The Catbyrd Seat (8 page)

Samantha, too, was trusted by both mice and cats alike. It was a large job, but someone had to do it, and so the mice returned to their homes and waited. All through the night they counted, all night long, until the sun was beginning to rise again over the horizon and even then, they weren’t finished.

Cociel had stayed up all night, too. He’d made drinks for them both, running back and forth excitedly. He would have been unable to sleep even if he’d wanted to. He didn’t talk to them. He didn’t want to disrupt their intense concentration as they stacked the ballot papers into two large piles that grew with each passing minute.

At one point, it seemed certain that Whiska was winning and then, slowly but surely, Mr. Byrd’s pile began to stack up – higher and higher until, at seven thirty seven the following morning, he overtook Whiska.

Cociel dashed through the streets on his bicycle shouting out with glee.

“Mr. Byrd is winning! Mr. Byrd is winning!”

But still, it was too early to call.

Whiska took the lead again at nine minutes past eight.

It was neck and neck and the tension in the counting room was high.

Whiska had risen from a restless night’s sleep and had gone down to view the count as it happened, anxiously pacing back and forth. He could feel the tension and the frustration inside him building. Everything he had worked so hard to build up, to protect was at risk; his entire rule was going to be stripped away from him by this ridiculous Mr. Byrd. Well, he just wasn’t going to have it. He wouldn’t let it happen.

Finally, he snapped.

He leapt forwards and threw himself into the pile of Mr. Byrd’s ballot papers, knocking the stack all over the place.

“I demand a recount!” he cried, picking up a bunch of the ballot papers and ripping them up in his mouth and with his claws, destroying as many of them as he could. That would see to the discrepancy. Now he would certainly be in the lead. “Count them again!” he cried.

“Get out!” Samantha jumped from her seat in anger, her eyes blazing. “Get out of here right now, Whiska! How dare you!”

The two cats went nose to nose, their tails bristling, their throats hissing as they glared at one another.

“I’ll tell your mother!” Samantha added the threat.

Whiska backed down, turning with a final hiss and an angry swish of his tail as he stalked out.

In the end, Whiska’s reckless actions had no effect on the outcome of the election. By nine seventeen, Mr. Byrd was in the lead again. By nine forty eight, it was a significant lead. By ten thirty two, it was nearly a landslide. Mr. Byrd was running away with it and there was no chance Whiska could ever catch up and, with only a handful of ballot papers left to count, Cociel and Tails rode through the Reservation on their bikes and declared victory for Mr. Byrd, loudly shouting it out for all to hear.

“Mr. Byrd is the winner! Mr Byrd is the winner!”

It was a glorious, spectacular day, and a monumental change for the residents of Huntsville.

Mice poured out onto the streets, running out of their houses, their ears not quite believing what they had just heard. Some of them stood there, their eyes wide, their mouths open in shock, until the news finally hit home. And when it did, everything changed. They broke out into smiles of glee, they took hold of one another’s paws and danced around in circles, they jumped up and down, they punched the air, they laughed and cheered and sang and ran round to their friends’ and their families’ houses to spread the news, wanting to make sure that every resident in the Reservation had heard about the outcome of the election.

Of course, that meant that the cats soon heard about it too.

Their reaction was also one of shock. As the disbelieving whispers, purrs and hisses rippled round the Kennel of Parliament where the cats had been waiting to hear news of the count.

“We must go!” screeched one of them in a panic, running back and forth with his tail slashing through the air.

“Calm yourself!” snapped Grady, standing his ground and clearly not afraid of the outcome. “We are not going anywhere.”

“But we were loyal to Whiska,” the cat protested. “We followed out his orders, we did whatever he wanted. Now there’s someone else in charge, we’ll all be thrown in prison. There’ll be retribution, revenge. They might even kill us!”

“Nobody is killing anybody,” hissed Grady, his wide green eyes bulging out of his head as he glared at his compatriot.

The scaredy-cat wasn’t alone, however. There were others, just like him, fearful of the new government and, after the escalating argument with Grady led nowhere, a handful of them fled the Reservation, and fled Huntsville altogether. They were never seen again and, to this day, no one is really sure what happened to them.

“You traitors!” Grady screamed as they ran away. “Treason!” He had already made up his mind that, like some of the others, he would stay and face the music. He would remain loyal to Whiska even in the face of defeat and wouldn’t allow himself to be unnerved by the shift in power.

There were other cats who had been quietly and secretly opposed to the many bad decisions Whiska had made during his time in office, and they were actually rather pleased that someone else was in charge.

During the subsequent arguments and bickerings that took place in the Kennel of Parliament with Grady and the others, this small group of rebellious cats snuck away and crept out, making their way to the Campaign HQ where Mr. Byrd and his team were now celebrating the shock result. They wanted to offer their services to the new Prime Minister, and find out what his first move would be as leader.

“Will you be coming to make a speech, Sir?” one of them asked, bowing his head politely.

“Oh really, there’s no need to call me Sir,” Mr. Byrd blushed, fluttering his wings. “Just Mr. Byrd will be fine. And yes, I suppose I should make some kind of speech.”

“Your supporters will be expecting it,” said another of the cats from Parliament. “And as your MPs, we need to know what to do, and what you expect of
us.
”

“Well, he has a speech prepared,” said Piggles. “Don’t you, Mr. Byrd?” She nudged him with her trotter. They’d spent hours preparing it. She knew he’d be ready when the time came, despite his nervousness.

“Er yes, I suppose I do,” said Mr. Byrd, suddenly feeling incredibly shy.

“Long live Mr. Byrd!” cried Cociel, full of youthful enthusiasm. “Come on,” he encouraged him, placing a paw on Mr. Byrd’s fluffy yellow back and urging him to get up off the chair. “Let’s go! Let’s go and meet your people!”

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, flapping his wings and flying up into the air.

The others cheered and jumped up, eager to go, and so all of them set off, leaving the relative safety of Campaign HQ and beginning to walk through the streets of the Reservation. Davetil, Cociel, Tails, and Piggles walked in the center, and Mr. Byrd flew above them all, high and proud. The four cats who had come down from Parliament flanked them on all four sides, protecting them from any other cats who might decide to cause trouble with the new incumbent.

But it didn’t happen. The reaction they received was entirely positive and, as they walked, the mice ran out of their houses and jumped up in the air, surrounding them and reaching out their short arms in a vain effort to try and touch Mr. Byrd, treating him like some kind of superhero or pop star, cheering and screaming and clapping, shouting out their praises.

“Congratulations, Mr. Byrd!”

“We voted for you, Mr. Byrd!”

“I always knew you could do it!”

“Well done, Mr. Byrd!”

“Congratulations!”

Cociel couldn’t remember the last time there had been such a jubilant, joyous mood in the Reservation, perhaps never in his entire young life. He beamed with happiness. This was everything he’d been dreaming about, everything he’d been hoping for.

He remembered back to that very first day, when the idea for Mr. Byrd’s campaign had first began. He and Tails, on their bikes, riding around the Reservation bored on a warm, sunny afternoon. They’d found themselves at the Kennels of Parliament and listening in on Whiska’s devastating plans for Section D. He’d said to Tails back then, that one day, someone would come who would change everything for the better. A rebel, a leader, and all the mice needed to do was stand up for themselves.

He had never expected in a million years for it to have come so soon, and as a direct result of his influence and his ideas. He was proud, not only of Mr. Byrd, and Piggles and his father, and everyone who had voted for him, but of himself too. All his rebellious antics that his father had once wished he’d grow out of hadn’t been for nothing. Now they were bearing fruit, and Mr. Byrd was the result.

Cociel had never walked taller, and it seemed that Tails could read his thoughts, too, for she lifted up her skinny pink paw and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

“I’m so proud of you, Cossy,” she smiled. “You did this. This is all you.”

“It’s not all me,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

“It was your idea. And you were brave enough to pursue it. Your dream. You pursued your dream.”

“I suppose I did,” he smiled back shyly.

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, and Cociel’s skin turned scarlet beneath his light brown fur. He squeaked, not knowing what to say, and was pleased when they arrived at the Kennels of Parliament, to save him from having to muster up the right words. Now, it was Mr. Byrd’s turn.

The sea of mice that had been waiting for him parted to allow them access, and they marched right on through towards the podium.

The podium was a permanent feature just outside the main fence of the Kennels, and big enough for three cats to stand on, so that Whiska could deliver his speeches to the mice surrounded by his two favorite bodyguards.

Never in the whole history of the Reservation had a mouse stood at the podium, or a bird, or anyone else other than a cat. Now, Samantha was there already, waiting for them with a big smile on her face, and they were all invited up onto the podium – Cociel, Tails, Davetil, Piggles and Mr. Byrd. There was plenty of room for them all, and they stood side by side, smiling nervously as everybody clapped and cheered.

Samantha leaned in and gave Mr. Byrd a kiss on his tiny, blushing cheek. “Congratulations,” she whispered. “I voted for you.”

“You…you did?” He stammered, looking at her in amazement. “I…didn’t really expect any cats to vote for me, although thank you for helping ensure a fair election.”

“I’ve always been a believer in Mice Rights,” she admitted. “I think you’re going to do a good job as Prime Minister.”

“I certainly hope so.”

The crowd quieted down, descending into a hush as they all gathered round the entrance to the Kennels, wanting to hear Mr. Byrd. Samantha was on one side and the rest of his team were on the other. He opened his beak and was about to begin when there was a loud hiss from somewhere at the back of the crowd.

The mice parted and a very angry looking Whiska came stomping through, knocking some of them aside and snarling, followed by his two compatriots Grady and Strip.

“You’ll all pay for this,” he snapped at the mice. “Every last one of you will pay!”

“You won’t get away with this, Mr. Byrd,” said Grady threateningly, the three of them standing side by side and glaring at the new Prime Minister.

“You think you can take the rule away from the cats,” sniggered Strip, then turned on his sister. “Samantha, I’m ashamed of you for siding with this traitor.”

“He’s not a traitor,” Samantha objected. “He can offer the mice a better future than Whiska could. They deserve to have a democratically elected Prime Minister who will listen to their needs and help them out. Not a dictator who just does what he likes.”

“And what about us?” Strip snapped. “What about the Royal Family? What about our rule, hm? Our power? I am the King!”

“The Royal Family hasn’t had any power for a very long time, Strip,” said Samantha with a quiet sigh. “You know that as well as I do. We’re just figureheads.”

“Yes, but we can still make decisions and overrule Parliament if we want to.”

“And you never would. Because you agree with everything Whiska says and does. He’s your buddy and you’re in league together. And what’s more, I really don’t think you deserve to be King anymore, Strip.”

“What are you talking about?” Strip snapped. “It’s not a matter of deserving. It’s my right. It’s my blood right! I am King and you can’t take that away from me!”

“You directly disobeyed the last will and testament of our father, King Nine Lives.”

At this, there was a shocked gasp that rippled through the crowd, and Samantha instantly seized on it to get them all on her side.

“That’s right,” she said. “My father, Nine Lives, expressly asked before he died that the elections should be fair and just. The current King went out of his way to ensure that didn’t happen, as did Whiska and Grady.”

“Because I’m looking after our best interests!” Strip protested. “If Mr. Byrd is in power, he’ll probably abolish the Royal Family altogether, banish cats from Huntsville.”

“I won’t do that,” interrupted Mr. Byrd, raising his voice to shout above the rabble and finding his confidence in the midst of the sibling argument. “I’ve already made a promise to Samantha that I will maintain the Royal Family. Although I’m also inclined to think that you have no right to be King, with the way you have behaved.”

“Yeah!” There was a cry of agreement from somewhere at the back of the crowd, a cry that began to spread and pass round the other mice, and even a couple of the cats.

“That’s right!”

“He shouldn’t be King!”

“What kind of King would do that?!”

“He has no right!”

“Mr. Byrd should be King!”

“Mr. Byrd for King!”

The panicked Mr. Byrd began to shake his head back and forth. “Oh no, no, no, I have been elected as Prime Minister
only
. I have no abilities as King and no desire to be one. Besides, you have a perfectly good Queen right here in Samantha. She is royal by blood and has just as much right to rule as her brother does.”

“Samantha for Queen!” the cry went up.

“Samantha for Queen!”

“Samantha for Queen!”

Mr. Byrd looked at her questioningly, speaking to her above the noise. “Well? Will you?”

“You can’t do this!” Strip spluttered angrily, interrupting them. “I am the King! You can’t just decide to overthrow me!”

Samantha had been quiet for a long while, the black fur above her sparkling eyes furrowed into a frown as she considered her options. Finally, she cleared her throat and addressed her petulant younger brother with a great deal of authority.

“Actually, we can,” she said. “I am your older sister and I hereby declare you unfit for rule.” And with that, she raised up a paw and physically knocked the crown from his head. It clattered to the ground dramatically.

There was a pause; a shocked silence at what had just happened. Then, a great cheer went up among the crowd of mice and all of a sudden, they were all scrambling to get the crown and put it onto Samantha’s head instead as she bowed to receive it.

“This is ridiculous!” Strip cried.

As soon as the crown was on her head, she made her first ruling as Queen. “Guards,” she cried. “Seize my brother and take him to the dungeons until further notice. I don’t want him to cause any further disruptions.”

With the transfer of power almost immediate, the guards, although slightly hesitant at first, soon did as they were told, and four powerful lions stepped forward to grab hold of Strip and drag him protesting and snarling to the dungeons. Grady and Whiska looked on in shock at what was befalling him, finally beginning to realize that no matter how much they protested, they weren’t going to claw back their lost power.

“Well done,” Mr. Byrd smiled at Samantha. “That was amazing. You’re going to make a fantastic Queen, I’m sure.”

“And you’re going to make a fantastic King,” Samantha replied immediately.

Mr. Byrd was lost for words. He blinked a couple of times in confusion, his bright green eyelids coming down over his beady eyes and back up again. He was totally baffled by the statement and looked into the feline’s deep brown eyes for clarification.