Martin Greenberg - Catopolis

There was more than one hiss in response from the bystanders. Even the newshounds and the birds looked shocked.

“At least I’m an honest one.” I arched my back, letting my tail fur spike. If I was going to be buried, at least I was the one causing the avalanche. I relaxed my posture and looked up at the protestors’ leader. “Do you have a name, spokespigeon?”

“Bergh,” the bird chirped.

“Well, Bergh, if you leave now, even if I’m not elected Mayor, I’ll fight for your rights. I guarantee I’ll be a constant claw in Whittington’s side.”

There were gasps as I admitted I might not win. Everyone knew it wasn’t good practice.

The bird squawked. “For that deal, we will leave in peace.”

Their trust was something, at least.

“No!” Whittington leaped forward, taking Bergh down to the ground with a crisp swipe of a paw.

I lunged, striking Whittington’s paw away with one of my own, forcing him to release the protester.

“You think you can ban sport?” Whittington yelled as all the birds took to the air, wings snapping in the breeze. “Might as well try to ban eating mice, or are you against that as well? How about all those mice caught and killed to give you votes? Do you agree with that practice?”

I refused his lure. “Change starts one cat at a time,” I said. “All I can promise is that I’ll work for it, no matter what happens in this election.”

“Which must continue,” McClung broke in, taking control. She turned to the cats in line. “If you don’t have ballots, please remove yourselves from the premises.”

“I’ll see you in the council chambers… Councillor,” Whittington said, not even offering a paw. His eyes were cold.

I turned away. Toward the city. Toward the reality that I’d likely ceded the day to Whittington.

The realization didn’t hurt as much as I had expected it to.

As I made my way back toward City Hall, Diefenbaker took up a position at my side. Jennings followed at our heels. At the end of the first block, I realized other cats were following us.

Seeing me embarrassed wasn’t enough. They want to see me defeated.

I looked to Jennings, wondering what he would say tomorrow if others killed me tonight. I’d played them false, after all. They had thought I was pedigreed, that I had breeding. What was I really?

A mutt, just as Whittington said.

“Sir? Look at them…” Diefenbaker hissed in my ear.

Without thinking, I did. He was my campaign manager, after all.

I looked, and froze.

While most of the cats following us were grave, a few were smiling. Some even nodded when they saw they had my attention. Not one looked ready to strike.

“What?” The word was less than a stumbling purr in my throat.

“Being part beagle myself,” Jennings offered, “I could’ve told you. Sometimes honesty is enough.”

I couldn’t blink.

Maybe there’ll be a party after all.

“So, what are you going to do next?” Jennings barked as we started padding again.

I knew he meant when the night was over-win or lose-but there was only one thing at the top of my mind.

“I think we might have to consider a new ballot system.”

“You saw this yourself?” Shamus McGee stroked his whiskers absentmindedly as he peered at Willie, sizing him up. Willie was usually reliable, but he hadn’t seen head or tail of the snitch for some months now, and things can happen-things that can cause once trustworthy sources to become untrustworthy, even dangerous. The reasons were many: hard times, narcotics, mental illness, religious fervor, old age. He’d seen them all in his decades as a private investigator, and he had to be sure of his information. This was a wild, wild tale-the kind that folks talk about in gatherings on Saturday night or when they meet up during a Sunday walk in the park. His reputation was on the line if he reported to the client that this was actually the solution to the mystery. He wanted to be sure he got it right.

“Absolutely, Shamus. Without a doubt. I mean, I couldn’t believe my eyes at first, but when you think about it, it explains everything… well, almost everything.” Willie twitched with excitement, or perhaps worry, about the information he had just imparted. Shamus couldn’t be sure which yet and he needed to know.

Willie’s tale was a blockbuster, if true. The religious establishment was bound to be apoplectic. Willie would be investigated and denounced at the very least. His name, his history, everything about him would be sniffed out, batted about to see what shook loose, then released to the news-mongering horde in a manner calculated to make sure their frenzied attacks and howls of protest lasted as long as possible.

Shamus would be unlikely to fare much better, but at least he had a long professional reputation and some friends, or at least long-established contacts, in the news dissemination business. They would hold off on him for awhile. Long enough to see how the basic story sold and whether his bizarre explanation of the ultimate mystery was going to win the day. Then, if it looked as though Willie’s information was bogus, they would pounce and tear him apart, too.

It was past strange that he had ever even gotten this assignment. He’d been in the detective business a numbingly long time, but he didn’t go for the sensational jobs. This, well, this was truly sensational and the oddest case he’d ever worked… by far. Most of the jobs were straightforward enough, if not downright routine. Not always simple work or pleasant either, but what you expected in the business. Staking out houses and tailing suspects, mostly catching those who cheated on their supposed loved ones. He’d seen more mates leave home in the evening to go visit some piece of tail than he cared to think about.

The clients wanted to know, but they didn’t necessarily want to see what was going on right under their noses-most of his clients really didn’t get out that much and couldn’t handle themselves on the streets like he could. Sure, there was some excitement in the job-an occasional car chase, that kind of thing. But most of the cases were just sad and pathetic.

He hated the missing children cases the worst. Yeah, he had a few successes in his time locating the young ones- some even alive-but there were just too many cases of kids plucked away from their homes or getting lost or just turning up missing to make any sense of the world. The religious just said there was an unknowable reason for everything. The lunatic fringe-fanatics who howled at the moon-they all had theories of abduction and such. Heck, their weirdo theories made as much sense as this case-which reminded him, he’d better get down to business. His client was paying him to track down the secret of the mysterious “manna,” not daydream about his crummy job.

“Let’s go over the entire story, Willie.”

“Geez, Shamus, I’ve already told I saw the whole thing!”

“But I’ve got to make sure what you saw makes sense. I can’t just take your word for it. You know, there’s no bonus for you and no future work from me, not next week, not in a blue moon, if you screw up something this important. Heck, you’ll be lucky to eat out of a garbage can if word gets about that you lied…”

“Lied! You know me, Shamus, I ain’t no liar!” Willie’s nervous twitch became more pronounced.

“… or were mistaken about what you saw. You say it all happened in Seattle? That’s some distance away. What were you doing there?”

“What does it matter?” Willie’s gaze went to the side, then down, looking anywhere but in Shamus’ eyes.

“A good detective corroborates every part of the informant’s story he can.”