Mimjet’s plan to liberate the four cats was very
simple, but to accomplish it seemed impossible when he considered that Bridges,
the retired boxer, was guarding the room.
In spite of the slow operating speed of Reginald Cromwell’s modem, Mimjet
wanted very much to E-mail his cousin Agabi, the restaurateur, for advice. Agabi had once been a successful thief in
India and knew many tricks.
Unfortunately, however, it would be impossible to make the attempt unless
Bridges left the room. Even if he had
the chance, Agabi might not answer his E-mail soon enough, if he answered at
all.
Though Mimjet knew how to verbally
persuade intellectual minds, Bridges was, he believed, a borderline moron, who
would not respond to reasoning of any kind.
It would do no good, for that matter, to play on his conscience, since
Bridges, it appeared, had no conscience at all. Mimjet had once seen the ex-boxer remove an unruly guest at
Reginald’s orders and then beat him senseless outside. Bridges hated Mimjet for what he considered
were his “heathen ways”, and yet the pugilist had a pentagram and swastika
tattooed on his chest.
As Bridges searched for pornography
on the web, Mimjet paced back and forth over the floor, mentally searching for
a plan. After much thought and prayer,
the Indian realized exactly what he must do, and, on the matter of conscience,
it gave him a moment of mental pain. He
had promised that Francine’s part in the conspiracy would never be known and
she would not loose her job, but, in order to gain her cooperation, he made it
appear as if she was complicit in the affair.
Early that morning in the garden, when he and Francine were alone, he
told her what they must do. It took
several moments for the information to be digested in the English woman’s dense
mind.
“Tell me again,” she asked incredulously, “how are
we going to spring the cats?”
“I told you,” Mimjet sighed
impatiently, “we will make that moron think they’re gone.”
“I don’t follow you,” she passed a
trembling hand through her flaxen hair.
“Don’t follow, just listen this
time,” Mimjet counseled gently. “I will join those four cats inside the closet,
and when he goes to get help, open the window, place the cats in the sack and
lower it to the ground. I will, of
course, lower myself down afterwards too.”
“And where will I be?” she studied
him in disbelief.
“You will be in the get-away car,”
he reminded her impatiently now.
“I will do no such thing!” she said,
folding her delicate arms.
He wrung his finger at her and spoke
in his most severe voice: “you will, dear nanny, because, Reginald will not
believe that I did this by myself. Was
it not you, who brought them into this house?
You, after all, have the greatest motive: profit. I’ve already implicated you by stealing some
of the shopping money and storing away some of their food. I will mail them a letter with my
accusation. Otherwise, if you help me,
they might blame both of us if they find out, but they will have no proof! These cats are not their property, Miss
Francine. They were humans, who have
been turned into cats!”
“You filthy beast!” she cried.
“Be packed and ready, Miss
Francine.” he ordered her gently. “My
uncle Agabi will find you employment if you wish. We do this for a greater good, Miss Francine. You are a pretty lady, but you were never
really very good at this job.”
******
It was still early morning. The Cromwell family was asleep. It was a perfect time, Mimjet was certain,
to rescue the cats. When Bridges left
to relieve himself, which also meant he was going to have himself another smoke,
Mimjet, who had been forbidden to be in the room alone with the cats but had
gained Turner’s confidence, grabbed a large sack and then a length of rope
Indira and Maj had thrown up to him from the yard below. He then called something in Bengali to them
and then began gathering up the cats and dropping them into the closet
one-by-one.
“Hey, careful with the ribs!” Ed
hissed, as he was transported across the room.
Buck scampered eagerly into the
closet, purring with expectation as he joined Tom and Ed. Jim, who was sound asleep, was, of course,
picked up with his cushion and did not awaken as Mimjet laid him gently inside.
“All right boys, you know the plan!”
he called in to them. “It’s now or never.
My accomplice is waiting below in her car.”
The cats were frightened. Jim, who awakened in the dark, was comforted
by the mental exchange of his comrades around him. Their fate was totally in Mimjet’s hands. If he failed, they would be scientific
curiosities the rest of their lives.
Francine, who sat numbly in her car, answered her cell phone, and
listened to Mimjet’s command: “Start your engine and drive up to the side of
the house.”
“I had to leave half of my clothes
in that house!” she almost wept.
“I will buy you new clothes,” Mimjet
promised, as he climbed into the closet with the cats. “What you do now is the
most important thing you’ve done in your short unspectacular life!”
At that point, Mimjet turned off his
cell phone and prayed silently to himself.
Within moments, Bridges was entering the room with a lunch he had made
for himself. When he realized the room
was empty and saw the open window, he came to the conclusion that Mimjet was
certain he would make. In typical
English jargon he cried “Someone pinched the cats!”
Beside himself with rage, the
pugilist stormed around the room. His
well groomed hair, moustache and chiseled features belied his long years in the
ring. Having heard the commotion
inside, Turner, a large, overweight fellow, charged into the room. Only a moment later Veronica, Agnes, the
cook, and the gardeners Clyde and Earl came running up the stairs. When they saw the empty room, pink slips
loomed in their overwrought minds.
“Where did they go Bridges?” Turner
asked the pugilist, a faint smell of rum detectable on his breath.
“You were standing at the bleeding
door, you tell me, you bleeding imbecile!” Bridges shot back.
“This ain’t my fault!” Turner cried
defensibly. “You watch your tone!” he looked menacingly at the smaller man.
Veronica and Agnes, who would share
the blame when the Cromwells returned from town, looked accusingly at the two
men.
“He couldn’t even watch four cats!”
Agnes murmured to Veronica.
“Will, it sure ain’t my fault,
deary,” Veronica shook her head. “All I done is brought up them bags of cat
food and litter. I ain’t laid eyes on
them since.”
“All we done is bring up the sand,”
said Clyde, looking back at Earl.
“Let’s spread out,” ordered Bridges, “they can’t be
far!” “I’ll check the top floor,” cried the pugilist.
“I’ll cover the bottom,” said Turner
“Agnes, Clyde, Earl, and I will
check the grounds,” promised Veronica. “You blokes better find them cats before
the Cromwells wake up!”
******
With the room now empty, Mimjet
acted quickly. All four cats were
stuffed into the sack, with poor Jim whimpering the entire time. “Easy does it Mimjet!” Buck could not help
transmitting. After tying the bag
tightly with rope, Mimjet lowered it down to Indira and Maj, who swiftly untied
the knot, and ran together with the bag toward the car. A stream of invectives and blasphemies
flowed from Jim’s mind into the other cats’ heads.
“Oh, I remember my Dickens now, I
surely do,” Mimjet mumbled frantically as he tied the end of the rope to
Reginald’s massive desk and then began the more difficult task of climbing down
the line. “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it
is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.” “Yes in deed,
I’m like Rumplestiltskin,” he murmured giddily. “If Bridges catches me, I am also like Sidney Carton in Dickens’s
Tail of Two Cities, for I am dead. . . . I must save the cats, but I must also
save myself!”
Indira and Maj, who had helped Francine load up the car, now dumped
their precious cargo into the back seat and climbed in themselves. When
Mimjet reached the ground, he thanked Vishnu, Shiva, Buddha and the Christian
god Jesus and began running frantically across the lawn. Clyde and Earl, who were combing this
portion of the grounds spotted Mimjet, but the gardeners were Mimjet’s friends
and saluted him as he passed.
“Godspeed!” Earl called out in
parting now. “This house won’t be the same without you!”
With a wry smile, Clyde asked Mimjet
as he approached the vehicle. “Was it worth it, you crazy Hindu? You’ve thrown away your jobs for those
stupid cats!”
“It was worth it my friends,” Mimjet
cried out as he climbed into the front seat of the car. “These are not just cats, they are magical
cats--blessed by the gods!”
******
By now Bridges and Turner had returned
to Reginald’s study and looked out the window in time to see Francine’s car
pull away from the curb, move quickly around the circular driveway and whiz
down the private road leading out of the estate. There was, the two men realized, no way they could run down the
stairs, climb into the limousine and catch up with the fugitives in time. More importantly, the overweight chauffer
was too winded to try.
“I knew it, I just knew it,” Bridges
pounded the window sill with his fists. “That crazy Hindu was behind this. He’s gonna make a fortune off those cats!”
“No, Bridges, . . . that’s not why
he did this,” Turner declared reflectively, sitting down in front of Reginald’s
desk and mopping his brow. “. . . . He really cared about those cats. I heard him talking to them; he believes
they were sent by the gods. I think he
worships those little beasts!”
******
“You
realize, Mimjet, I am practically a fugitive now,” Francine complained
bitterly, as they headed south toward Shadow Brook Arms. “When my next employer
asks me where I worked, I will have to say in England. There will be a three year void on my resume
for this city. The Cromwells will tell
them that I’m a thief. I’ll never work
in this town again!”
“If you insist on being a nanny,” Mimjet consoled
her gently, “you can use myself and Agabi for references, but I think you can
do better Francine. Why don’t you go to
college and get your degree. Isn’t
there anything else you can do but take care of someone else’s brats?”
“I bet I know what she could do,” Jim offered as
Francine thought about her reply.
“Jimbo, you rascal!” Buck chuckled, as the mental
imagery played in all their minds.
“. . . . I haven’t a clue,” she confessed finally,
looking into her mirror at the twins glowing faces and listening to the
soothing sound of cats purring in her car.
“I am thinking, you would make a fine nurse,”
chirped Indira.
“I am thinking, you would make someone a fine wife,”
chimed Maj.
Mimjet laughed softly as he patted Francine’s
knee. For the first time in the three
years they had worked together in the Cromwell’s house, he dared think of her
as a woman, a bit too pale for his tastes but with a fragility that stirred his
imagination now that he was his own man.
“We know what old Mimjet’s thinking!” Buck
transmitted, hopping up on the back of the seat and looking down her blouse.
“You were working below minimum wages for those
people, Francine,” Mimjet reminded her gently.
“Anything you do from now on will be better than taking care of those
brats. I am not worried about your
future, Francine,” he said wryly, reaching back and giving Buck a pat.
“You
are a beautiful woman, who must cultivate her mind and venture forth into the
world!”
Buck was not certain of his own future, but he
looked fondly down at Francine’s breasts, wondering if he too might appeal to
the English woman when he was once again a flesh and blood man. There was something very special about being
a cat now. He was not worried about
competing with Mimjet for Francine’s favors.
Mimjet, after all, thought they were gods!
******
As Buck and his gang were driven back to Shadow
Brook Arms, Sheldon and the girls, now that they had escaped the old woman’s
zoo, scrounged the alleys and streets downtown for untainted food. “The trick,” Sheldon tried to sound
confident, “is to wait for restaurant garbage to be tossed out in back of
buildings.” After waiting for just the
right moment, Sheldon directed Tanya and Penny to assist him in salvaging their
first meal from a box of chicken scraps just thrown into a dumpster.
“It’s fresh out of the pot!”
declared Sheldon.
Peering down into the dumpster, the gray Norwegian
forest cat looked smart and handsome as he tippy-toed onto the dumpster ledge.
“I’m not eating garbage,” vowed
Tanya, lingering in the background now.
“Then starve,” thought Penny,
looking back with a sneer. “I love chicken.
I wonder if it’s parmesan or cordon bleú.”
“Picatta!” Sheldon meowed
jubilantly.
“No shit!” cried Penny in disbelief,
hopping up alongside of him on the ledge. “Come on sister,” she called down to
the pouting Tanya, “let’s eat!”
Reluctantly now, the little Siamese
leaped up lithely onto the rim as if she was born to her exquisite form and
joined them in the dumpster for the meal.
In addition to picatta, they found
discarded pastries and fresh mashed potatoes, so that their first full meal
turned into a feast.
As Sheldon and the girls trotted
south on the road to Shadow Brook Arms they were filled with hope for the first
time during their nightmare on the street.
They did not have a clue how the spell would be broken and they did not
have the same sense of timeliness effecting the other cats. Sam and Drew had implanted the notion in the
other cats that they were running out of time before becoming one hundred
percent cats. Buck and his gang had
felt this too. For Sheldon, Tanya and
Penny, the only question was whether or not India’s death meant they were
trapped or freed from the spell. Their
main concern, at this point, was getting back safely to Shadow Brook Arms.
After filling their little bellies,
the two female cats, bolstered by Sheldon’s optimism, felt as confident as he
that they would find their way home.
Sheldon was certain that they were on the correct road and, if they
continued due south, would arrive home soon.
Suddenly, however, as Tanya began complaining about the long, tireless
journey ahead, another cat appeared on their path. Unlike the previous felines that Sheldon was able to “hiss” away,
this big tailless, multicolored cat would not move. It was, of course, a feral Manx hybrid, and it did not respond to
the telepathy transmitted from their minds.
It was, in fact, interested in the females cowering behind Sheldon’s
side and was prepared to do battle to that end.
“Oh God,” Sheldon heaved a sigh,
“this one’s not going to move!”
“It’s very simple,” Penny decided, a
sudden inspiration filling her head.
The same thoughts naturally came to
the other two too. Question: how do you
spook a cat? Answer: You scare it! Do what the feral cat does not expect: human
gestures and sounds, done loudly and jerkily in a variety of unexpected ways.
And so, as the big tom cat
approached the trembling Sheldon, the two females began jerking around, making
spitting and coughing noises, while Sheldon bolted up in the air and let out a
very unfeline howl. Clearly, in the big
cat’s feral mind, he was up against three inexplicable horrors. The effect was swift as expected, for he
pivoted on his paw pads and ran.
******
To keep their spirits up as they
trotted south, Sheldon told his two companions a story about Roy, a cat who adopted his family after being
abandoned by the neighbors next door.
Neither female knew his family were actually cat fanciers, so he spun
for them quite a yarn..
“When the Howard’s moved back to
Utah,” he began thoughtfully, “they also left their dog Scamper, but Scamper
was adopted by the Bradley’s across the street. . . I was jealous of Dicky
Bradley at first, since my own dog had recently died and, yes it’s true Tanya,
I once hated cats. But Roy grew on my
family, if not on me at first. He had
many traits that were strange for a cat.
One of them was that he thought he was a dog. . . . Don’t laugh Penny,
it’s true. He even barked and wagged
his tail. He was not a friendly cat,
I’m afraid. He would bite and scratch
when we picked him up, and he would growl at us when he didn’t get his way, but
he proved to be invaluable to my family one day. . . . A burglar tried to break
into our house one night, and old Roy jumped up and latched onto her leg. It was a good thing we made poor Roy sleep
outside, because she was unable to even climb into our house.”
“The burglar was a woman?” Tanya
wrinkled her pink nose.
“Why not?” Penny shrugged her
shoulders. “If cats can bark, women can steal.”
“I was caught shoplifting when I was
twelve,” Tanya suddenly confessed.
“But we digress,” Sheldon said,
nudging the exhausted females on, “. . . the lady, who was trying to rob our
house turned out to be the long lost daughter of the Howard’s next door.”
“Oh, you’re making all this up!”
Tanya wrinkled her nose.
“In our cookie cutter neighborhood
the houses looked so similar that poor Roberta, the burglar, thought she had
arrived home.”
“Roberta?” Penny mused thoughtfully.
“Was she pretty?”
“Ugly as a five iron,” Sheldon began
laughing, “but when she tried her key and it didn’t work, she attempted to go
through the kitchen window. . . . That’s were Roy came in.”
Sheldon began to laugh so hard now,
he lost his train of thought. It seemed
plain to Penny that he had made the entire story up, but Tanya, who had been
majoring in psychology, was not so sure.
Sheldon’s old girl friend was named Roberta. Half of the story might therefore be potentially true. As the three cats crossed at a green light
and Tanya asked him why he used that particular name, a familiar specter for
cats materialized on the other side of the street. A Doberman pincer on a leash began to drag the unfortunate little
woman taking him for a walk toward them as the woman crossed the street. Sheldon, Tanya and Penny ran in the
opposite direction and ducked beneath a parked van. The dog tore free of its master and stood outside their temporary
haven, barking furiously at the cats underneath. The woman picked up the dog’s leash, yanked at it angrily and
finally, after a flood of unladylike curses, coaxed the brute back on its walk.
“You’ve never forgotten Roberta,”
Tanya said petulantly as they continued on their way. “I can see the symbolism
of your story. . . . It’s not just about Roy, the cat who barks; it’s about a
woman who steals back into your life, but you fight to keep her memory away. .
. . That’s where old Roy comes into the picture. . . Roy is your alter-ego. . .
. Scamper is actually the love that got away.”
“Wait a minute,” Penny cleared her
throat, “that doesn’t make sense. If
Roberta, the thief, is trying to get back into his life, where does Scamper,
the neighbor’s dog, fit in?”
“Roberta represents unrequited love
and Scamper represents lost love!”
Tanya replied dubiously.
“But Scamper is a male,” teased
Penny.
Sheldon began laughing again. Soon, Tanya took Penny’s mental cue and
began laughing too.
“Now it’s become a fairy tale!” she chimed, nudging both of her friends: “Roy, the Barking Cat!”