Scarborough Fair and Other Stories (4 page)

She then showed him his duties. “You will be the tender of the roses to begin with,” she said.

“Oh, good. I
love
roses,” he replied, and began nibbling at the petals of a fat red one.

“I'm told those that are a bit brown around the edges have the best flavor,” she said casually. “Aged a bit. Not so green tasting.”

“Oh?” he tried a slightly wilted one. It was good—had a slightly cheesy flavor. He tried another. Yes, she was right. Much better than the red one. And with the wilted ones gone, the bush looked nicer too.”

“You may dig here,” she indicated a spot where a new rose bush sat waiting to be pushed into place once a hole was prepared. “And here as well, though for other purposes.” This time she showed him a spot in the garden where various humps of earth bore the scents of various brethren—this was the communal litterbox.

When he had pruned a few roses, he slept in the sun, but his dreams were troubled and his feet pedaled, running to or from something. It was a shame that his daytime naps were so unsatisfying too, because as the sun set and the shadows grew long in the courtyards and the other cats disappeared from view, the night grew very cold.

He stood there shivering, looking about for some pile of still warn grass, some bit of fabric to nest in, but there was nothing. Finally, a somewhat familiar face, a slightly softer golden-orange than his own, poked into the courtyard from around the pillar.

“There you are! We missed you. How good it is to see you again, my old—uh—companion,” the golden cat said in the voice that Mustard now recognized.

“Peaches! Are you here too?” He had almost disliked Peaches when he was alive, because Susan had loved Peaches best. Even when she was petting himself, Mustard always knew she would rather be petting Peaches and when his name was mentioned or he walked into the room, Mustard would hiss at Susan that she wasn't fooling him and jump down from her lap, often leaving her with scratches to let her know just what he thought of her taste. Of course, when she was gone, Peaches wasn't such a bad fellow. And now Mustard was downright delighted to see him.

“Not Peaches this time around, you know. Peaches died and when I was reborn I was sent here. Because I was already on my eighth life when I was Peaches, and an old soul, I do remember that time, and you, my brother. But now I am here among our kind as Brother Paddy.”

“Oh, you would pick a name like that!” Mustard said in disgust.

Peaches/Paddy backed away from him and sat on his haunches and washed his paw calmly. “The name was chosen for me.”

“Sure, sure. Everyone always likes you best,” Mustard said with his old bitterness then, remembering his more immediate and practical concern, asked, “You wouldn't know where there was an extra bit of fabric to curl up in for the night, would you? It's cold.”

His old acquaintance said simply, “Follow me. It is time for Ves-purrs.”

Whereupon they re-entered the great building with the bell tower. To Mustard's amazement, it was now lit by candleglow and the floor was totally covered with cats, each with paws curled under it, tail wrapped around the body, purring so loudly the very stones of the building seemed to be—er—purrmeated with the contented throb. “What's this?” Mustard murmured.

“We are giving thanks to the Maker for creating such a wonderful form for us, for giving us a pleasant place to be and kind companions.”

“There are an awfully lot of kittens here,” Mustard said, noticing the young ones who occupied two entire wings of the building.

“That is because so many unwanted are dumped or killed. They are innocents and come to us to learn how to prepare lives outside our walls, if that is their desire, or to take their vows.”

Mustard was silent.

“I thought you would still be with Susan, until you died of your long years as I did,” his companion ventured. “But I'm told you were poisoned. Susan must be beside herself with grief.”

“Oh, you know Susan. She got a new kitten and another grown male besides the old girl and me.”

“You must have been very distressed. I know you always wanted to be top cat.”

“Well, yeah, but that didn't last for long. The old girl was bigger, you know, and she got bolder and started beating the living daylights out of me. I have to admit, I didn't like the kitten at first, but she's a nice little thing and very respectful. And Susan didn't really bond with the male, but he kept the old girl in line.” He cried suddenly. “How can you stay here? I miss Susan so much. And she always liked you best. Can't you go back?”

Brother Paddy nee Peaches licked Mustard's face. “I taught Susan what she needed to learn from me. Now it is time for other lessons for all of us. Come. Join us.”

He didn't feel like it, of course, but the thrumming purr relaxed him and he found himself joining in until his own purr lulled him into sleep, his body curling among four others whose warmth and softness made a better bed than Susan's comforter.

But though his body was comfortable, he began recalling the pain, the betrayal. And he saw the kitten, sniffing for him, calling for him, and at last trotting toward someone calling, holding out something attractive and deadly...

Mustard awakened and leapt from one small bit of floor to another, and bounded past the cats sleeping on the bell tower steps till he reached the landing. He scratched on the door.

The sonorous voice called to him, “Enter.”

“Won't be but a minute, Mu Mao,” he said, declining to call the old fellow “Master.” “Just want to look out of your tower here and see if I can find my way home.”

“So you have decided to attempt to rejoin the world, my son?” the old cat asked with his upper whiskers twitching.

“Of course. Susan is mine. I'm going back to her.”

“Very well.” The old cat hopped nimbly upon a window sill. Mustard leaped up beside him. The leap wasn't as easy as it would have been before he came to this place, but it would have been impossible earlier in the day. This sort of thing was fine for cats who only wanted to be and be with other
cats
, he decided.

For just a moment it seemed to him that all the world was spread out below him, like the globe in Susan's office. And then he saw that it was just the Sound and the Strait surrounding his own little town, and there he saw the propane tanks beside Tony's office and farther off, Susan's red roof he had so often napped upon and the wide green yard of his home.

“Ye—oowwwt,” he said to Mu Mao.

“In good time, my son. Do you see there? Dr. Tony and Jeannette are getting into their van with that bundle Jeannette is carrying. I sense we will be seeing them soon. You may save your strength by riding with them as far as their clinic, at least.”

“I am still very tired,” Mustard admitted.

“Then rest here with us,” Mu Mao said. “There is yet time.”

Time for what? Mustard wondered, but to his surprise found himself curled up in the bulk of Mu Mao's great belly, and falling into a deep and this time dreamless sleep until a lick on the nose awakened him again. “It is time, my son,” the older cat said.

* * *

There were tears in Jeannette's kind brown eyes when she lay the bundle down beside the master. “It's Susan's second loss,” she said. “And there have been others in that neighborhood too. The woman down the street, Diane, lost one of her cats to the same thing.”

“Looks like we have a serial cat killer on our hands,” Dr. Tony said grimly. He was gently opening the bundle. Mustard's tail lashed angrily, and his ears laid back flat against his skull. Would he see now that the kitten had been crying to him before her death, that her black curly underside would no longer vibrate with her purrs, her bright intelligent eyes that had watched so attentively while he told his hunting stories would be glazed with death before she had a chance to catch her quota of vermin?

He cried out as the tip of a black ear came into view. The eyes were shut, the whiskers stiff—her under whiskers were so very long they curled under at the tips. The black nose. His worst fears confirmed.

But then he saw that the fur was short and coarse and the body much larger than the slight little female's. As the bundle was further unwrapped he saw the once powerful muscles slack under the sooty fur and the long sleek tail, which had been so expressive, now hung limp. “Boston Blackie!” he cried. This was the grown male companion Susan had brought home from the pound with the kitten. Her protector, until she had charmed all but the old girl into loving her. With Blackie dead, or here, which would be all the same to Susan and the kitten, he could only hope the kitten would grow quickly and manage to keep out of the old girl's way in the meantime.

Mustard had resented Blackie, of course, but not as much as some others. The big black cat, so massive and tough looking, actually had been a decent sort who realized the kitten's play with him had convinced Susan to bring the adult cat home too. The big boy had looked after his small companion, protected her from the others, taken the heat for her, as if he were her mother. He also had been decently respectful of Mustard's seniority.

“Poor fellow,” Mustard said to the Master, Paddy and Paka. “A real softie for such a big palooka, you know? That must be why Kitten was sending me those dreams. She was mourning the big guy.”

“Either that or she's next,” Paka said grimly.

“Never fear, my son,” Mu Mao said, giving Mustard's flat ears a lick. “He will soon be reborn into his new life, and a very good one it will be. He was a very old soul indeed and we have need of such a brother among our fold.”

“That's great for
you
,” Mustard said. “But what about Susan? And the Kitten? And Diane? And even that cantankerous old girl? Are the little one and the old biddy going to come here too and leave Susan all alone and afraid to have any more friends for fear of the same thing happening to them? And Diane, who is so kind and comes to feed us or finds someone like that nice Drew fellow to come stay with us when Susan is gone, she's sick all the time, you know. She depends on her cats to be there when she's too ill to move and lonely and afraid. She told me so.”

Mu Mao surprised him by flipping his tail and saying, “That may be, but our kind have problems enough to concern us. Until they come or are brought within our walls, the companions of human beings are not within our protection.”

“You can't dislike
people
?” Mustard demanded. “What about Tony and Jeannette?”

“Both were cats in their last lives, and of our order,” Mu Mao said. “That is how they know to bring others to us. Like myself, they are bodhisattvas, not the ordinary sort of person who abandons a cat who is no longer small and cute, or has become inconvenient. Why should you care? This male and others, like Brother Paddy's former self, take from you the attention that is rightfully yours. If you return to your Susan and find the others all dead, should you not rejoice? Surely you will not make the same error twice and die again of the same poison? With no competition, your Susan will love you and only you.”

Mustard didn't argue. Master indeed! This old cat obviously didn't understand Susan. Mustard had always hated it that she was always bringing home other cats, true, but he had also licked away her tears for the cats she had to leave at the shelter. He never had to be in a shelter. She had picked him out of his mother's litter, still in a good home with loving people. He'd always felt entitled to love but he knew from what the others said they had no such hope and getting a home with someone like Susan was a big break for them.

He hopped in the van before Tony and Jeannette left and rode in back. He desperately wished to be petted, but felt too restless and anxious to lie quietly. They didn't seem to notice him. They got a call and drove past the turnoff for their clinic back along the route he recognized from his own visits to the vet. He thought maybe old Mu Mao had asked them to give him a lift, but no, they were stopping at another house, not too far from his own.

Mustard thought it interesting that they had a phone in their van. He liked Susan's phones. She sat still to talk and he could usually curl up in her lap for a nap. He was good at doing it and staying so still and relaxed that she didn't even notice until she hung up.

He jumped out of the van after Jeannette and trotted the single block to his house. No one was in the yard and he approached the cat flap so confidently that he nearly banged his head on the rectangle of board that barred entrance to or exit from the house. He scratched at the door and meowed until he noticed that Susan's car was gone as well. Of all the nerve. Here he had taken the trouble to return from the dead and she couldn't even bother to be home. Just like a person.

Then, from behind the front door, he heard an answering scratch and a small mew. “Let me out! It's a pretty day. I don't want to be in here. Where's Boston Blackie? I want him to come and play!”

“Now now, young lady, this is no time for tantrums,” Mustard said. “I don't think Blackie will be coming back but I dreamed of your danger and have returned to save you.”

He meant to be reassuring but she gave a chirrup that was the kittenish equivalent of a giggle. “Uncle Mustard? Is that you? Where have you been? Do you feel better? Susan said those ashes she sprinkled on the roses were you but they didn't look like you. Weren't even orange.”

“Stop prattling, child, and let me think. Why is the catflap closed?”

“Susan said so we wouldn't go outside and get into whatever killed you and Blackie.” Her voice turned plaintive. “Is Blackie
really
gone forever? I don't like the old girl. She is not nice to me at all and I'm going to scratch her face if she keeps saying those mean things. I miss you and Blackie. I want to come too.”

“That's just what you mustn't do,” Mustard said. “My—er—illness, was long and very painful and far too much for a mite like yourself to bear. Or even a battleaxe like the old girl. About Blackie I can't tell you anything else. But we need to make the neighborhood safe for our kind again. Especially our yard. Have you noticed anything different?”