Рахма Крамбо - Guardian Cats And The Lost Books Of Alexandria

Cicero kept climbing.

“It’s Akeel’s book, isn’t it?” Marco badgered him from behind.

No answer.

“Come on, Cicero. Take me back down there to see it.”

“Patience, Marco. My bones are weary and I need to rest. I must warn you, however. This has to remain secret. You can’t tell a soul.”

“The book can’t be in danger now. Not here.”

Cicero stopped and turned again. “The Professor is one who will never give up his quest for power. Hope that he never finds his way here.”

Professor? What Professor? It seemed like all of Cicero’s explanations only raised more questions.

Alaniah fluttered around their heads. “Silly cats. I am never far away.” She opened the portal and Marco breathed the welcoming smell of books as they stepped through the mirror into the library.

“I am going to go rest now, but I would like you to meet the others.”

“Others?”

“I haven’t told you about the other readers, have I?”

“Readers? You mean reader cats?”

“Midnight tomorrow, behind the Café Ole. Come to a meeting of the Dead Cats Society.”

Chapter 19: Dumpster Cats

It was the dead of night in the parking lot behind the Café Ole. The lot was empty. So empty, that for a while Marco wondered if he had the wrong place or the wrong time, but gradually a few strays straggled in.

“You’re not from around here, are you?" accused a wind-blown cat with bug eyes. Marco tried to hold his tongue.

"Speak up, stranger! Make yourself known,” the hostile cat retorted.

“Easy there,” said a sleek gray cat, just coming in.

“You causing trouble again, Skitzo?” asked a scraggly tom missing one eye.

“Everyone knows the rules. We have to be careful who we let in. And don’t call me Skitzo. It’s not my real name.”

“What is your real name, Skitzo?” asked the biggest cat Marco had ever seen.

Skitzo mumbled something no one could understand.

The big cat, a Maine Coon, turned to Marco. “Skitzo tells us his owner inserted a chip in his head.”

“Former owner, thank goodness. But it’s true! They’re using it to track me.”

“Why would they want to track you, Skitzo? You’re so mean.”

The aristocratic gray introduced himself to Marco more formally. “Excuse our bad manners. My name is Bait. It’s short for Baitengirth, but I rarely use my royal name.”

Marco had never met royalty and liked his polished manner. Better than the others, he thought.

“You got something to hide?” asked Skitzo, not wanting to drop his challenge. “Out with it.”

“Show some manners,” said Bait. “We should treat our guests more graciously. Now, how about a civilized introduction. You are…?”

“I’m Marco.”

“Marco,” muttered Skitzo. “Wasn’t he some kind of spy?”

“Boy, you should read more, Skitzo. Marco was a famous explorer, not a spy,” said the scruffy tomcat.

“Well, Marco, you know who Skitzo is,” continued Bait. ”This is Tweezer, that’s Pudge and over there is Gypsy with her kittens.”

A long-haired white Persian sauntered in. “Anyone seen my book? I stashed it here last meeting. Now I can’t find it anywhere.”

“You mean that stupid fashion magazine, Caffeina?" asked Tweezer. "That's not a book!"

“Well, it’s a lot better than your biker magazines.” The white cat swished her tail in Tweezer’s face and strolled off.

This is not what Marco expected. Was this some kind of joke Cicero was playing on him?

For all their grumbling, the arguments didn’t get physical. They scattered out and a few of them disappeared into a large dumpster to search for food scraps from the restaurant.

Marco investigated the surroundings. Metal trashcans and empty food boxes lined the back of the brick restaurant. He sniffed lettuce, rotten bananas and dead potted plants. It seemed a waste of time, and he decided to leave.

“Seize the day!” cried a familiar voice.

Marco jumped, along with the others.

Cicero had arrived unnoticed and taken his place on the wooden crate he used as a podium.

“Greetings, fellow Readers,” he announced, unable to hide the fact that he was enjoying the small bit of drama caused by his arrival.

But the drama was short-lived. Now they just seemed bored, licking French fry grease off their paws.

Chapter 20: Stage fright

Cicero sighed. He was well aware his passion for sharing Guardian stories was met with mixed enthusiasm. While they found the idea exciting and a few even dreamed of someday becoming a Guardian, none of these cats had what it took. Still, it was part of his duty to maintain the tradition of the Dead Cats Society as—what was that strange term? Social outreach?

Cicero gave the cats time to finish their grooming. All were homeless, although they didn’t think of themselves as strays. They’d had humans somewhere in their past, for better or worse.

All were tough survivors, though. Tweezer was a drop-off at Mrs. Wilcox’s Cat Rescue Mission, and Gypsy had strong barn cat lineage. He knew Skitzo stayed on the move, lurking behind markets and cafés, skittish of human contact, but Pudge was only too happy to have the café owner for a friend. Marco liked to sleep in tall trees or rooftops, when weather permitted.

Then there was Caffeina, of whom he felt some fatherly affection. She told the others she lived at the Fairmont Hotel, and he never let on that it was a janitorial closet at the Sleep N’Go Motel.

He spotted Bait making small talk with Marco. He knew the most about him; a pedigreed Russian Blue, born at a breeding cattery and adopted by a woman who supplied him with pricy collars, toys and food.

Bait was proud of the awards he won at cat shows and how well he’d learned to read in the long hours he spent alone at home. He favored psychology journals. A strange choice, thought Cicero, but then Bait was a strange cat.

Bait told him he grew bored with the cat shows, and shortly after, a white Persian kitten appeared in his house. They despised each other from the start. When Bait drew blood on the kitten’s face, the woman threw him outside, and that was that.

The important thing was that somewhere along the way, this little group had all acquired the ability to read. It was rapidly becoming a lost art, and so, even if they didn’t read the best stuff, they came faithfully to meetings.

Gypsy kept him supplied with kittens to tutor, and they were his hope for the future. Reader cats were necessary to maintain the tradition of passing on the Guardian Cat stories.

It was the next Guardian Cat he was worried about. He must be sure this time.

“What’s your story about tonight, Cicero?” asked Lily.

Lily and Sophie, two of Gypsies kittens, were always eager for his stories.

Tonight I will tell you the story of a Guardian Cat named Gadiel. He lived long ago in the frozen steppes of the Ural Mountains. That’s in western Russia.”

“Hey, Cicero,” interrupted Skitzo. “What are you gonna do about this stray? I thought we had rules.”

“Yeah, like you live by the rules, Skitzo,” countered Caffeina.

“Yeah, like you’re not a stray,” said Tweezer, the tomcat.

Skitzo ignored them and pushed his point with Cicero. “The one who calls himself Marco. What happened to security around here? Shouldn’t he at least swear by the Code?”

“We’ll get around to that in good time,” replied Cicero patiently.

“Like…?” pushed Skitzo.

Cicero tolerated Skitzo’s rudeness. He didn’t expect much in the way of manners from the strays, but he did enjoy teasing them.

“Okay, Skitzo. Maybe you’re right,” he said.

Skitzo looked smugly at the others.