Webster (15 page)

Which didn't mean that he wouldn't mind going home to have some lunch.

But, since he was the Bad Hat and should be above such petty concerns, maybe he would walk around town, instead, and see if there were any new adventures to be had.

He was moseying down a deserted road, when a dark blue pickup truck came careening around a curve. The Bad Hat dodged into the underbrush, wanting to be sure that he would be safely out of the way of such an irresponsible driver. The truck sped past him, raising a thick cloud of dirt, which made him cough.

Then, the truck slowed down slightly, and someone in the passenger's seat tossed a large bag out of the window. It landed by the side of the road, and then the truck swerved away, until it was out of sight.

Weird. And it was also littering. The Bad Hat might be a ruthless rebel, but he did not approve of littering.

Maybe he should drag the bag into the bushes, so that the street would look more tidy. Not that he was running for Good Citizen of the Year, but the black trash bag looked ugly, lying there on the pavement.

He was about to pick up the bag with his teeth, when it
moved
.

Hey, whoa! Of course, he was nearly impossible to frighten or alarm in any way—but he leaped backwards, feeling his heart start pounding. Garbage that wiggled was creepy.

Could the sack be full of rats? Or worse,
snakes
?

Something inside the bag was still squirming around, and he could hear gasping, and mewing, and—mewing?

Cats!

He used his front paws to tear a hole in the bag, and discovered a bunch of kittens—all of whom screamed when they saw him.

“Calm down,” the Bad Hat said. “I'm just trying to—”

“Ack!” one of the kittens screeched. Then, it toppled over and lay still.

Was it
dead  
? “What's wrong with him?” the dog asked, trying not to panic. “Is he okay?”

“Harold faints sometimes,” another kitten said. “Hit him, everyone, until he wakes up!”

To the Bad Hat's appalled amazement, the other kittens all began whacking the unconscious one with their paws.

“No, no, don't do that!” he said. “You'll hurt him. Didn't your mother ever teach any of you how to behave?”

In response, the kittens started crying, and calling for their mother, and just generally going to pieces.

Wow. This was terrible. The Bad Hat bent his head, and cautiously puffed a gentle breath into the unconscious kitten's face.

The kitten woke up, fluttered his eyes, stared at the Bad Hat for a second, then said, “Ack!” and passed out again. In the meantime, the other kittens wailed loudly, without even seeming to pause to breathe.

Since he had no idea what to do, the Bad Hat sat down for a minute and panted as hard as he could.

Okay, he needed to pull himself together. Someone around here had to be calm, and think clearly—and he was pretty sure that none of the kittens were up for the job.

“Kittens, just take it easy,” he said. “Tell me where you live, and I'll bring you home to your mother, okay?”

The only response was more hysterical crying.

So, the dog panted for a while longer, and thought about running away, and maybe hiding somewhere for the next week or two.

“Please,” he said finally. “Can one of you tell me what happened?”

It took a while, but several of them explained in earsplitting unison—how many were there, a
hundred 
?—that the mean people had taken them away from their mother, because they wanted to get rid of them forever, and that they were scared, and that it had been hard to breathe inside the bag, and that they missed their mother, and they wanted to go home, but they were afraid of the people—and it just went on and on.

“Where do you live?” the Bad Hat asked, once they had finally run out of steam—and things to say.

The kittens all looked at each other, and shrugged. None of them said anything, except for Harold, who
woke up briefly, took another look at the dog, said “Ack!” and slumped down again. But, the rest of them were now being less noisy, at least, and the dog took advantage of the relative peace to count them.

Six. Funny, they sounded like an
army
of kittens, but there were only six.

“Tell me about your home,” the Bad Hat said. “I need some clues.”

They all talked as loudly as they could, trying to shout over each other, which gave him a headache.

“One at a time,” the dog said.

They all looked at each other, and then, a little black kitten with white paws spoke up.

“There was grass,” she said.

“And a house,” a second one added.

“And—maybe a tree,” a third one contributed.

The Bad Hat nodded, waiting for more information, but they seemed to be finished. “Is that it? You don't have any details?”

There was another very long pause, as they all thought.

“Dirt, maybe?” one of them said uncertainly.

The others nodded.

“There was dirt,” another one agreed. “We lived outside, and it was cold.”

The Bad Hat listened patiently, while they all talked about how cold it was, and how scared and sad they were, and how hungry they were—and a whole new round of crying and mewing started.

At some point during all of this, Harold woke up again.

“Where am I?” he asked, and then gasped when he saw the dog. “Ack—”

“Don't!” the Bad Hat ordered. “Stay awake this time!”

“Okay,” Harold said obediently, and sat down on his tiny haunches, instead of passing out. “Why are they crying?”

“They're upset,” the dog said.

Which was the understatement of the year.

“Oh,” Harold looked around, his eyes that sort of milky blue color that very young kittens had. “Where's Mommy? Can we find her?”

“She's gone!” one of his siblings said through stormy tears. “We'll never see her again! We live in a nightmare!”

Harold thought about that, blinked, then said “Ack!” and toppled over again.

Of all the roads, in all the towns, in all the world, these kittens had had to be dumped on the one where
he
was? The Bad Hat panted some more.

“Okay,” he said, once that was out of his system. “I know a safe place to take you. Once we get there, my friends—” Oops! “I mean my, uh,
colleagues
will help us figure out what to do next. But, right now, I need for you all to relax, and have, um, Quiet Time.”

The kittens promptly closed their mouths, and were silent.

Thank goodness. Now, he could hear himself think. “It's at least a mile away from here. Are you all good at walking?”

They looked at him, their mouths still shut.

“Can you walk that far?” he asked. “Because it would be very helpful if I knew that.”

They stared at him with their glistening little eyes. Some of them shuddered and trembled and shook, but none of them made a sound.

Great. Just great. At this point, he felt like lying down and crying, too—for about a month straight.

The Bad Hat took a deep breath. “Please tell me if you can walk, or if we need to make a different plan.”

“We're having Quiet Time,” one of the kittens whispered.

Oh. Right. Fine. He would simply make an executive decision, then. “I want all of you to climb back into the bag, so I can carry you,” he said.

None of them budged.

“Please,” he said.

“Can we move during Quiet Time?” the same kitten asked.

“Yes,” the Bad Hat said. “But, only to get into the bag. Then, you can sit and think your silent little thoughts, while I bring you to the safe place.”

Cautiously, the kittens crept into the bag and crouched against the black plastic, their eyes looking bigger than ever. Well, five of them did, anyway. Harold was still lying on the road in a crumpled heap.

The Bad Hat gently picked him up by the scruff of his neck, and set him inside the bag. Then, he lifted it off the ground, which made the kittens all tumble against each other and start screaming again.

The Bad Hat put the bag down, and frowned at them.
“Shhh
,” he said. “It's Quiet Time.”

Upon which, they closed their mouths.

He carried the bag a few hundred feet, and was just
starting to relax when Harold woke up and began yelling that he was suffocating, and had claustrophobia, and needed to be let out of the bag
right this very minute
. Which set the rest of the kittens off, and Quiet Time was very definitely no longer in effect.

The Bad Hat was able to lower the bag to the ground without losing his temper or snapping at anyone—and congratulated himself for being the most gloriously saint-like and kindly dog on the entire planet.

“All right,” he said through his teeth. “Everybody, get out of the bag. Then, line up behind me, so that we can walk together. No straggling!”

The kittens weren't very coordinated, but they managed to scramble over each other and out onto the street. They milled around in confusion, and finally lined up, most of them facing in different directions.

“Everyone, face forward,” the Bad Hat said.

The kittens maybe didn't understand what “forward” meant, because they all turned around a few times—but, ended up pointing in completely different directions again.

Well, maybe they would catch on, once he started walking.

“Follow me,” he said.

The kittens did fairly well for about fifty feet, and
then they started to get bored and cranky, and began scuffling with each other.

“Maybe you could sing,” the Bad Hat suggested. “Do you know any songs?”

The kittens shook their heads.

Which would not be a problem if he had a guitar, and they were in the Alps—but, he didn't, and they weren't.

“Can you count?” he asked.

“To three!” one of the kittens said proudly.

The Bad Hat nodded. “That's very good. So, you can count our steps, while we walk.”

They made it another fifty feet or so, with the kittens shouting, “One! Two! Three!” over and over. Then, the chant petered out, as they got tired, and started stumbling and wandering all over the road.

He was beginning to understand why people made jokes about the notion of herding cats. Sheep might be challenging, but poor MacNulty would be stymied—and distressed—even more by
this
group.

So, the Bad Hat lay down by the side of the road, and took slow, deep breaths to try and collect himself.

“Oh, no, he fainted!” one of the kittens yelled, and they all ran over and started swatting him.

Two kittens even climbed up on his back, and smacked his ears violently with their paws.

The Bad Hat was going to yell at them, but then, he thought of a possible solution to this mess.

“Everyone else, climb up on me, too,” he said. “I'll carry you piggyback.”

“But, I thought you were a dog,” one of the kittens protested. “You are weird-looking, if you're a pig.”

Grrr.
And double
-grrr
. “This isn't a species thing,” the Bad Hat said. “The point is that I'm going to give you a ride to the nice rescue group, and we will all be very,
very
happy, and act like little angels, and then have some tasty and nutritious food.
Got it?  
”

All of the kittens climbed meekly up onto his back—except for Harold, who stayed on the pavement.

“Is there a problem?” the Bad Hat asked.

Harold nodded. “I'm afraid of heights,” he said, in a voice so small that the dog had to lean closer to hear him.

Naturally. “Then, you will have to keep your eyes closed,” the Bad Hat said. “Mount up, soldier!”

Harold shrugged, and climbed onto his back.

Once he was sure the kittens were all perched there,
the Bad Hat stood up very slowly, while they clung to him and shrieked a few times.

“Hang on tightly, close your eyes, and have Quiet Time until I tell you to stop,” the Bad Hat said.

Then, he started down the street, with the kittens gripping his fur precariously and squeaking now and again. But, other than that, they behaved. Mostly.

If anyone saw him like this, covered with weepy kittens, he would
never
live it down.

E
very so often, one of the kittens would fall off, and the Bad Hat would have to stop, crouch down, and wait for it to climb back on. He tried to stay on back roads as much as possible, to keep out of sight. But, when he passed a small farm stand, which was selling fresh produce, people laughed and pointed and took pictures of them with their cell phones.

The Bad Hat just plodded grimly on. It was going to be a problem if anyone chased him, because he wasn't sure he could run, without ending up with kittens strewn all over the road.

But, people only seemed to be interested in chuckling and taking photographs or videos of a large black
dog with six vocal kittens riding and swaying on his back.

He made steady progress towards the rescue group's farm, although here and there, one of the kittens would topple off his back again, land on the ground, and cry. So, he would have to comfort the kitten, and then somehow convince it to get up there again. And again. And
again
.

This was not a speedy or efficient process.

It was a huge relief when he finally glimpsed the meadow in the distance.

“Cheer up,” he said, since some of the kittens were wailing again, because even riding on his back was tiring them out. “We're almost there.”

He certainly couldn't blame them for crying, because if he were a baby kitten who had been snatched away from his mother and thrown away in a bag like yesterday's trash, he would be crying his eyes out, too. So, their small exhausted sobs seemed pretty rational, under the circumstances.