Tailchaser's Song (44 page)

After some time, Fritti worked up the courage to poke a pink nose out of the enveloping folds of cloth. The massive back of the M‘an was turned to him; the Big One was working the tree limbs back and forth. The shell was entirely surrounded with water.

He curled up in his hiding spot, tail over nose, and went back to sleep.

Time—he did not know how much—had passed. The shell thumped to a halt. Fritti heard the M‘an rummaging about, but his haven was not discovered. Finally the M’an got out and went thumping away. Tailchaser lay silent for a while, then emerged to stretch and look about.

The island rose up before him. The shell had come to rest against a wooden walkway that stretched a short distance across the water, then ended at a dirt path which wound away up the grassy slope. At the summit of this path Fritti could see the M‘an-dwelling, and—looming above it like a white, limbless Vaka’az‘me—the towering M’an-hill. The sun was still in the sky, and the white hill was dark.

Fritti made his way up the uneven path. The grass was springy beneath his feet. He stepped lightly. The wind off the Bigwater that caressed his nose and whiskers made him feel as though he had reached the top of the world.

A dark shape detached itself from the bulk of the M‘an-nest, and with plodding, unhurried steps, came partway down the hillside. It was a large dog, deep of chest and heavy-legged.

Feeling curiously light-headed and confident, Tailchaser continued his sedate walk up the grassy slope. Puzzled, the fik‘az tilted his head to one shoulder and stared. After a moment’s curious scrutiny, he spoke.

“You there!”‘ the mastiff barked. “Who be you? What be you doing?” His voice was as deep and slow as distant thunder.

“I am Tailchaser, Master Fik‘az. Good dancing to you. And whom do
I
have the pleasure of addressing?”

The dog squinted down at him. “Huff-so-Gruff am I. You didna answer question. What be you doing?”

“Oh, just looking about,” said Fritti, waving his tail in a disarming manner. “I just flew over from the other side of the water, and I thought I’d look around. Quite a lovely place, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” growled Huff-so-Gruff, “but you shouldna be here. Be off, you.” The dog glowered for a moment, muzzle lowered, then once more cocked his head to the side. “Said you ... ‘flew’?” he asked slowly. “Cats dunna fly.”

As they talked, Tailchaser had been drawing steadily closer. Now, barely five jumps away from the fik‘az, Fritti sat, and began to groom nonchalantly.

“Oh yes, some do,” he said. “As a matter of fact, my whole tribe of flying cats is thinking of making this spot our new nesting grounds. We need a place to lay our eggs, you know.”

Tailchaser got up and began to walk in a wide circle around the dog. “Yes, think of it,” he said, looking from side to side. “Hundreds of flying cats ... big ones, little ones ... it’s quite a marvelous idea, isn’t it?”

He was almost safely past when a deep, rumbling snarl issued from Huff-so-Gruff. “Cats canna fly!! I willna have it!”

The mastiff leaped forward, baying, and Fritti turned and bolted up the hill. Within a few jumps he realized there were no trees to climb, no fences to dodge behind; it was open grass to the top of the rise.

Well,
he thought suddenly,
why should I bother to run? I have faced worse dangers before, and survived.

He whirled to face the great mastiff bearing down on him.

“Come on, dung-sniffer!” Tailchaser howled. “Come and meet a child of Firefoot!”

Huff-so-Gruff, in mid-bark, ran unsuspectingly into a faceful of yowling, scratching cat. His deep baying turned to a yelp of surprise as sharp claws raked his jowls.

Like a small orange whirlwind, Fritti was suddenly all over the Growler—claws and teeth and screeching voice. Shocked, Huff-so-Gruff pulled back, shaking his large head. In that second, Tailchaser was off again, ears back and tail trailing.

As the dismayed Growler gingerly ran his tongue over his lacerated nose, Fritti reached the M‘an-dwelling. With a leap and scrabble he was up the low stone wall and onto the thatched roof. Standing at the edge, he let out a cry of triumph.

“Don’t take the Folk so lightly again, you great clumsy beast!”

Down on the ground below, Huff-so-Gruff grunted. “Come you down and you be eaten, cat,” he said disgustedly.

“Hah!” sneezed Tailchaser. “I will bring you an army of my Folk to settle here, and we will tweak your tail and smack your hanging chops until you die from shame! Hah!”

Huff-so-Gruff turned and trudged away with heavy dignity.

Fritti walked softly back and forth across the thatch, his heart gradually slowing to its usual pace. He felt wonderful.

After some searching—leaning out over the edge, wrinkling his nose—he found an open window underneath the eaves of the roof. He looked carefully around for the Growler, but Huff so-Gruff was many jumps down the slope, nursing his wounds. Fritti sprang down to the stone wall, then quickly back up to the windowsill. He paused for a moment to gauge the distance to the floor inside, wavered on the sill, then leaped down.

In the middle of the room, curled in a deep-furred ball, lay Hushpad.

A certain recluse, I know not who, once said that no bonds attached him to this life, and the only thing he would regret leaving was the sky.

—Yoshida Kenko

 

 

 

 

 

She did not appear to recognize him. He stood before her, back arched and legs trembling, and could not speak.

Hushpad raised her head languidly and stared at him. “Yes? What do you want?”

“Hushpad!” he choked. “It’s me! Tailchaser!”

The fela’s eyes opened in surprise. For a long moment both cats were still.

Hushpad shook her head wonderingly. “Tailchaser? My little friend
Tailchaser?
Is it
really
you?” In a heartbeat she was on her paws, then they were together, sniffing, rubbing noses and muzzles. Fritti felt a great warmth in his breast. Soon the room was filled with the drowsy sound of purring.

 

Later they lay nose to nose while Fritti told Hushpad of his travels and adventures. At first she was full of praise and wonder, but as the story wore on she asked fewer questions. Eventually she fell entirely silent, grooming Fritti contentedly as he talked.

When he had completed his tale he rolled over to look at Hushpad.

“You must tell me how you came here!” he cried. “I went down into the depths to find you—yet here you are, safe. What happened?” yet here

Hushpad arched her chin. “It was very brave of you, Tailchaser, really—going after me like that. All those terrible creatures, too. I am
quite-
impressed. My own story, I’m afraid, is nowhere near so exciting.”

“Please tell me!”

“Well, it’s very simple, really. One day—it seems so long ago, now—the M‘an simply put me in a box. You know, like a sleeping box, but with the top covered. Well, he didn’t really put me in the box—actually there was a little bit of pril fish in there. I am very fond of pril fish, of course, or I simply never would have gotten in. I was in the box for ever so long, but I could see out through some holes in it. We traveled and traveled, then came at last to the Bigwater. We got into a shell-thing and swam across the water.”

“
I
rode in the shell-thing!” said Fritti excitedly. “That’s how I got here.”

“Of course,” Hushpad said absently. “Well, that’s how I came to this place. I think it’s very nice here, don’t you?”

“But how about the Growler?” asked Tailchaser. “Don’t you ever have trouble with him? It seems as though he would make this a dangerous place to live.”

“Huff-so-Gruff?” She laughed. “Oh, he’s really just a big kitten. Besides, I don’t go out much. It’s so nice and warm in here ... and the M‘an gives me such nice food. So nice and warm ...” She trailed off..

Fritti was disconcerted. Apparently Hushpad had never been in any danger.

“Did you think of me often?” he asked, but there was no reply. She was fast asleep.

 

When the Big One came into the room and found them lying together, Tailchaser sat up, bristling. The M‘an approached slowly, making low noises. When Fritti did not run, the M’an leaned down and stroked him gently. Tailchaser pulled away, but the Big One did not follow—only crouched with paw extended. Fritti moved hesitantly toward it. When he was close enough he gave it a cautious sniff. The M‘an-paw smelled, interestingly enough, of fish, and Fritti closed his eyes, nose wrinkling with pleasure.

The M‘an placed something on the floor near him. He recognized it instantly. It was a supper bowl. One scent of its contents and Tailchaser’s caution evaporated.

The Big One scratched behind Fritti’s ear as he ate. Fritti did not mind.

 

 

Hushpad seemed different. The slenderness and grace of her paws and tail were unchanged, but she had become a good deal plumper—round and soft beneath her glossy fur. Neither did she seem as energetic as she had once been—she preferred sleeping in the sun to running and jumping; Fritti could only entice her into games with great difficulty.

“You always were very
bouncy,
Tailchaser,” she said one day. He felt hurt.

She was pleased to see him, of course, and enjoyed having a companion to chat with, but Fritti felt unsatisfied. Hushpad just did not seem to understand all that he had gone through to find her. She did not pay much attention anymore when he told her of the wonders of Firsthome, or the majesty of the First-walkers.

The food was very good, though. The Big One gave them lovely meals, and was always kind to Tailchaser, stroking and scratching him, and allowing him to roam at will. Fritti did not get along so well with Huff-so-Gruff, the dog, but they maintained an uneasy truce. Fritti was careful never to get too far away from shelter.

So the days wore on in the place Firefoot had called Villa-on-Mar. Each sun was a little warmer than the one before. Flocks of migrating fla-fa‘az stopped briefly on the island as they passed away to the north, and Fritti had great sport with them, although he was seldom hungry enough for serious hunting. Time passed smoothly as a quiet stream. Tailchaser grew plump himself, and restless.

 

One night in high spring, as Meerclar’s Eye approached another fullness, several Big Ones came across the Qu‘cef in a large shell to visit the M’an. The nest was full of Big Ones, and their booming voices echoed everywhere. Several of them tried to play with Fritti.

Big, grasping paws jerked him up in the air and squeezed him, and when they held him close to their faces their unpleasant breath made him squirm. When he pulled away the booming voices roared.

Fritti leaped to the window, but Huff-so-Gruff was stalking sentry outside, in an evil temper. Running between the legs of the bellowing, grabbing Big Ones, Tailchaser retreated to the room where Hushpad lay curled in sleep.

“Hushpad!” he cried, prodding her. “Wake up! We have to leave this place!”

Yawning and stretching, the fela looked at him curiously. “Whatever are you talking about, Tailchaser? Leave? Why?”

“This place is not right for us,” he said excitedly. “The Big Ones grab us and carry us, they feed us and stroke us ... there is no place to run!”

“You are making no sense at all,” she told him coldly. “We are treated very well.”

“They treat us like kittens. This is no life for a hunter. I might as well have never left my mother Grassnestle’s nest!”

“You’re right,” said Hushpad. “You’re right, because you’re acting like a nervous newborn. Whatever do you mean, ‘leave’? Why should I go anywhere ?”