Highway Cats (6 page)

T
he victory of the cats over the highway construction crew was so unexpected that at first no cat could believe it.

Even after the second road crew had gone away, wary silence continued in the graveyard and all eyes remained watchful. At last, a few cats crept from their hiding places to sniff the air. Others slunk forward to peer down the hill. “All clear!” they signaled with a wave of tails. Then the rest straggled out to see for themselves and begin the task of smoothing their rumpled coats.

The kits! Where are the kits?
A cry went up. Everyone looked for those tiny balls of fur, those helpless babies whose strange appearance among them had so far brought such a change of fortune.

A short distance away, the little ones were spotted with Shredder. They were in high spirits, scampering under the trees, leaping off the stone walls, clawing each other playfully and acting, as usual, like the most ordinary of kittens.

No one looking at them would think they were at all special. No one would guess they could change anything, much less inspire a mass of down-and out cats to drive off an official road-building crew. For this, all believed, was what the kits had done. As dusk fell, the cats crept near the little ones and set up watch again. When Shredder mentioned that the kittens might be hungry, a dozen cats sped away to the Dumpsters to forage.

Later, while the kits dined royally on shrimp rolls, other cats made them a mossy bed between some gravestones. Only after all three were tucked in and had fallen asleep did the highway cats close their own eyes and take some much needed rest for themselves.

In this way, several days passed. No sound came from the clearing below. The road workers didn't return, though at every hour they were expected and dreaded. The bulldozer remained where it was, looming silently over the chewed-up path of forest floor. The cats steered clear of it. Most hardly dared venture from the graveyard at all. Only hunger could bring them down the hill to the Dumpsters. (The highway seemed too far to go.) A quick bite and they padded back to set up watch again, drawn by the kits' mysterious sparkle.

It was in the evening that this enchanting phenomenon was most visible. The velvety darkness of the little forest drew close around their glowing mound, magnifying it to a jewel-like brilliance. By this light, pine needles seemed to give off a new and intoxicating fragrance, the wind became musical, the air turned silvery with spring dew and a delicious peace descended. If this wasn't magic, nothing was, and every cat there knew it. They had not properly appreciated the little wood before, they saw.

They did now.

Though most among them had never known the comfort of a family, they felt something like it as they bedded down together around the kittens in the graveyard and dropped off to sleep one by one.

Curled on his side near the kits, gazing at a far-off sparkle of stars, Shredder also was swept by a deep contentment. For the first time in many years, he felt a sense of belonging that came close to how he'd felt in his lost home. The evening air seemed as soft here as it had been there. The sky was as wide and mysterious. Spring was coming, as it always would, dependable as the sun that rose every morning. How he loved this old earth for its ancient and beautiful ways.

These happy thoughts were followed by such a pang of sadness, however, that the old cat laid his head abruptly on his paws.

“What's wrong?”

Khalia Koo sat nearby, ever alert to his moods.

“Nothing.”

“I thought you might feel ill.” She came over to him. Through the murk of night, her profile was barely visible, and that was just as well. She had given up wearing her containers. What was the use of hiding her face when the others had seen it anyway? She was ugly. So be it. Somehow she must learn to live with her disgrace.

“I was just realizing,” Shredder replied, “how all this will be gone soon: the trees, the smells, the wind, the darkness. I'm glad I won't be around to miss them.”

“Won't be around?”

“Time is passing. I've grown old.”

“Don't be silly,” Khalia snapped. “You mustn't talk that way. There's too much to do and…you're more important than you think. To the kits, for instance, and all the cats here. And also…” She paused. “You're important to me.”

“To you?” Shredder's head jerked up in surprise.

“Yes.” She held her breath after this admission.

Shredder peered at her doubtfully through the gloom. It was the last thing he could have expected. Now, looking at her, he realized something he must have known all along, even before she'd thrown away her containers.

“Khalia,” he told her, “I hope you won't mind if I say that I think you're still very beautiful.”

Against all her business principles, Khalia's eyes welled up. Here were the words she'd been longing for. “Shredder…” she whispered, and couldn't go on.

It didn't matter. They both understood. There was no need for either to pretend anymore. They'd seen through each other's masks and poses. They were two of a kind, whatever happened next. And whatever happened next, they'd be in it together.

For some time after this, they sat silent atop the cemetery wall while overhead the stars seemed to sparkle with applause.

“I ss-saw the road builders today,” Khalia said, drawing herself up finally. “They were in the parking lot behind the shopping center unloading new machines. I think they'll be here tomorrow.”

“Well, we bought ourselves a little time,” Shredder said. “It was nice while it lasted.”

“Yes,” Khalia agreed, “and I've been thinking about that. How would it be if we bought ourselves a little more?”

“A fine idea, but not likely,” Shredder said.

Khalia's tail twitched. “You mentioned, I think, that Murray the Claw owed you a favor? Well, I've requested one on your behalf.”

“What could Murray possibly do for us? He's down on the highway with Jolly Roger, gorging himself on road food.”

“Exactly. In perfect position!”

She'd spoken too loudly. Below her, the sleeping kits were disturbed. They lifted their tiny heads and looked directly at her, then they glanced around for Shredder. Discovering him right beside them, they reassembled in their luminous mound and fell back asleep.

“What have you asked Murray to do?” Shredder whispered.

“To bring us disguises!” Khalia's intelligent eyes glowed with pleasure. “Containers of all kinds, soup to nuts, cereal to cottage cheese. They're down there on the highway, you know, by the hundreds.”

“But how…?”

“Scare tactics, Shredder. It worked once, why not again?”

She had no more time to explain because at that moment a bustle of movement interrupted their conversation. The overburdened shapes of two large cats appeared. They entered the graveyard through a break in the stone wall, dragging a mass of stuff behind them.

“Murray the Claw, is that you?” Khalia hissed through the dark.

“Yes, id's me, who else?” came his nasty, nasal growl. “Where do you want us to dump this garbage?”

 

SCENE: Potterberg city hall, high up in Mayor Blunt's office. His Honor stands at the window gazing at a distant cluster of roofs: the shopping center. He frowns and waves a hand in the air as he speaks to Chief of Staff Farley.

 

MAYOR BLUNT. So what's the problem? There's nothing up in that graveyard, is there?

FARLEY. No, sir. Not that anyone can see. We've had a surveillance team watching it the past few days. All they've observed is a few stray cats coming and going.

MAYOR. Well, let's get a move on with this road project! Time is running out. The election is in a couple of weeks!

FARLEY. Yes, sir. I've ordered the road crew to start up again. They should be going in this morning. They're a little nervous, some of them, after that business with the ghosts or whatever.

MAYOR. Ghosts! Bah! What nonsense.

FARLEY. Right. Absolutely. But (
worriedly
) there have been suggestions put forward that maybe we should be thinking twice about—

MAYOR. (
Cutting Farley off
) Building a road through a graveyard? Hogwash! I didn't hear any protests when we laid out our plans. Nobody's cared about that patch of brambles out there for fifty years! It's the scaredy-cat road crew. Fire them! Get somebody in there that can do the job.

FARLEY. Yes, sir! I mean, no, sir, this crew will do it. They're starting this morning, like I said. The road is going through. We won't have any more trouble.

MAYOR. Good work, Farley. You're my man. Now on to more important matters. Have my campaign signs been put up yet? “Blunt Is Better!” “Blunt Is Blunter!” “Blunt Gets the Point!” Which slogan carries my message best?

FARLEY. (
Looking tired.
) All of them—you're a winner for sure.

T
he sun had barely risen the next day when the startup roar of an engine ripped like an explosion into the peaceful hush of the little forest. It was joined by a second roar and a third until the air itself seemed to scream in pain.

The noise came from the shopping center parking lot. A small army of men had gathered there during the predawn hours and was now ready, with a battery of earthmoving machines, to advance on the woods. The men's boots were laced, their hard hats were strapped down and their faces were grim, as if they really were soldiers about to enter a combat zone.

Khalia Koo, watching from the top of one of the tall pine trees that grew near the cemetery, smiled her knowing Siamese smile. The hard-hats were scared of the forest. This boded well for her plan. She signaled with her tail to Shredder below:
They're coming!

“As if that weren't obvious!” growled Murray the Claw to Jolly Roger. The two cats were huddled together behind the cemetery's stone wall, keeping a cynical eye on the proceedings.

“It's sad, sad how Khalia and Shredder have got everyone believing they can beat the odds,” Murray went on. “Rejects conquer the world! Highway trash fights back! Who would you put your bet on?”

Jolly Roger grinned his gruesome grin.

Around them, an extraordinary scene was taking place. Several dozen highway cats were attempting to rig themselves out in what appeared to be, in fact, rubbish. Tissue boxes and cracker boxes, chip bags and burger wrappers, fried chicken tubs and paper cups, takeout food containers and instant cocoa packets were just a few of the items that were being snatched up by the cats and tried on for size. They came from the pile of trash that Murray and Roger had brought up from the highway the night before.

More than a few cats had already chosen their getups. They were hard at work gnawing eyeholes, a tricky task requiring concentration (and a lot of spitting so as not to swallow) to get the spacing right. Khalia, an expert at this, had shown them the technique. She herself wasn't preparing a disguise.

“I am frightful enough already,” she pointed out. No cat disputed her. She was outstandingly horrible to look at even at that moment as she climbed down the pine tree to stand among them. One or two cats backed away, still shocked by her appearance, but a larger number crowded around to hear what she had to say.

“Our plan of attack is as follows,” she began. “We'll lie low until the road crew is just outside the graveyard. When I give the first signal, it would be best if everyone could howl. Can you do that?”

A few of the younger cats, delighted by this invitation, began to yawp and meowl in excruciating tones at the top of their lungs. The effect was ghastly. The older cats flattened their ears.

“Excellent! That's just what we want,” Khalia told them. “Much more of the same from you all, please.”

She went on: “At my second signal, there must be another round of howls with the addition of some wailing screams. Imagine that you are sinking slowly into quicksand or, better yet, being ambushed by coyotes.”

The cats shivered and glanced over their shoulders at the mention of coyotes. They had lost friends to those awful beasts and didn't like even to hear them mentioned.

“Watch closely because after this, I will give a third signal,” Khalia said. “It will be the call to rise. We must stand up and move together in our disguises, no one rushing ahead. This is very important. Together, we will terrify the road workers. Singly, we'll have no effect whatever. Is this understood?”

It was. By now, most cats had put on their containers and were hardly recognizable as cats at all except for those telltale lengths of fur protruding from beneath.

“All tails out of sight,” Khalia warned, gazing with satisfaction at the stinking heap of four-legged trash standing in front of her. “We are no longer what we were. We are now what we have never been: an apparition of horror!”

Jolly Roger was leaning forward in fascination, listening to this.

“What's an apparition?” he whispered to Murray the Claw. “I think I'd like to be one!”

“Don't be stupid, Stupid! It's just a fancy name for a ghost. This is all a buildup to catastrophe,” Murray hissed. “Come away with me or you're sure to get caught.”

On the other side of the graveyard, Shredder was saying the same thing to the kits. The little scamps were in one of their playful moods. They had found an old egg carton and were parading around underneath it caterpillar style. Only their twelve tiny feet showed out the bottom, a sight hardly calculated to terrify anyone.

“Stop that right now,” Shredder warned them. “We must go before it's too late. This is no place for kittens. You'll only get trampled.”

It was no use. They wouldn't follow directions. Soon it really was too late. Heavy footsteps and a thundering tread of machinery could be heard coming uphill. Shredder collared the egg carton and yanked it behind a gravestone. The other cats lowered themselves, and their disguises, into the high grass.

Closer the noise came, closer and closer. All eyes were trained on Khalia's Siamese tail, an elegant, dark ribbon rising up through the long grass. A gritty smell of hot machinery swirled like a dust storm into the graveyard. The kits sneezed. The cats coughed. Would the signal never come?

It came.

Above the weeds, Khalia Koo's tail waved like a gallant flag.

A bloodcurdling howl poured from the throat of every cat in the graveyard, a sound so heartfelt and penetrating that it cut through the roar of a bulldozer just then cresting the hill.

A line of approaching hard hats glanced uneasily around. One worker held up his hand to stop the bulldozer. It halted, growling and panting like a leashed dog.

Once again, Khalia's tail flashed in the weeds. The cats let loose with a second howl, a wild crescendo of ghoulish wails and cataclysmic shrieks as if all life on earth were about to come to an end.

The work crew froze at the entrance to the cemetery. With wide eyes, the men scanned the tangled weeds and vines around the gravestones. When nothing could be seen there, they looked at each other and then, fearfully, up into the sky. Here was the perfect moment for the third signal.

Khalia waved her tail: RISE!

Between the long grasses, the disguised cats came to their feet and began, with slow and steady steps, to move forward across the cemetery. The effect was horrifying, as if a monstrous field of trash had come to life between the graves, a living, breathing tide of furious-eyed garbage that slobbered and hissed and slithered toward the road crew.

“HELP!”

“RUN!”

The workers didn't wait to ask what kind of apparition this could possibly be. They fled, pushing and yelling and tripping over each other. Caught in the retreat, two bulldozers, a dump truck and a front loader reversed gear and accelerated at top speed down the hill. The machines roared backward through the little woods and, following close behind the running workers, heaved back onto the parking lot, where they flattened several parked cars in their haste to get across. The mangling sounds of these collisions rebounded back to the cemetery with a satisfying echo. Several cats peered out from under their disguises.

“Are they gone?”

“They are!”

“Did we do it?”

“We did!”

“Hooray! Hooray!” The monster wave of trash wobbled and toppled and began to break apart. For a moment, rubbish flew in all directions. Then the transformation was complete: tubs and cups, bags and wrappers became again the heads and tails of ecstatic cats. They surrounded Khalia Koo and Shredder in a wild surge and, before they could protest, pulled the kits from their egg carton and lifted them high off the ground.

“Put them down! You'll crush them!” Shredder cried in alarm.

“If you want to thank someone, thank me!” Khalia sniffed.

The cats did thank her. They loved and extolled her. They loved Shredder too. And they loved each other. Hadn't they all worked together to pull the thing off? Together! Think of it. Without a scratch or hiss. This in itself was a kind of miracle. Something wonderful was in motion, some fantastic, cosmic change, and everyone, even Khalia, agreed on who was responsible.

 

“I
T'S THOSE KIDDENS AGAIN
!” Murray the Claw growled to Jolly Roger. The two were watching the victory parade from one of the fallen timbers of the old barn. “Look at them riding around like royalty in a coach. If you want my opinion, everybody in this forest is being taken to the cleaners. They've fallen in headfirst and are going down the drain. Their noses are getting skinned, their fur is being fleeced, they've swallowed hook, line and sinker and now they're headed for the soup.”

No one knew more ways to describe life's tricks and treacheries than Murray the Claw, probably because he'd suffered more than most in his time. He looked around for Jolly Roger after making this dark prediction, but Roger was nowhere to be seen. A moment later, as Murray scowled down on the celebration below, he caught sight of the yellow cat sidling up to the kits with a greasy grin.

“Why, you double-crossing road rat!” Murray exclaimed. “You've gone and joined up with those nidwid phonies.”

 

Potterberg Evening News

CEMETERY PHANTOMS STRIKE AGAIN!