I froze while she sniffed my nose, my head and ears, and down my left side to where my tail begins. She glanced at Mutt who stifled a giggle by stuffing his tail in his mouth. “I tink you not smell good. Need Mutt give bath.”
Lady, you oughta get a load of yourself, I thought, but said, “You’re probably right. Mutt, what about it when we get home?” I punched “home” louder, hoping he would get my drift.
The kith brain dropped his tail but still grinned like a ninny. “Sure thing, Little Buddy, and, hey, Meffie, I think we need to go. Tomorrow is gonna to be busy, and we need to sleep now.”
“Amai no sleep night. Sleep day.”
“Yeah well, you’re right, but tomorrow we, uh . . .we need to teach Junior, here, some more of the ropes. Teach him how to. . . uh . . fish.”
Meffie stared at me, her little black eyes blank. “He make good fisher, I tink.” Turning back to Mutt and taking a quick look at Fergus who was sort of turned off, she said, “You no hunt with me tonight?”
“Oh, sure,” Mutt answered. “I forgot.” He turned to me. “We always hunt with Meffie when we visit. She pretty much likes what we like, and our eyes are better in the dark than hers are. So, let’s get going.” He jumped up and headed into the woods. Fergus followed with Meffie waddling behind.
After I got to know her better, I found she had short legs and couldn’t move very fast. ‘Course with her defense system, she didn’t have to.
We hunted ‘til almost Tuyuur Song and killed a pile of mice that made us all so full we laid around in the thicket until dawn.
I won’t say Meffie became a close friend, and I don’t think Mutt and Fergus were best buddies with her, either. But, she was fascinating to be around for a short time, and I think short time was the way she liked it, too. Hunting with her was fun, like all hunting is, but once the food was gathered, she made it clear that we were dismissed soon after eating.
~ ~ ~ ~
“I knew a skunk once,” Chubby said. “About where you said Meffie lived. Wonder if it’s the same one?”
“Ouch! Damned flea. It’s boring a hole in my belly. Hold on, Chubby. When I find the little sucker, I’ll eat him.” I found the flea and crush him between my front teeth. “I couldn’t tell you, Chubby, if Meffie was the one you met or not. I’m not good with a skunk’s age.”
“Don’t matter. The skunk I met wasn’t thrilled with me, so we both skedaddled in opposite directions. I’d say you’re lucky to have an experience like that. Not many of us do.” He yawned and stretched. “It’s suppertime. Let’s go back to the mollie bašar and get a handout.” As he scurried away with me behind, he was all smiles
We ate the rich food she set out, and I realized that Chubby was, well, fat. “Hey, old buddy, think you might slow down on this food? I mean you are a bit wide in the rear.”
“No, but I will happily knock you on your tail, if you desire.”
Chapter 11
The cat is domestic only as far as suits its own ends. Saki (Hector Hugh Munro)
Like Mutt said, we had all the fresh food out there we wanted. Rats were definitely not my favorites, but when hungry, eat what’s available. That was my new motto, and the only motto I’ve ever had.
Freedom. Day after day sitting in that prison at the seminary, looking out the window, watching bašar, other amai, kalb, teir and everything else go where they wanted to go, do what they wanted to do, I dreamed of freedom. I’d been trapped all my life, so I wasn’t sure what freedom was, but I suspected it was outside. And it was, and is. Fergus, Mutt and I went where we pleased, slept all day, caught a meal, laid around, groomed, and then went off to somewhere else just for the pleasure of going.
Of course, there were other amai around, and we’d hang out a lot. Fergus and Mutt knew them all. Most of them were cool and fun to be with, but there were stinkers, too, like Raeed and Thain, and amai stuck on themselves, shoving their tails under our noses and waiting for us to bring in the food. They lasted about a minute before Mutt let ‘em have it or Fergus shredded an ear. We guarded our territory, but we’d share as long as no one muscled in on our stuff. I was still living in Fergus’ territory, which he was quick to remind me when I horned in, like hunting without his okay.
“All the eats out here are mine, hey. Just ask; that’s all. You’re always welcome, but just ask. Okay?” I understood, but some amai didn’t, and some amai hurt a lot after.
Mutt’s territory was at the lakeshore in the bushes, but he didn’t seem to care much about protecting it. He let most other amai come and go, hunt, and seldom stopped them. Except for Pach, a sexy white and black tabby mollie who Mutt hated.
“She’s a liar, a tease, and dangerous,” he’d say after he ran her off.
I didn’t ask why because Mutt was so mad that he scared me. Fergus told me in private that Pach had been his one true love, but had left him for a yellow tabby house pet in a fancy apartment.
“Broke his heart. He never got over it and has never had a mollie since.”
“Poor guy. Guess she just comes around to needle him, huh?”
“Yeah, and he ain’t havin’ it.”
One day it occurred to me that I didn’t have a territory and mentioned it to Fergus.
“Well, Kid, you’ll have to find one that’s open or fight for one” While we talked we dined on baby arnab we’d found under a log. “More’n likely you’ll have to fight ‘cause you’ll never find an open one unless the owner’s dead.”
Feeling like a kith seeking advice from his maama, I asked, “How can you tell?”
“You gotta go in careful like and give it the sniff test. If the smell is real strong, someone owns it and takes care of it, like I do. Mutt, now, is kind of lazy about marking, and he’s had some problems. Good thing he’s a great fighter, or he’d be homeless.” He finished his last bite then washed. “Now, if the scent is real strong, you can decide what to do. Lay low, see who the owner is, size him up and figure if you can take him or not. If not, buzz off and look around. Now, if the scent is real faint, almost not there, you’re probably in luck and can lay down some stink of your own. But, make sure you look around carefully, ‘cause you might be around someone like Mutt and get yourself clobbered. Oh, and another thing: if is smells female, leave. Our pretty mollies are dangerous all the time, but especially at certain times, if you catch my drift.”
“Yeah. When they come in.” I washed my face.
“You been around, I see.”
I finished washing. “No. A friend I had once told me, as she warned me.”
“Ah, not your maama?”
“No.” We found some sun on our favorite sleeping porch and stretched out.
Fergus continued: “Mollies are usually snarly unless you go easy. Then, they can be good friends for a short time, or while their loaded sometimes. All of mine kicked my tail out once they felt the kiths move.” He yawned. “To continue the territory thing: all I’m saying is be careful, and from my experience you’ll have to fight to get a place. If it’s an old guy, you may have a chance, but you’d be some lousy amait to move in on an old amait’s territory. A young one? Well, how good are you?”
“I don’t know. Never fought.”
His eyes bugged and his mouth dropped open. “What?” he managed after a moment. “A fully developed tom as big as you are and never had a fight? What did your maama do, Nebibi? Just sit around and ignore you?”
Now I was really embarrassed. How could I tell him she was a boozer? “My maama is dead, but she drank a lot, and was probably fixed.”
“Drank? How do you mean? Sits around a water bowl all day and drinks?”
“Fergus, I told you we were trapped in a seminary, right?”
“Yeah, but to understand I’d have to know what a seminary is.”
“I’m not completely sure myself, but it has to do with things they do for something they call god, or something called our lord other times. I don’t know, but I think both of my captors are in charge of
the place. It’s like they obey, or something.”
“So what does that have to do with your maama drinking a lot of water?”
“They drink a lot of nibiit as they talk to these gods. And nibiit is this stuff that’s red and smells bad, and when you drink a lot of it, you stagger around, bump into walls, don’t make sense when you talk and sleep most of the time. My maama was hooked on it because she drank it from glasses they left around the place and sometimes sipped it from bottles that didn’t have lids. She’d push the bottles over and lap it up.”
Fergus looked at me and smiled. “So they have their kef, too.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You ain’t ever had kef? Sweetie Pie, Daddy’s gotta take you to the garden tonight. Mutt and me don’t use much, but ever so often we gotta get some kef.”
“What does this kef do?”
“What this nibiit stuff did for your maama. We gulp down four or five leaves and mellow in the grass for like a whole End of Light and come around just before Tuyuur Song. Don’t even hunt.”
“I don’t know, Fergus. My maama wasn’t much of a maama when she drank the stuff. If this kef . . .”
“Relax. I’ll explain later. We’re off the subject of fighting.” He sat up and licked his paw, stretched and yawned. “Guess I’ll have to give you lessons in fighting, too.” He shook his head and looked away. “Why am I doing this? You’re competition. I should have run your tail off when I met you. But, oh no, tenderhearted ol’ Fergus has to be a teacher. Sic a kilaab on me. Come on.”
He jumped off the chair and hopped from the porch to the ground with me tagging after. He ran toward the lake and Mutt’s place.
“Hey, Mutt,” he called. “Gotta teach the kid to fight.”
Mutt stuck his head out, eyes winking like a crossing signal, and grinning. “Teach him to fight? Yahoo! Ain’t never taught an amait to fight. Thought we was born fightin’”
“Well, some of us have maamas who drink nibiit,” Fergus said.
“Nibiit?” Mutt said and stopped blinking.
“I’ll explain later. Let’s go to the beach where it’s soft, and, besides, I gotta pinch a loaf before we get started.”
We raced to the beach where Fergus dug a hole. Mutt did the same thing and beh yeh contentedly while I watched.
What am I into, I wondered. I’d seen amai fight. Adele and I watched two toms slug it out over a pretty little tabby once, and the loser later died. We also watched a queen beat the khara out of a tom she didn’t want anymore. We thought it was a bit much since all she had to say to him was scram.
So, I sat and waited for my teachers to finish, hoping that when the lesson was over, I’d be able to sit up and eat. I also knew I didn’t have to do this, none of it. I knew if I went back to the seminary and looked pitiful, I’d get back in. But they wouldn’t call me Nebibi? Not a chance. I was Gaylord to them and always would be because they couldn’t understand my language. I do not care for Gaylord and never did. Now, Nebibi was cool: a wild, black amait roaming the forest. That I could get use to.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Do you want me to call you Nebibi?” Chubby asked.
“Doesn’t matter anymore, Chubby. My life has changed so much and I’ve learned to understand myself pretty good, so what I’m called is not that important. You’ve always called me Gaylord, and that’s okay with me, Old Friend.”
“Okay. Just checkin’.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Then I thought there’s more to me than being a housie. Yeah, I loved the pampering. I loved hanging out with Maama, when she was alive, and my sister, and the chow was all right. Fergus and Mutt all the time said it wasn’t fresh, but I liked it then, before I escaped and ate really fresh food. Now, slitting open bellies and sucking out guts and blood and other ooze still gets to me once in a while, but it’s worth it to be free.
What about proyet, I wondered, when the snow flies and it gets cold? I was used to a warm place, a blanket to stretch out on or a lap to cuddle in. Fergus and Mutt were not going to supply laps.
On the other paw I had a chance to build a reputation, or die in the attempt. If I made it, I’d respect myself as a savvy tom ready for anything. What good would that be at the seminary? None. But, oh Chubby, what stories I could tell if I went back, except who would I tell them to? My sister? That’d be short. So, in the end, I decided I’d stay on the street and tell my stories to other amai and teach them like Fergus and Mutt, and Adele and you, taught me.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Chuckling, Chubby said, “I think you made the right choice.”
It was late and I was tired of talking. “How about a nap,” I asked. “Until End of Light. Then, we’ll eat and I’ll talk until Tuyuur Song. Okay?”
“Yeah, I’m sleepy, too. Not because you’re talkin’, but because I’m old.”
“You can say that again.”
“You know, I can still whip up on you like you’ve never been whipped up on before, Gaylord, my pompous young friend.”
I had to laugh. “I know you can, Chubby. Never doubted it. Now hush and let me sleep.”
When we woke, End of Light was there and it was raining. Hate rain, but I hate hunger more. I licked Chubby’s face and roused him. What a grouch. Said nothing to me, not so much as a grunt.
I followed him to the mollie bašar’s place where the food was waiting. We gobbled and ran and then spent several minutes drying off. My tongue was throbbing when I finished. We settled again, storyteller and listener.
Chapter 12
You may say a cat has good grammar. Well, a cat does—but you let a cat get excited once; you let a cat get to pulling fur with another cat on a shed, nights, and you’ll hear grammar that will give you the lockjaw. Ignorant people think it’s the noise which fighting cats make that is so aggravating, but it ain’t so; it’s the sickening grammar they use. A Tramp Abroad, Mark Twain
“Are you ready to get clobbered?” Fergus shouted as he filled his hole. He came over, jumped on me, and pushed me to the ground. Mutt joined him for the easy scuffle before we raced down the beach to a more secluded spot.
“All right,” Fergus said. “Amait fighting’s an art form. I’m not sure what that means, but I think it means you gotta practice to be good. So, let’s start with warnings.”
He flattened his ears, dilated his eyes, bared his teeth and hissed. I jumped away because that’s how he was when I first met him. He laughed. “See, if you’re mean lookin’ enough, you might get a pass. You don’t know how much is bluff and how much can be backed up with mayhem
“Mayhem?” Mutt asked.
“Mayhem. I heard it used once by two tom bašar who were going at it in an alley. Now listen, I’m here to tell ya bašar can fight. Blood, snot, spit, and tears—everything is brought out in one of their fights, and with language and screaming, too. I heard mayhem and it interested me, so I’ve used it around fights ever since. Don’t know what it means, but it sure sounds bad.”
“You’re really smart, Fergus,” Mutt said.
“I know. Let’s get back to teachin’ Pretty Tom here how to defend himself. Okay, practice your warning.”
I laid my ears flat, frowned, glared, bared my teeth and hissed.
“Aw, come on, Nebibi,” Fergus said. “That wouldn’t scare a crippled rat. An alley amait would have you hung up and gutted before you took a second breath. You gotta scare the khara outta them, hey. Make them let a khara streak as they run like that kilaab did when you hissed in his face. Still cracks me up. You gotta make them know, in a serious way, what they’re getting into so they don’t wanna get into it. You dig?”
“Yeah.” I doubted I had that kind of stuff in me.
“Now, try it again, and do it like some honkin’ monster was looking down at you. You’re scared outta your mind but you ain’t runnin’, okay? Bear down!”
I thought about Adele and how she whipped Raeed when I did it again, but this time I flexed every muscle in my body. I
brought the hiss from deep down inside, and my frown was aimed at a filthy kilaab like the one I’ll tell you about later, Chubby.
I saw Mutt step back. All was quiet until Fergus said, “Okay, Sweet Cakes. That’s what I’m talking about. That was impressive.” He looked at Mutt who crouched and purred. “You blew Mutt away. Right, Mutt?”
“Right. I think if it was real, I’d be about two blocks away now. You got some rage inside you, kid.”
I just smiled and tried to look important.
“If you can act wacko like that all the time, you may walk away from some fights, hey,” Fergus said. “Now, I ain’t scared. All your bluff is just that, and I know I can kick your tail anytime. Right? So, I don’t back off. Whatchya do now?”
I sat down and looked at Fergus. “Uh, run like hell? No, you’d just run after and mop the street with me, right?”
“That would be a yes, only I’d bury you after if I was a mind to.”
“Okay, let’s see.” I was really just playing with him, Chubby, because I knew he wanted to fight and he wanted me to say I’d stay. “Maybe, pinch a loaf? Say sorry? Wet myself? What?”
Now Fergus sat and stared at me. “You know, if you ain’t careful, me and Mutt’s gonna kick you out and forget about it. This is serious business. Amai that can’t fight are dead amai. Dig?”
“Sorry, Fergus. I was just playin’. I’d fight if backed into a corner. Okay?”
“That’s better.” He licked a paw and looked at me again. Mutt was still crouched and purring. “Okay, bluffin’ will usually get you nowhere. It ain’t easy bluffin’ an experienced alley amait. Maybe a kith brain like you, but not a savvy amait. You get a reputation for just being a bluffer, and you might as well go back to that cemetery . . .”
“Seminary, “ said.
“Do not interrupt. If all you do is bluff, an old fighter like me and Mutt’ll tear you to pieces ‘cause we know you ain’t got nothin’. Here’s where fighting gets to be that art form.”