cats, their gallant and noble deeds and now, when she needed them, they came to her rescue. Just knowing about them inspired her.
“Think about others for a change. Don't be concerned only with your own lot. Test your courage and strength." She paused and took a deep breath. "See what you’re made of. You won't know until you’ve put it to the test.”
She looked into their faces. “Think of it as a quest,” she said a little breathlessly.
Caffeina felt Tweezer staring in amazement at her.
“What’s a quest?” asked a kitten.
Chapter 42: When rumors are not enough
Bait was on the library roof. He felt the charge in the air. Tonight was the night. Tonight he would get his revenge.
He never thought that treating a ‘girl’ badly would put him out of the league of Guardians. Then of course, there was that time he let his shield down. That fraction of a second had cost him dearly, but it was Cicero who would pay. His old mentor, who had taken him in and given him the attention he'd never received.
It was all he ever wanted, and when he first met Cicero, all that had changed. The old cat took him everywhere. They would sit for hours together in the chambers, and Bait would listen to the Guardian stories and countless other stories of adventure and intrigue. They went out at night, stalking and hunting. He told Cicero about his own past, his shows, his awards. Finally, he told him about being dumped by his human.
Then Cicero abandoned him. Just like that, it was all over. Bait kept up his appearances. That was the one thing he excelled at. But inwardly, he seethed with resentment. He vowed that, whatever it took, he would steal the thing that mattered most to Cicero.
He was not in a hurry, and he took up reading books on magic. He discovered he had a gift for it.
At first, he learned how to change his appearance in small ways. His fur color, his eyes. Then he concentrated on more radical alterations until he was able to completely disguise himself. It was then that he realized the intense attraction he had toward Cicero's Book. More than revenge, Bait wanted the Book for himself.
A shadow moving on the roof crept over and sat next to Bait.
“You make a good raccoon," said the Whisperer.
“I know. An opposable thumb makes everything possible," Bait said. He felt himself starting to shake. He could almost taste the power of magic, as if it were a drug. Black magic. It was so delicious.
Now when he needed its power the most, something was wrong.