Рахма Крамбо - Guardian Cats And The Lost Books Of Alexandria

Tank squeezed through the door, Sting not bothering to move to let him out.

“I’m calling in backup,” he told Marco. “Friends who are itchin' for a good fight.”

“I’m not afraid,” Marco countered. “Cats love a good fight.”

“You’ll be sorry you didn’t make this nice and simple, Marco. Be prepared for things to get rough." Sting looked at Polo, "Right, little buddy?”

Polo was shivering, his eyes pleading for mercy.

Marco needed some leverage. Something besides another attack. He’d already been in too many fights with Sting. He would have to go about this differently, and he’d already given some thought to it. A guardian was allowed to use the power of the Book if it was a matter of life and death. Surely, this was one of those times.

He had memorized the magical words. Cicero said he wasn’t ready to receive the spell, but their haunting sound had stayed with him. So he spoke the words, hoping to transform into a human like Cicero had done. Nothing happened at first. Marco repeated the spell. Again nothing. What was he doing wrong? He tried a third time and was suddenly catapulted into a new form. He was the same size as before and still on all fours, but he had the arms and legs of a human. They were covered in fur, but his face felt naked and his ears were gone.

He was neither cat nor human, but a frightful hodgepodge of both. Sting and Polo were both gaping at him. When Sting started laughing, Marco, mortified at his condition, ran for cover, tripping and falling, forced to use legs that didn’t fit his body.

Chapter 41: Caffeina

Marco returned to the library in a strange mood, smelling of human and raccoon, warning the Dead Cats of impending danger. When someone asked him what was wrong, he snapped at them. But he’d taken charge and was giving orders. They needed lookouts because the raccoons were bringing in recruits for a fight. Marco said they needed their own recruits, that they needed to round up some strays.

The air was charged with electricity and Caffeina chose to join the round up rather than sit around waiting. It turned out that only she and Tweezer had volunteered.

“How much farther?” whined Caffeina, after they had been walking forever. She thought it might be fun going on an adventure, but she should have known better. How could anything be fun with Tweezer?

Now she wished she’d stayed behind, because her toe pads hurt.

“Tweezer! You never told me it would be this far. For that matter, you never even told me where we’re going."

Tweezer did not slow his pace or miss a beat.

“We’ve no time to waste, Caffeina.”

“I know. It’s just that I figured stray cats would be… well, like, closer to town.”

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

“You are such a pain, Tweezer! Why are you so mean?”

“I’m not mean. I just don’t have time to explain things.”

After a few blocks he slowed his pace. “We’re almost there.” They turned the corner and Tweezer crossed the street in front of a dilapidated old house. The yard was surrounded by a chain link fence, and the house was wrapped with a wide porch supported by thick pillars covered in dry paint curls.

It looked abandoned, but there were cats dozing on chairs and in laundry baskets. Kittens scrambled around the dirt yard, playing with broken twigs. Aluminum pie tins of dry food lined the porch.

For once, Caffeina was speechless. She had no idea so many cats could live in one place. Tweezer climbed up the trunk of a tree and leaped off inside the fenced yard. He marched up to the porch like he belonged.

“Welcome home, Tweez. How’s it going?”

This was where Tweezer lived? Caffeina never thought about where the other cats went when they weren’t together. She’d always been a little ashamed because she lied about living at the Sleep N’Go. She picked her way around mud puddles and tried not to breathe too deeply. This was so much worse than the motel.

She joined Tweezer so she wouldn’t get stuck out in the yard having to talk with some awful-looking stray.

“Tweezer! Where you been? Hanging out with bookworms?" yelled one dirty white cat.

"They’re dead cats, supposedly,” said another.

“Aren’t we good enough for you anymore?”

“Maybe we’re not dead enough,” joked one.

To Caffeina’s surprise, Tweezer didn’t get uptight with these cats like he did with her. He greeted each one like they were long lost brothers and sisters, all of them teasing each other good-naturedly.

“Look what he brought with him! Hey, gorgeous. What’s your name?”

“Wow, Tweezer. How’d you ever get a girl like that? You being so ugly and all.”

Caffeina was appalled they thought she was Tweezer’s girl.

“Naw, she’s just a friend,” said Tweezer.

“Sure. We believe that."

“Hey, Tweez! If she’s not your girl, maybe I can have her,” said Boris, an obese orange and white cat. “What about it, baby?”

“No way, creep.” Caffeina said. She was not used to such crudeness. The Dead Cats, except for Bait, were always respectful.

“Aw, you’re hurtin’ my feelings!” said Boris. “I need a pretty girl to talk to.”

“Okay, come here. I do have something to say,” said Caffeina.

Boris came waddling over with a stupid grin on his face, and the minute he was close enough, Caffeina smacked him a good one, drawing a thin line of blood on his nose.

“Geez, you don’t have to get violent,” said Boris, dragging his tail as he walked away.

Meanwhile, Tweezer had jumped onto a table. “Alright. Listen up, everybody. I came here for a reason and I don’t have a lot of time for explanations, so I’ll get right to the point. We need your help."

"We? Like who's ‘we’?"

"The Dead Cats Society. We’ve been attacked by a pack of raccoons. They’re roaming through town, looking for trouble, and…”

“Raccoons! Those mangy varmints,” interrupted a cat.

“What’s a raccoon?” asked a kitten.

“But…” continued Tweezer, holding up his paw. “This pack is particularly vicious and they’ve called for more recruits. The rumors are flying, but if they’re true we won’t stand a chance.”

“What’d you do to get them so riled up, Tweezer?”

“It’s kinda complicated, but they’ve kidnapped one of our friends and are holding him hostage.”

“Kidnapped! Who’d kidnap a cat? I thought everyone wanted to get rid of us.”

“Um, well,” Tweezer faltered. “Polo’s not exactly a cat.”

"What exactly is he?" said one.

Tweezer looked to Caffeina for help. She shrugged. “Might as well tell them the truth,” she said.

"It’s a ferret,” said Tweezer.

“A what?”

“He’s a parrot?” inquired a half-deaf, half-tailed Manx. “Ruby’s been looking kinda’ lonely lately.”

Tweezer’s look was one Caffeina had never seen before. Sort of a helpless, exasperated expression, but this time he was not annoyed with her. He took a deep breath and explained to her, like he was taking her into his confidence. “Ruby is a parrot, a long time resident here at Mrs. Wilcox’s.”

To the others, he said, “No, not a parrot. A ferret.”

There was dead silence until a kitten piped up and asked, “What’s a ferret?”

Again, Tweezer appealed to Caffeina. “Can you help me out here?”

The strays were waiting.

She sighed. “Well, he looks a little like us, but he’s long and has small ears.” That wasn’t much help. Then she remembered how Marco had described him. “Oh, yeah. He’s funny.”

“Ooooh,” the cats all breathed out simultaneously, as if it explained everything.

“So I’m asking for your help,” Tweezer went on. “How about an adventure?”