Рахма Крамбо - Guardian Cats And The Lost Books Of Alexandria

The raccoons, dazed and confused, rummaged around for a minute.

“I hate cats,” said Sting. “They’re freakin' me out. Let’s scram.”

“Hey Sting, you still want this?” asked Crimmany, holding up Polo’s lighter.

“Sure, you never know. It might come in handy.”

Chapter 30: Wild disregard for order

For security reasons, Cicero moved the Dead Cats meetings from the Café parking lot to a room inside the library—a storage area where the window was permanently stuck open. Not that any librarian could even see the window, let alone get to it.

The room was crammed so full there was no pathway left for people. Wooden card catalogs took up half the space. A large bust of Mark Twain kept company with an ancient manual typewriter on an overstuffed chair. Piles of cardboard boxes, books and magazines looked as though they’d given up their struggle for organization and succumbed to the gravity of neglect.

Cicero thought it was perfect. The room had the right balance of coziness and wild disregard for order.

Already most of the cats had found something of interest. Gypsy browsed through Mothering Magazine while her kittens pounced over her. Skitzo was reading an article in the Daily Observer titled “Missing Baby Found Inside Watermelon!” Caffeina looked bored as she flipped the pages of Cat Diva.

Heads raised as Marco climbed into the room through the narrow window opening, his ear and nose torn, dried blood on his tail.

Caffeina was the first to jump up. “Mee-oow! Marco, what happened to you?”

Tweezer asked, “Who won?”

Marco held his head and tail high, battle scars and all. “I did pretty well, considering,” he said proudly.

“Considering….?”

“Considering the face-off Polo and I had with the raccoons.”

”Raccoons!”

“Who did you say you were with?” asked Skitzo.

“My friend, Polo.”

Tweezer came closer and examined Marco’s injuries. “Did you leave your mark on them?” he asked.

“They won’t soon forget me,” said Marco.

“Who’s Polo?” Skitzo insisted, peering suspiciously at Marco.

“He’s a friend.”

“Do we know him?”

“Not exactly,” answered Marco.

Skitzo circle Marco, inspecting him like an interrogator. “Why doesn’t he come to meetings?”

“I thought it was just for cats.”

“What? He’s not a cat?” asked Skitzo, appalled.

“Well… no,” Marco said. “Polo’s a… well, he’s a ferret.”

Dead silence.

“A what?” asked Sophie, who was never afraid to admit when she didn’t know something.

“A ferret.”

“You have a friend who’s not a cat?” challenged Skitzo.

“You’re repeating yourself Skitzo. A sure sign of psycho-ness. Anyway, so what?” said Caffeina. “No law says we can’t be friends with other species. I have a good friend who’s a dog.”

“You should be careful who you’re friends with, Caffeina.”

“That’s funny, coming from you Skitzo. Since you don’t have any friends,” retorted the cheeky feline.

“Here. Here,” interjected Cicero. “Marco, inform the others about ferrets.”

***

Marco wasn’t sure how to describe a ferret to a cat. “He has fur, but he doesn’t look much like us. He’s long, hardly any ears, and…” What could he tell them?

The cats were waiting.

Then he remembered what he liked most about his friend. “Ferrets are funny. At least Polo’s funny,” he blurted out.

“Oh!”

It was the perfect answer for the cats and broke the tension. For most of them, anyway.

“Funny is overrated,” said Skitzo. “I can’t remember the last time I was funny.”

“That’s because you’ve never been funny,” countered Caffeina.

“You risked your life for a ferret?” asked Bait.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I didn’t stop to think about it,” said Marco. “Polo’s my friend. I had to defend him.”

“Very noble of you,” replied Bait.

“How many did you say there were?” asked Cicero.

“Three. The same thugs who broke into our meeting.”

“You fought all three by yourself and lived to tell about it?” asked Pudge.

There was an admiring squeal from Caffeina. “Three raccoons on your own! You’re a hero!”

Had Marco been human, he would have been blushing.

“I think we should meet this friend of yours,” Bait said. “This one who inspires so much loyalty.”

“Yes! You should bring him to a meeting,” agreed Pudge.

Marco was relieved they were willing to meet Polo, especially since he was waiting outside.

Polo’s head shot up in the window. “Can I come in now? It’s boring out here.” Without waiting for an answer, he leaped through and fell on the floor. He picked himself up and looked around. It didn’t take long for him to decide who was having the most fun, and he immediately joined in with the kittens.

The older cats stared in group silence at the odd creature frolicking with the little ones. Gypsy broke the silence. “Guys. Focus. The raccoons. We can’t keep ignoring this problem by hiding.”

“The raccoons are cramping my lifestyle, that’s for sure,” said Pudge. “They come over every night and raid the dumpster. And would you believe? The human who used to feed me… she thinks the raccoons are cute! Now they get all the scraps. They’re such pigs!”

Cicero tried to calm them down. “Raccoons don’t stay in one place long. They’re drifters, so I believe they’ll move on soon. For now, we need to lie low.”

“Great! We have to skulk around while they terrorize the neighborhood?” Skitzo asked, his voice rising.

“We could turn them in to Animal Control,” suggested Caffeina. “Those guys are always picking up stray dogs in my neighborhood.”

“Oh, you’re so brilliant, Caffeina,” Tweezer said, rolling his eyes. “How are we going to do that? You know some human who understands ‘cat’? ”

Chapter 31: The London Bookshop

The dull ache in his hind leg woke Cicero and the bittersweet memories came flooding back.

He missed Amelia. He missed the labyrinthine maze of books and magazines in her bookshop, the cafés on London’s narrow cobblestone street behind the store, the treats he always found waiting for him.

He even missed dodging the shoes one merchant threw at him and the excitement of never knowing when a motor scooter would come charging down the alley like some avenging angel.

When he greeted Amelia’s customers, they’d exclaim, “Oh, you’re the cat on the mews!” and laugh hysterically. He never understood what was so funny.

His last day at the bookstore, he had been lying in a sunny patch by the front window. Something in the air changed the moment the man stepped into the shop.

A gray fedora shadowed his face. He wore a tweed coat and carried a satchel which weighed down one shoulder.

“Do you carry rare books?” he had asked Amelia, rubbing his hands together as if they were cold, even though the day was warm. Cicero remembered how his moustache bobbed as he spoke.

Before Amelia could answer, the man was talking again. “Ah, um, I should introduce myself. Where are my manners?” he said, fumbling in his pocket. He handed Amelia his card. “I’m Doctor Chin. But most people call me ‘Professor’.”

Amelia had seemed delighted with his presence, but she was like that with everyone. Cicero followed them as she guided the man on a tour of the small crowded bookstore. There should not be a shadow inside, he knew, but sure enough, one was following this man.

“Lovely shop, yes,” the man said. “And I will browse through that art collection in the back, but I wonder if… I feel a little foolish asking.” He laughed tightly. “Are there any hidden rooms?”