The Catbyrd Seat (2 page)

“Just here,” he whispered. “There’s a small gap in the fence…” He pointed at the tiny space in between the wooden slats; just enough space for them to press an eye up against the fence and spy on the meeting.

Cociel did just that, flattening his body to the fence and positioning an eager eye to the gap. He couldn’t see very much at all. The meeting itself was taking place inside the Kennel of Parliament, and although the Kennel had large, open windows and a vast, open archway door, its occupants were still mostly shielded from Cociel’s sight.

He did manage to catch a glimpse of Grady’s distinctive tail, however, and shivered involuntarily.

Grady was the worst of all the cats, even worse than his superior Whiska. He was a natural bully, and he took pleasure in the suffering and pain of others. A distinguished looking cat with tan fur lined with streaks of gray, Grady was harsh and extremely mean and the thug of the Government, carrying out Whiska’s orders with malicious enjoyment.

Despite their poor view, the voices of the cats in Parliament were carried by the light summer breeze to the keen ears of the two young mice hiding outside the fence. They settled down and listened in silence as the meeting began.

“Perhaps we can move some mice out of the other sections and into Section D,” someone suggested.

Cociel nodded in agreement. That was exactly his idea, and a good one.

“Or we can build a new school,” suggested another.

Cociel thought that wasn’t a bad idea either, but those two cats, whoever they were, were hushed down and jeered by the majority.

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“That’s madness!”

“The mice don’t need another school!”

“Why move mice out? They’re perfectly fine where they are.”

“What we need are more mice to go in there.”

“Where are we going to get more mice?”

“Well, they do always have kids. Maybe we could force the kids to move out on their own as soon as they reach a certain age.”

“Now that seems like a more sensible suggestion.” Cociel recognized the voice of Grady, agreeing with whoever had put forward the latest motion. He was appalled that anyone could think of such a thing, but it was no surprise that Grady supported it.

“I have a much better idea,” said another voice. This time it was the calm, commanding sneer of Whiska. Unmistakable and recognizable to every mouse in the Reservation, seeing as they were forced to listen to it every Sunday in the Prime Minister’s weekly announcements.

Whiska was a tall, thin cat, with shiny, sleek black fur and deep brown eyes. He’d been Prime Minister for nearly a decade now, and ruled with an iron paw. Cociel couldn’t remember life before Whiska, but he certainly wanted to see a life after Whiska. He wanted a new leader who actually cared about the needs of his people, rather than simply being interested in himself and his own sport and enjoyment.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long, long time,” the ruthless Prime Minister continued speaking. “Section D is completely useless. A waste of space. Throw the mice that live there out of their homes and elephant the entire area.”

Cociel and Tails both grew tense at what they were hearing, pulling away from the gap in the fence and staring at each other with wide eyes.

“They can’t do that!” Tails gasped.

“Shh!” Cociel hushed her so that they could listen some more, to find out how the motion was getting received by the others in Parliament.

“What would happen to the mice who live there currently?” one of the cats was asking.

“I don’t know,” answered Whiska. “And I don’t care. They can get redistributed to Sections A, B and C. Does it really matter where they live?”

“And what will you do with the area once you elephant it, Prime Minister?”

“Turn it into my own private playground, of course,” Whiska laughed. “A cats-only zone. Or even better, a Whiska only zone. Maybe I can invite some special guests in when I want to.”

“We can take mice from the prisons and hunt them,” suggested Grady with an evil cackle of excitement.

“Yes!” cried Whiska. “That’s even better! Those mice in the dungeons are useless; just rotting their lives away down there not doing anything. Much better for them to be hunted and die glorious deaths!”

“In between our teeth!” laughed Grady.

“Yes, yes!” cried Whiska delightedly. “This motion stands! Section D will be demolished by elephants and turned into a private hunting ground for cats. All in agreement, raise your paws.”

There was a murmur around the other cats in the Parliament. Even if some of them hadn’t agreed with the motion, or had put forward other suggestions initially, none of them would dare publicly stand up against Whiska and say they disagreed with his proposals.

After a pause, during which Cociel imagined all of the other cats raising their paws in agreement, Whiska seemed pleased with the result. “Excellent. Then it’s decided. There is an election coming up in two weeks time. We’ll put the plan into action after that. For the time being, all focus needs to be on my campaign.”

Cociel nearly laughed, even though he was angry about the demolition plans. It was just so ridiculous to think of the election campaign.

Whiska held ‘elections’ every once in a while, to give the impression that they were all living in a democratic and free society, but there was never anyone else on the ballot paper except for him, and everybody knew that it was a swizz, a fake. The mice occasionally expressed frustration at being treated as second class citizens under his rule, but nobody had ever been truly brave enough to stand up to Whiska and do anything about it. The frustration never went further than the occasional bicker behind closed doors or a complaint with your neighbor about the state of things. It was infuriating to say the least, and heartbreaking to Cociel to see his fellow mice so down-trodden.

“Come on,” he whispered to Tails. “We should go. Before they all come out and find us here. The meeting’s over.”

The two dejected mice mounted their bicycles once more and whizzed off into the descending night, needing to return home before it got dark and their respective parents wondered where they were.

“They can’t elephant Section D,” Tails sniffed, her eyes full of tears. “What am I supposed to do? Where are my parents and I going to live?”

“I don’t know,” replied Cociel, his beady eyes darkening with determination. “But you don’t have to worry about that, Tails, because I won’t let it happen.”

“You… you won’t?”

“No.”

“And how are you going to stop it?”

“I don’t know, yet, but I’ll think of something. I promise you.”

***

Although the animal kingdom of Huntsville was considered to be an advanced society, it had one major sour point in history – an event that occurred hundreds of years ago, but which still had ramifications today for all those that lived within the city. Even those that lived outside of it, who occupied different animal kingdoms all over the land, had heard of what had happened in Huntsville, and had some opinions on the matter.

According to animal historians, three hundred years ago, One Life, a fierce feline ruler, came to Huntsville with a vast and powerful army of cats backing him, and conquered the city. It was the vast quantity of fruit and vegetables available for commerce that he was mainly interested in, as well as hunting opportunities all year round, and the possibility of utilizing the mice as slaves.

Prior to that, the whole kingdom – all of Huntsville, not just the small space of the Reservation – had belonged entirely to the indigenous and prosperous mouse species, who had inhabited it for centuries, whilst other species of animals lived peacefully among them. The feline species took the land by force and stole it from the mice. The other species that lived in Huntsville were too outnumbered to fight back against the cats, who were soon the ruling body of the city. They proceeded to separate Huntsville out into two sections, and the Reservation was built, the walls so high that mice could not climb them. That was at the North end of the City, where the Royal Palace was situated, and all mice were required to move and make a home there. It was agreed that all mice would live and prosper within those walls, only to venture out into the Kingdom once per week for shopping day. In reality, it was just easier that way for the Cats to keep tight control on the subordinate species.

From that moment on, there were two halves to Huntsville – those who lived in the Reservation, and those who lived in the City.

For many generations, the mice were essentially kept as slaves. The cats would hunt them whenever they desired, eat them, toy with them, play with them. And when they weren’t being eaten, they were being worked to death, forced to build and serve their cat masters, without question and rebellion.

It wasn’t until Nine Lives took over the monarchy, fifty years ago, that a further attempt at ‘democracy’ was made. New Governmental buildings were created, and a feline Prime Minister ‘elected’, to rule over the mice and make decisions for them about their lives. Although they were granted their ‘sovereignty’ and given ‘land rights’ and limited self-rule under the guidance of the Monarchy and the Government, the mice were effectively living in an autocracy rather than a democracy. 

***

Cociel put the History book down and stared glumly out the window, munching at the last of his cheese pie. His father had sent him to his room after returning home, because he’d been out so late and still hadn’t done his schoolwork.

He couldn’t concentrate on schoolwork.

He was far too busy thinking about the unfair system they lived under, and how he could go about changing it.

This latest legislation, with the proposed destruction of Section D, was the final straw. Something had to be done, and quick. He simply couldn’t allow the cats to do this. He was stuck, though. He didn’t know what to do.

He knew that none of the mice in the Reservation would listen to him, and even if they did, they wouldn’t have the nerve to do act, to rebel. They would be too scared. If the mice weren’t going to do anything about it, and the cats certainly weren’t going to, then it would have to be someone else. That was the decision he came to, and the thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, like a sudden realization. That was how he would do it. The only animal able to stand up to the cats would be an animal from outside the Reservation, an animal from the main part of Huntsville – the Kingdom.

If any animal outside the Reservation was the
least
likely to stand up to Whiska, it would be Mr. Byrd.

Mr. Byrd was a shy, unbecoming, and extremely nervous parakeet. He had lived in Huntsville for the past five years, having moved to the city when he was a young man to get away from the pressures of his family. After an argument with his father, who told him he would never amount to anything, he had fled the family home and moved out, determined to prove them all wrong.

He had heard that Huntsville was a city of opportunity, and certainly, he had done well with the bookshop he’d opened up.

It was called the Book Factory, and it was the only one of its kind in the whole of the Kingdom and the Reservation. It had started as a small, humble business in a room above one of the local cafes owned by his good friend Piggles, but then, as the business had expanded and had become successful, he had managed to move out into his own brand new premises, and the Book Factory had only flourished from then on.

There was still a part of Mr. Byrd that believed he could have done better with his life, that his father would still be disappointed in him and he hadn’t achieved his full potential, but he was too self-conscious and insecure to do anything about it. His low self esteem had always held him back, and his lack of social skills. As such, he only had one friend – Piggles – and everyone else in his life seemed to come and go.

When it came to books, though, he could talk to Huntsville. He would chat to the customers, offer advice about what kind of book they were searching for, and help them with their choices. He was passionate about education and about reading, and he wanted everybody to enjoy the books that were on offer.

As such, when some of the young mice came into his store eager to learn, he was only too eager to teach them. He began running weekly classes for any mouse who was interested, providing extra curricular lessons to compliment whatever it was they had learned at school – which, Mr. Byrd began to understand, wasn’t very much at all. He enjoyed passing on his knowledge to them, and they all seemed to enjoy coming and listening to what he had to say. Teaching the mice was the only time when he felt truly confident and relaxed, and the only time he raised his voice above its usual whisper. He had never considered himself much of a public speaker.

That morning was just like any other morning for Mr. Byrd as he swept up the dust on the shop floor and prepared to open for the day. He didn’t expect an influx of customers, but if he had four or five throughout the course of his opening hours, he would consider it a good day, and go to bed satisfied.

Piggles was the first to turn up.

She wasn’t a customer, but she always came round first thing in the morning for a quick cup of tea before she went to open her café. An albino pig with a unique taste in clothes, her business had been flourishing in the city since long before Mr. Byrd arrived, and had been passed on from generation to generation. Piggles had grown up her entire life in Huntsville and she was very happy living in the Kingdom. Occasionally, she thought of the poor mice over in the Reservation and how different life must be for them there, but then she pushed it out of her mind again and got on with her day. After all, there was nothing anyone could do.

“Good morning, Mr. Byrd!” she called out cheerfully, trotting into the shop and making the bell above the door jangle to announce her arrival. “Am I in time for my cup of tea?”

“You are indeed, Piggles, you are indeed,” chirruped Mr Byrd, flying in from the back room where he had been doing some last minute stock taking. “Any customers about?”

“Not yet, Mr. Byrd. I’m sure some’ll be along soon.”

The two settled down in their respective seats and began their morning routine. Mr. Byrd was a big fan of routines. They were familiar and comforting. He knew where he was with routines.

Piggles quite liked them, too. She wasn’t a particularly ambitious sort. She was happy with her lot in life, and she enjoyed the relaxing company of Mr. Byrd. He never asked her too many questions, or demanded too much of her like some animals did. It was hard work running a café, especially at lunchtimes, with the sudden influx of those on their break from their own respective jobs. Her time with Mr. Byrd allowed her some much-needed respite.

After spending half an hour in each other’s company, exchanging small talk and pleasantries, Piggles said her goodbyes and trotted off again, round the corner to her café, and Mr. Byrd officially opened up the Book Factory for business and so, the dull monotony of every day life continued.

Or so he thought.

For that day, was destined to be unlike any other in the history of Mr. Byrd’s life or indeed, in the history of Huntsville.

***

It was by no means unusual to see Cociel in the Book Factory. He was one of Mr. Byrd’s regulars and had been a firm favorite of the weekly book club and classes that Mr. Byrd held for the young mice. Now that he was a bit older, he had stopped coming in favor of giving more of the youngsters a chance to learn, and was flourishing all on his own with the help of the books he bought each week from the store. Cociel viewed Mr. Byrd almost as a second father, and Mr. Byrd viewed all the young mice as his children. He’d never had children himself, and probably never would. There were no other parakeets in Huntsville and besides, nobody would want him now that he was approaching middle age.

“How are you, Mr. Byrd?” Cociel called as he walked in, giving a friendly wave.

“Very well, Cociel, very well,” Mr. Byrd answered. “And yourself.”

“The same.”

“Did you finish reading that last book?”

“I’m nearly at the end.”

“Oh, and come in for another already?”

“Well yes, but not just that,” said Cociel. “Actually, I’ve come in for another reason today, and I had to sneak out of the Reservation to do it.”

The fact that Cociel had snuck out was of no particular surprise to Mr. Byrd. He knew the mice were only allowed out once per week, on Shopping Day, and since it had been Shopping Day three days previous, then it was more than obvious Cociel was here illegally. He had done it before upon occasion, and Mr. Byrd had little doubt that he would do it again at some point in the future.

“You’re lucky the Guards don’t spot you.”

“I’m too quick for them,” said Cociel with a smile. “Even if they did see me, I could totally outrun them.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“What is it I can do for you, Cociel?” asked Mr. Byrd, getting to the point of his young mouse friend’s visit.

Cociel checked behind his shoulder that no one else was about to enter the shop, then leaned in and quickly told Mr. Byrd about everything he and Tails had overheard at the Parliament meeting.

Mr. Byrd’s eyes widened. He had never gotten involved with local politics before, but it certainly seemed unfair to him that mice were getting kicked out of their homes so that the cats could have some sport.

“And if they’re taking prisoners from the dungeons and using them as prey in their hunts,” Cociel added. “That could mean my mother. You know that she’s among the prisoners.”

“I do, I do,” Mr. Byrd said sadly, shaking his head.

“Well, I can’t let them do it, Mr. Byrd, I simply can’t.”

“But what is there to be done? There is nothing that can be done!”

“Yes, there is. That might be everyone else’s attitude, but not mine. There is something to be done and that’s why I need your help.”

“Me? How am I supposed to help you?”

“There’s an election coming up in two weeks and I want you to stand.”

There was a moment as Mr. Byrd took in what Cociel was saying. Then, he began to laugh. High pitched, guffawing laughter that ruffled his feathers and sent some of them fluttering off his body and into the air.

Cociel sat back and glowered at him, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not joking,” he pouted. “This is serious.”

“Oh, I know it’s serious, I know it’s serious, but surely, you
must
be joking,” Mr. Byrd protested in between bouts of laughter.

“I’m not,” Cociel insisted. “None of the mice are brave enough to stand up to the cats. And certainly none of the cats are going to stand up to the cats, because they don’t care about the mice enough to do so; they’re only interested in themselves and their own interests. The only animal who could possibly stand up to the cats is you.”

“My dear boy,” said Mr. Byrd in amazement. “There are hundreds of animals that live in Huntsville, hundreds of animals that aren’t mice or cats. Why don’t you go and pick one of them instead of me? Maybe someone more suited to the task, like an elephant or a lion. Someone big or…. fierce.”

“The elephants and lions all work for the cats and are loyal to them. All the biggest and fiercest animals are under employment of the cats and are paid well. You know that as well as I do.”

“Someone else. There must be someone else,” Mr Byrd protested weakly. “There’s hundred of animals in Huntsville.”

“So you keep saying, but there’s only one of them whom I admire and trust, and that’s you.”

Mr. Byrd’s protesting fell silent. He couldn’t deny that he was touched by the faith Cociel had him, but he still couldn’t see that a small, weak bird like himself could do anything to change the status quo.

“But…I don’t have any credentials,” he whispered. “What makes you think I’m better qualified than anyone else?”

“Because you actually care about the mice,” answered Cociel. “I know you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t teach them and risk getting caught.”

“I’ve never really thought about the consequences,” Mr. Byrd admitted with a shrug. “Nobody bothers me here in my little bookshop. Surely no one would mind if I helped out a few mice.”

“Well yes actually, they would. You know that, but you did it anyway. Why? Because you believe that every mouse has a right to a good education.”

“Every animal does, my dear boy, every animal.”

“Exactly. Including mice.”

“Including mice.”

“Therefore, you’re a champion of mouse rights.”

“I’d hardly describe myself as a champion,” mumbled Mr. Byrd. “Besides, I don’t know anything about politics, and I’m not very confident.”

“That’s not true,” insisted Cociel. “You’re the owner of a book shop. The only book store in the whole of Huntsville, in fact. You have a decent selection on the subject of politics and I’m certain you’ve read at least a few of them, if not all.”

Mr. Byrd said nothing, although he felt his cheeks blushing a little beneath their feathers. Cociel was right. He had read all the books. He’d never thought of that before.

“And as for the confidence thing,” continued the determined young mouse. “I’ve seen the way you talk to the people who come into this book shop and ask you for advice; people who don’t know what book to choose, or who want to talk about literature. Certainly, you might not be very good at making small talk or discussing the weather or asking people whether their brother, sister, or whoever are doing okay. But when it comes to something you’re passionate about, you’re entirely confident and can actually talk very well. I’ve seen the way you teach the mice! Don’t forget I was one of them!”

“One of my best pupils,” said Mr. Byrd proudly.

“Exactly. And I wouldn’t be where I am now if it wasn’t for you, Mr. Byrd. I wouldn’t have the confidence and intelligence to believe that I can do this. And I do believe it. And I need you to believe it too.”

“But…”

“No more buts,” Cociel raised his hand. “Someone has to stand up to Whiska. Do you agree with me on that point?”

“I…. well yes, I suppose I do.”

“And it has to be someone who isn’t a mouse or a cat. Do you agree with me on that point?”

“Y-yes.”

“It has to be someone who the mice like and trust. Do you agree with me on that point?”

“Yes, of course, definitely.”

“It has to be someone with the best interests of the mice at heart.”

“Yes.”

“It has to be someone who is well respected and loved throughout the whole of Huntsville, for whatever reason.”

“Mm yes, I suppose I agree with that, too.”

“Well then, Mr. Byrd, don’t you also agree that the most perfect candidate for the job is most certainly you? It doesn’t matter how little confidence you have. Maybe it might help your confidence if I told you that you
are
well loved and respected throughout the whole of Huntsville. Everybody has heard of The Book Factory, even if they aren’t regulars here, and everyone approves and applauds what you have done for the City.”

Mr Byrd was brimming over with joy from all the compliments. He felt like it was more than he’d received in all his years on the earth, and certainly more than he deserved. “Cociel, please, you don’t have to say all these things.”

“I’m not just saying them. I mean them. Please, Mr. Byrd, you have to do this. You’re our only chance.”

“Well…” He hesitated, but looking at Cociel’s desperate eyes and the way he was pleading with him to take on the challenge, how could he refuse? Then, he considered his family and his father; how they’d told him he’d never amount to anything. Imagine if he won the seat off Whiska and became the Prime Minister of the Mouse Reservation? That’d certainly show them, wouldn’t it? He smiled a little at that, and he began to reconsider his earlier negative stance. “Well…” He said again.