Having recently come across the archives of one of catdom's noblest kings, it has become my rare privilege to share with the public one of the written records of none other than Greywhiskers IV. It is not generally known that this royal representative of the feline race was one of the first in catdom to make use of the mechanical devices of the inferior humans to assist us where strict brute force is needed. All through recorded history our race has used the inferior humans by the simple device of offering them our limited love, and the poor, love-starved beings have been putty in our paws. But we must admit, this royal king found another way to make humans work for us!
This, then, is the tale as translated from Greywhisker's Chronicles.
It came to pass on a certain day at two in the morning, human time, that Greywhiskers IV was holding court. He chose this time as it was when most of the bothersome humans were asleep. His courtroom was situated in the alley known as Fish Head Lane, right behind the local shop where the humans printed their device called "newspapers."
From the top of the empty oil drum that served His Highness as the throne of his kingdom of Catasia; Greywhiskers ruled a kingdom of definite borders. On the north was the catdom of the Blue-eyes. The south ended at the local waterfront. It extended east to west from Fifty-third to Sixty-first Streets. In this area of Catasia, Greywhiskers' word was absolute, final, divine-right-of-kings-law, and he was constantly coming up with new ways to prove this truth.
He closed his eyes to almost slits in that disconcerting way of his as he observed the faces of the three visiting Blue-eyes in front of him. How long, he mused, had it been since that certain Siamese Tom had left his Park Avenue home to establish the catdom in the north, one based on the distinct citizenship of having blue eyes? Probably during the reign of Greywhiskers II.
Those visitors in front of him were glancing around his court nervously, in spite of being offered diplomatic immunity. Well, let the visitors sweat a little, it would keep them properly humble!
The cats that made up his royal court that night, in contrast to the visitors, were sitting around in a loose circle in a completely relaxed atmosphere. They sat on boxes or crates the careless humans had cast aside. The fence behind Greywhiskers was reserved for his five loyal advisors.
"And how is my brother ruler, Blue-eyes II's health these days?" inquired his majesty, after first permitting himself the luxury of a wide yawn.
"Excellent, Your Grace," intoned the guard standing to the right of the frightened female that he and another tomcat guard had escorted to the courtyard between them.
"That delights me exceedingly," replied the king of Catasia, wrinkling his ruff in displeasure at the harsh Siamese note in the visitor's voice. Then studying his visitor shrewdly, his exalted majesty added, "And how may we be of service to one of the Blue-eyes' citizens?"
Taking this question as an invitation, the young female in her crouching position eased a little forward and said, "A boon, O mighty King. I crave revenge for my poor, dead kitten."
Humph, mused Greywhiskers, does she really want revenge or is this just a clever trick by her king to test my power and ability to rule? Is Blue-eyes II planning a territorial expansion, and are these really three clever spies? He must be certain that whatever report they took back to their king would bring honor to himself as king of Catasia! Long experience in intercat diplomacy had taught him to look beneath the surface of appearances to locate hidden meanings. He brought his right hind leg to the front, examined it critically, gave it a few licks of grooming, then permitted himself a soft purr of consolation.
"My heart goes out to a mother in her moment of sorrow," the king replied in a manner completely devoid of emotion. "And, now, feel free to give us the sad details. Then, if it so pleases us, we will pass judgment."
"It was one of your territory's citizens," interrupted one of the visiting bodyguard cats. "A certain boxer dog named Flintface killed the Lady Fluffa's child, your majesty!"
The king's reply was a rumbling yowl of displeasure. This was followed by a moment of tense silence, broken by the large cat on the king's right who spoke tersely.
"The king was speaking to her, not you! Be advised that in this court you will speak only when spoken to, or when you ask permission. Since you are apparently untaught in court procedure, this infraction will be overlooked this time, but if it occurs again, it could get your tail cut off… right behind your ears!"
There was another impressive silence, then the offending cat bobbed his head and said, "Permission to speak." After receiving the king's nod, he continued, "I wish to apologize for the interruption. No offense was intended."
"Apology accepted. Flintface, you say? Harump! I seem to remember something very recent and unpleasant concerning that name. Refresh our memory, Lady Scribe."
Of course he remembered every detail of the Flintface episode, but he would not miss a chance to demonstrate to these upstart strangers how excellent were the records this court kept.
A small striped female moved to the king's right, carefully licked an immaculate paw and intoned: "One moon and three nights ago, it was brought to our noble lord's attention that the organ grinder's monkey, one Peppo by name, had been chased away from his place of honest employment by a member of the canine tribe, one Flintface by name. It was further noted that this canine was only living here by your majesty's tolerance. It was this court's judgment to give said canine one fair warning, to wit: such conduct would not be tolerated in your majesty's catdom. Said warning was given the following day by the king's own knights, Sir Strongheart and Sir Fairhowl. End of record."
King Greywhiskers put on a show of feline fury aimed at impressing his foreign visitors. He succeeded admirably; never would they forget the picture of flattened ear anger that was frightful to behold. His voice became a sibilant hiss of rage, forgotten were his courtly manners.
"Sssso! That rebel thinks he can avoid my edict by going to a friendly neighborhood to commit his catacide, does he? He refuses to show remorse for his gangsterlike behavior, does he? Why, that obscenity on the face of this earth deserves to be cut up and used as fishbait! I swear by my royal kingship, that the only answer is his death! How votes the council?"
By this time the king had left his throne and was pacing back and forth in an angry crouch before the five royal advisors, his tail flicking back and forth in rage.
One by one the five cats on the fence nodded to their king, each giving a murderous yowl of assent and exposing the claws in the right forepaw like flashing sabers. The affirming vote was unanimous! Flintface was as good as dead!
The Royal Chamberlain, the cat who had corrected the visiting bodyguard's bad court manners, now placed himself between the Lady Fluffa and Greywhiskers' royal throne. He paused to impress his visitors with the seriousness of the moment, then gravely he spoke in measured tones.
"Be it noted by our visitors from the land of the Blue-eyes: King Greywhiskers the Fourth has heard and passed judgment on your request. We have condemned the gangster Flintface and will carry out his execution in such time as the Royal Executioner chooses."
Then, feeling the puzzled response of the visitors to the courtly language his king insisted upon using on formal occasions, he lowered his voice until only the visitors could hear and added, "Relax doll-face. You put the finger on the mutt, now the boys will be happy to bump him off!"
Resuming his courtly dignity, the Lord Chamberlain yowled, "Will the Royal Executioner come forth and face his king?"
The circle of court cats moved aside to allow a wide lane for the king's chosen to enter. Even the visitors found themselves slinking backward to place as much distance as possible between themselves and that terrifying presence. Greywhiskers never batted an eyelash but thought gleefully to himself that he bet they did not have anything like that in their kingdom!
The approaching cat looked like death incarnate. He was a good six inches longer than the average adult Tom, and at least four pounds heavier. The tufts of hair on the tips of his ears showed that somewhere in his ancestors there had been a bobcat, which was further confirmed by his twitching stub of a tail. His coat suited his court position, for it was solid black from his nose to his tail. As he strutted slowly toward his king, massive muscles could be seen rippling under his glossy hide.
"Sir Ex," as he was known to the court, was a Tom without the slightest twinge of mercy. It was hard to believe he was the same bedraggled kitten that their king had saved from a storm sewer at the risk of his own life, that had been two years ago, and "Sir Ex" had rewarded his king with a devotion unparalleled in catdom.
"How can I serve my lord?" the big cat murmured with a voice like an idling diesel engine.
"You know what the boss wants," responded the Chamberlain. "How soon can we get some action against this glorified fleabag?"
"I should be ready to lower the boom on the mark by 5:45 Wednesday morning, on the execution field. Will this be soon enough to please my king, or would he prefer I cut him to ribbons tonight while he sleeps?"
"I prefer the formal execution. It will better impress other members of the canine tribe that might become troublesome."
Two days, mused the king, his mind racing like a calculator. Two days will give sufficient time for the visitors to report back to their king, and then… he decided on a bold stroke of diplomacy.
He waved a regal paw to an elderly cat at the head of his loyal advisors. It was evident from the elder's arthritic walk and the white hairs on his muzzle, that this was one of the oldest dwellers in Catasia. After consulting with him in subdued tones, the king nodded to his hit man in satisfaction.
"The Royal Astrologer informs me the stars are right and the weather should be good on the day you have chosen. I trust your judgment in this matter, for you have never failed me."
Then turning his attention to his visitors, he continued, "Return to your king, most welcome visitors, and inform him that he is invited to send a detail to observe this execution, or if he should choose, to even come himself to observe our royal justice!"
We'll teach that upstart not to doubt our ability to cope with any situation! His entire contingent of bodyguards could not polish off a dog the size of Flintface! Wait until he sees Sir Ex in action, his whiskers will have a permanent curl!
Now if they had been human beings, the entire court would have gasped aloud at their king's audacity. Suppose Sir Ex failed to bring it off? But being well-mannered cats, they merely squinted their eyes and flicked the tips of their tails in anticipation of the great event.
The court broke up and the citizens went their various ways. Soon all Catasia would be buzzing with the king's daring invitation, but it was tacitly understood that no information would be leaked to anyone friendly with the intended victim; for cats know well the value of guarding secrets, and in all the animal world, no one can keep a secret better than they.
Sir Ex passed the word: he had an urgent message for the Sirs Fairhowl and Strongheart, they were to report to him at once. They knew better than to keep him waiting.
The message was simple; the "mark" was to be placed under constant observation. It was urgent that he know Flintface's personal status by 5:30 Wednesday morning. In the meantime, Sir Ex had some work to do on the important matter of checking out the execution machine.
So saying, he moved over to his favorite "scratching post," a nearby telephone pole, and proceeded to peel off great splinters of wood while he exercised his powerful back muscles. Without a sound the other two knights melted away into the morning darkness.
His two scouts came back and reported to Sir Ex the following evening, but their report was not good. Their target was in bad with his owners. They had caught Flintface chasing cars and had chained him in his yard for an indefinite time.
"That's it, boss. You will have to postpone the action until the 'mark' serves his time and gets out of the clink!"
In the stream of cat profanity that followed this suggestion the two royal knights gathered the following information: Sir Ex felt that dog couldn't do anything right, not even to keeping an appointment to depart this life; he was saddled down with two asinine helpers who did not know that you simply did not put off affairs of state; and by the cat-god's headdress, he for one was going to make the deadline if he had to do everything all by himself!
Then Sir Ex resumed the calm, probing air that all catdom had come to fear and respect. Was the mark on a leash, rope, or chain? Were they certain? How long was it? Where was it fastened, to the fence or a peg in the ground? Were they positive?
Over and over the questions were asked until Sir Ex had an accurate picture of the situation. Flintface was in his backyard, chained to a wrought iron fence about six feet long, and the chain had a snap lock on it. Clearly the cats would have to enlist outside help. And he knew where that help was going to have to come from.
"Where does this monkey Peppo live?" he snarled at the other two knights. Silently they led him over rooftops to the home of some sleeping humans only fifteen minutes away form the dog's home. There, sleeping in a basket on the back porch of this house lay their future partner, Peppo, sound asleep.
Peppo awoke to face the meanest looking cat he had ever seen. It was watching him from the other side of the back porch screen.
"Be silent, little one, and listen and you won't get hurt," hissed the terrible face. "Our king has honored you by permitting you to aid us in carrying out his orders. Do you remember the big boxer dog named Flintface that chased you down the street a moon ago?"
The little monkey hissed and bared his teeth to show that he remembered the humiliating incident.
"He was warned for that, then committed an even more evil crime. The king has put out a contract on him, and we intend to collect it tomorrow morning. It must be done in a very public way to be a warning to other mutts not to step out of line, get the picture?"
The little monkey jumped up and down to show his excitement.
"I'm glad you approve," the big black cat said sarcastically, while the two other knights smirked to themselves in the shadows.
Then he continued, "You will come along with my two aides tomorrow morning early. Can you get out, or will I have to slash this screen for you?"
Peppo assured them he could open the simple screen door without any trouble.
"Good. You will go with them to Flintface's house, but be sure to stay outside the fence. If he is asleep, you will reach through the fence and unsnap his chain, understand?"
"You want to unleash that creature in our community?" the little monkey whispered with terror in his voice.
"Only long enough, little one, to take him to his place of execution. Do you remember what happened to the bulldog Ironjaw several moons ago?"
The monkey nodded affirmatively. "But that was an accident, or was it…?" and here his voice trailed off as he looked at the black cat's unblinking eyes. "What happens if he's awake?"
"Then my two knights will keep his attention until you can do your job, and little friend, do not fail us or the next time we see you…"He made a knifelike movement of one extended claw across his throat. If it had been possible for a monkey to turn pale, Peppo at that moment would have turned snow white!
If any humans had paid attention at 5:00 on Wednesday morning they would have seen an amazing sight, for every cat in Catasia surrounded the square in front of the local printshop. And each one moved into their chosen position without making a sound. The few humans moving about were too concerned with their early morning tasks to pay attention to the affairs of cats!
And though the visiting cortege of cats was burning up with curiosity about the method of execution of a beast so large, the host animals offered not the least bit of information. "Keep them in the dark until the last minute," had been their king's final order.
Greywhiskers led the visiting king to the second floor flower box of the house of the people who claimed to "own" him. He, with the wisdom of his race, merely permitted them the honor of feeding him, or providing shelter when the weather was bad, and he paid for that with a few purrs or an occasional dead mouse left on their doorstep. The box had a perfect view of the pavement in front of the printshop facing them.
"Nice view," King Blue-eyes remarked politely.
"Thank you," replied Greywhiskers equally politely. "The large warehouse to the right,is my private game preserve. If you'd like, we can go in there after the execution and have a hand at a rat killing."
Blue-eyes permitted a deep purr of anticipation and replied with gleaming eyes, "Why, thank you, now you are talking my language. I'd be delighted to accept your invitation!"
Talking your language indeed, fumed the host king! Why I'd drop dead before I spoke the sacred tongue with that Siamese accent!
Five-thirty sharp arrived, and right on schedule two large, powerful trucks backed up to the printshop doors. Few words were spoken by the humans as they began loading the large bundles of freshly printed newspapers onto the trucks. Unnoticed by the humans, a large black cat with a twitching stub of a tail stalked slowly down the center of the street. He looked like an old time western gunslinger about to "call out" an opponent. He was the picture of poise, confidence and… murder.
"My Royal Executioner," purred Greywhiskers proudly. "I taught him everything he knows. You are about to see poetry in action, and he never misses."
Blue-eyes kept his thoughts to himself. True, he had never seen a cat quite like the one below, but polishing off a dog the size of a boxer was not an easy task for a dozen cats! No, let the old goat brag, I'll try not to laugh in his face when this is all over!
But Sir Ex was not as confident as he appeared. As he heard the first truck pull away from the loading dock, he was wondering what was stopping his fellow knights.
Sir Fairhowl and Sir Strongheart did have a problem. While Peppo was safely protected outside the wrought iron fence, the dog was crowding close to it making it impossible for the little monkey to unsnap the chain. Further, the violent barking and growling of the dog might bring an irate human being into the picture at any moment.
With their natural inborn sense of timing, both knights realized now was the time to get the big dog moving. Both thought about having to explain their failure to Sir Ex. No way!
"Flank attack! Draw sabers, ho!" snarled Sir Fairhowl.
Both cats flashed in toward the dog's unprotected backside, both struck a flank simultaneously, their sharp claws cutting red trails of blood down his rear legs.
With a howl of rage and pain, Flintface spun to meet his attackers. This was the opening the little monkey was looking for; he rapidly reached through the fence and unsnapped the chain. He never looked back, for his job was done. Quickly Peppo leaped into a tree and sped for home.
There was a strangled roar from the dog as he dashed after the two cats. In his rage, he sounded just like he was strangling. Never questioning his sudden freedom, he dashed down the street pursuing his fleeing adversaries, his length of chain bouncing behind and kicking up sparks from the pavement. It never occurred to the stupid beast that the two fleeing felines could have escaped easily up a post or over a fence. This was war! Death to catdom!
Back at the king's observation box, the sound of the back doors on the second truck being slammed almost drowned out the distant sound of a very angry, baying dog chasing two fleeing cats. This was going to be close, Sir Ex reasoned.
As the truck slowly moved away from the loading dock, its headlights picked up the sight of two large alley cats racing across the road in front of them. They did not pick up the form of the larger black cat crouched facing the side road from which the other cats had just emerged. Sir Ex rose to his full height and moved gracefully to the center of the road.
The truck's headlights illuminated the scene like a stage production. There was Sir Ex in the classic feline challenge pose: mouth open, back arched, stub of a tail pointed skyward, right forepaw extended with claws shining, ears flattened close to the skull, and mouth issuing the insult no red-blooded dog could ignore.
"Mangy kitten killer! You who would run from the shadow of an adult cat! Come face the anger of Sir Ex!"
The enraged dog forgot the other knights and turned to face the challenger. At a normal time he would have thought twice about taking on this cat, but in the heat of the recent chase, all sanity seemed to have left him. He spun in his tracks and raced after the black cat fleeing directly into the path of the approaching truck.
At the last instant, with split second timing, Sir Ex pivoted and aimed himself at the exact center of the truck. He crouched just in time for the big machine to rumble safely over him. The pursuing dog, being taller, did not have that option.
The heavy truck bumper struck the boxer with a resounding crunch. He did not even whimper as he went spinning through the air, to land as a bloody mass of bones and fur beside the road.
Greywhiskers smirked contentedly. "My Royal Executioner never disappoints me," he gloated.
Blue-eyes looked as shocked as it is possible for a cat to do and just nodded his head in admiration. The many cats watching in the shadows melted silently into the pre-dawn darkness. Their feeling was one of complete confidence; as long as Greywhiskers IV was on the throne, Catasia would be secure.
The following conversation was reported to the chronicler by one Inkdevil, mascot cat of the printshop, who liked to ride the newspaper truck on its daily rounds dropping off papers.
"Hey Jack," the truck driver said to his helper, "did you see that? That's the third time this year that ol' bob-tailed alley cat has gotten a dog killed by a truck. D'you think he planned it that-a-way?"
"Naw," Jack replied. "Cats 'r dumb animals. Jes' one of them coincidences if ya ask me!"