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The sun had nearly set as Furlock Holmes and I waited by the front entrance of our fortress home, impatient for our Head of Staff, or truly, any of our staff, to open the mighty portal so that we might venture out among the many interesting sights, sounds, and scents of the outside world.
“I do wish our staff paid closer attention to our needs,” I spoke with increasing frustration. “The fireflies will soon begin their twilight dance. I should like to be there to greet them.”
“I entirely sympathize, my dear Whiskerson,” replied Holmes, “for I, too, am feeling somewhat piqued at our staff’s inattention to their duties as of late. Nevertheless I counsel patience, for good staff are hard to find.”
In complete disregard for decorum, Inspector LeString came charging around the hallway corner at full zoomies and bounced to a stop, only just avoiding a collision with myself and Furlock Holmes.
“Oh goody!” exclaimed our exuberant LeString. “I haven’t missed it.”
“I am greatly reassured to know that the manifest has not escaped your scrutiny, LeString.” Holmes replied as he flicked his tail in quiet agitation.
“You flatter me, Mr. Holmes,” said LeString. “I do take pride in my powers of observation and attention to detail, though of course, my skills are not as yet equal to your own.”
Furlock Holmes refrained from further comment, and instead turned his attention elsewhere. “Do you intend to hide behind the umbrella stand all night?” he called out. “Or will you join us on our ramble?”
An ink black form flowed out of the far side shadow of the umbrella stand as Professor Meowriarty, green eyes glowing, revealed her presence.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Inspector LeString. “Has she been there the entire time?”
“Our good professor was the first of us to arrive,” said Holmes. “As well hidden as she was, I could not help but notice a slight tremble in the umbrella stand when you, my dear Meowriarty, would on occasion rub your chin against the stand, causing it to quiver.”
“I thank you for that critique,” Professor Meowriarty said as she sat down among us. “I shall take it under advisement and improve upon my stealth.”
It was then that we all felt a thudding through the floor, the ponderous patter of titanic feet that heralds the arrival of a member of staff. On this occasion, that member proved to be the younger of our two Staff-in-Training. Much to our consternation, the staffer was escorting the Slobbering Beast, who was on a short leash and trotting alongside the staffer in quiet obedience.
“Oh no,” Inspector LeString said with dismay as she backed away. “Must the Beast accompany us?”
“It’s our lot in life,” I replied. “We must endure the bad with the good. Take solace that only the Beast is on a leash. And remember, LeString: it is your duty to all cat-kind to resist and perform a liedown protest should any staffer ever attempt to leash you!”
“I shall commit that to memory, Doctor Whiskerson,” Inspector LeString replied with rounded eyes as the Staff-in-Training stopped a few feet short of us. It ordered the Slobbering Beast to sit, then released the leash, evidently expecting the Beast to obey and stay put. Why the Beast would do this is still a mystery. A cat knows better. Our staff are here to serve us, not the other way around.
The young staffer walked forward amongst us to work the complex mysteries of the portal mechanism. At last, the tall portal began its slow inward swing, providing us our first glimpse of the world at large. We softly padded to the portal threshold to stop, look and listen.
“Do not make haste!” called Furlock Holmes as Inspector LeString began to step outside. “We must first pause, sniff the air in a show of caution, then scrutinize the immediate area for anything of interest before venturing out.”
“Never give staff the impression you are in a hurry,” Professor Meowriarty added. “For it may weaken your bargaining position in the future.”
All sage advice. Unfortunately, it was then that the Slobbering Beast spotted a squirrel in the middle of the yard, exposed and well away from the safety of trees. With a startlingly loud “WOOF!” the beast surged forward, escaping the reach of the Staff-in-Training as it snatched at the leash and missed. In complete disregard of its cat betters, the Beast charged straight at us, sending us scrambling outward in a diaspora of desperation. It was the least dignified egress imaginable.
The squirrel, as happens every time, sprinted for the nearest tree and made it to safety with a comfortable margin before turning around, head down, and chittering angrily at the Slobbering Beast. The Beast, meanwhile, ran around the tree while watching the squirrel, in utter disregard of the Staff-in-Training’s calls to return.
“Oh the indignity!” complained Inspector LeString as we slowly came together. “I don’t care what it takes! The Beast has to go! I want it out of our fortress!”
“Be careful what you wish for,” purred Professor Meowriarty. “Our staff are rather fond of the Beast, and it does provide a useful distraction from time to time, allowing us the freedom to be left to our own devices.”
“Indeed,” agreed Furlock Holmes. “And note, too, how it is, at present, exhibiting cat-like behavior by snubbing our Staff-in-Training’s entreaties. There is hope yet for the Beast!”
The Staff-in-Training, perhaps due to its relative youth and inexperience, did not, as I had first assumed, pursue the Beast in an attempt to regain dominance in the manner of an older staffer. Instead, it remained inside our fortress and slammed shut the mighty portal.
“It seems we all have our freedom this evening,” I said. “And the fireflies are flashing. Come, let us make the most of it!”
For the next several minutes we became lost in the moment, playing without a care as we chased fireflies, batting at the wee airborne beasties, watching as they shook themselves off and flew away, then chased another.
“Why do fireflies flash?” Inspector LeString wondered at one point as she chased yet another firefly. “One might think it goes against their own self-interest to advertise their presence with reckless abandon.”
“Fireflies flash because they must,” said Holmes. “They are a gift of Artemis, the cat goddess of hunting entertainment.”
We soon grew tired and lost interest in the fireflies. We met in the middle of the yard and quietly watched as the fireflies slowly vanished, returning from whence they came as twilight turned to dusk.
“I don’t know about the rest of you,” I said. “but I’m feeling rather peckish.” I turned to look, but the portal entrance remained closed. “If our forgetful staff do not attend to us soon, I shall presently take matters into my own paws.”
“Where is the Slobbering Beast?” said Inspector LeString. She raised an excellent point—the Beast was nowhere to be seen.
“Enjoying its respite from servitude I expect,” replied Meowriarty. “As for our next meal, I suggest we not wait on our negligent staff, skip the usual fare and go to Chez Cat.”
“That’s in a rougher part of the neighborhood,” I said. “Are we certain we want to cross the street?”
“Chez Cat is under new management, I hear,” said Holmes. “It’s gone upscale. I think it’s worth investigating. Shall we?”
And so it came to pass that we walked to the edge of the lawn and looked around. The street was dead quiet, with only a few of the wheeled, staff-carrying mechanical monstrosities parked along the way. We crossed without incident and cut our way between fortresses, past back yards and into the woods until we came to an old, abandoned shack. “Chez Cat Eatery” was written in catscript above the entrance.
“Good evening ladycats, gentlecats,” a rather haughty tuxedo cat said in greeting as we arrived. “I will be your host this evening. Wood pallet for how many?”
“Four, as you can plainly see,” Furlock Holmes said with irritation.
“Very good sir,” said the tuxedo, who proceeded to guide us to a wooden pallet covered in an old bed sheet to prevent food from falling through the gaps. As we were seated around the pallet, the tuxedo flicked his tail towards the far wall. “Today’s menu is over there.”
The menu was, of course, written in catscript, a secret language known only to cats, but for the convenience of gentle readers, I provide herein a translation.
Chez Cat Eatery
(Established Recenty)
+ Hors D'oeuvres +
Escargot with Dandelion
Sun Dried Crickets
Tadpole Tempura
+ Plat du Jour +
Squirrel au Van
+ Entrées +
Spring Lizard in Lemon Sauce
Dumpster Rat Tartare
Chickadee Fricassee
Goldfish au Gratin
+ Drinks +
Garden Hose Water
Acorn Milk
Tuna Broth
+ Desserts +
White Chocolate Mouse
Chipmunk Brûlée
Crêpes Seabird
“Oh my!” said a thoroughly impressed Inspector LeString. “I have never been to such a posh eatery before!”
“Do any of my patrons,” said the tuxedo, “have questions about our riparian delights?”
“Riparian delights?” replied Holmes, the skepticism clear in his manner. “I am not aware of any nearby rivers.”
“There is a creek behind the shack,” the tuxedo said with a self-satisfied smugness only a restaurateur can achieve. “Call it artistic license if you will, but it does support its own small ecology. We’re quite proud of it.”
“Are the tadpoles wild-caught?” asked Inspector LeString.
“Certainly, madam. We collect those from the creek.”
“Are the sun-dried crickets crunchy?” asked the Professor.
“Oh yes, madam. Our crickets are prepared with care. We lay them out on a sidewalk and the afternoon sun crunches them up quite nicely.”
“And what is a ‘spring lizard?’” queried LeString.
“A spring lizard is another term for a salamander, also freshly caught from the creek.”
“About the goldfish,” said Professor Meowriarty. “Are they locally sourced as well?”
“Most assuredly, madam. They are harvested from our neighbor’s well-stocked koi pond.”
“Concerning today’s squirrel special,” I said as I pondered all the mouth-watering options before us.
“Oh yes. Squirrel au van is an excellent choice. Very popular when available.”
“Yes, but what is it?”
“A squirrel struck by a van, sir. Exceptionally tender.”
“Squirrels can be gamey,” said Holmes. “Is it marinaded?”
“Today’s special was indeed marinaded, sir, in a puddle just outside.”
“For how long?”
“Until the raccoons went away,” said the tuxedo. “We very nearly didn’t open today thanks to harassment from those trash panda ingrates, but providence smiled upon us. A cybertruck is parked nearby, and the bandits have mistaken it for a dumpster. Even now they are attempting to tear open the tonneau.”
“Yes, that is indeed a blessing,” replied Holmes as he sat in quiet contemplation. “I have heard reports of increased raccoon activity in our area. Most concerning to be sure.”
“Well the raccoons aren’t here and I’m famished!” declared Professor Meowriarty. “I’ll have the crickets, the goldfish, and chocolate mouse for dessert.”
“Very good, madam. And to drink?”
“Garden hose water, if you please.”
“And for you, madam?” the tuxedo said, turning to Inspector LeString.
“Tadpole tempura, salamander, acorn milk, and a chipmunk brûlée to go.”
“Saving dessert for later?” I remarked with good humor.
“Not at all,” replied LeString. “I intend to gift it to our staff.”
“A capital idea!” exclaimed Holmes. “We should all procure gifts of food for our staff, for gifts keep our staff happy and motivated.” He looked at Inspector LeString with a slow blink of respect. “I thank you for that gentle reminder of good manners and etiquette, for they are essential to the smooth running of a household.”
Inspector LeString was most pleased with that complement, purring with pleasure. It was then that Furlock Holmes and I placed our orders, wherein we agreed to equally divide our squirrel au van and rat tartare entrees.
Both proved to be excellent. Professor Meowriarty and Inspector LeString were most satisfied with their dining choices as well. The remainder of our evening consisted of small talk as we savored our meals, until at last we were all settled back, each with a thimble of catnip liqueur.
“A finer meal cannot be had!” I declared. “This has been a most memorable experience.”
“Here-here, Whiskerson!” Holmes said with more show of emotion than his usual cool aloofness. He paused to lap a little more of his liqueur. “An outstanding recommendation, Professor, to give this fine establishment an opportunity to prove itself.”
Professor Meowriarty slow-blinked in acknowledgment as our host approached our pallet. “With regret, such opportunities may be limited in future,” said the tuxedo. “I fear we may soon be out of business if a solution to the rapacious raccoons cannot be quickly found.”
Perhaps it was liquid courage felt by us all, or perhaps it was Furlock Holmes’ innate inclination to lead and solve problems. I suspect it was a combination of the two that led us to an agreement that, in hindsight, was perhaps a tad ill-considered.
“Good sir,” Holmes declared as he stood up, “I cannot in good conscience allow your business to fall prey to blusterous, belligerent, bespectacled bandits! We must band together and drive them away!”
“I second that notion!” I said as I, too, stood up. This was quickly followed by Inspector LeString and Professor Meowriarty arising as well.
“If your cadre can achieve that objective, Mr. Holmes,” replied our tuxedo host, “then consider tonight’s meal as paid, and all future meals as paid in advance!”
“Oh yummy!” Inspector LeString exclaimed with enthusiasm. “Let us clear the neighborhood of these bothersome brigands!”
With gifts for the staff in mouth, we headed out of the woods and were soon back to the street, our home fortress just across the way. Our initial thought was to drop off our gifts before looking for trouble, but trouble, as the cat saying goes, has a way of troubling you.
A roving gang of masked bandits came ambling along, boldly walking down the center of the tranquil street, cutting off our avenue of escape. To them, we must have looked like easy pickings: four slightly inebriated cats, each carrying a tasty treat. Perhaps they thought we were bringing tribute, but as every cat knows, bullies are never sated by offerings; they will forever want more.
Furlock Holmes quickly dropped his treat. “Make haste, everyone!” he called out. “We must buy ourselves time. Hiss, spit, and yowl as loudly as you can!”
We were soon making such a ruckus that I am certain the entire neighborhood heard us. This gave the raccoons pause as they realized we would defend what was ours. We arched our backs, puffed our fur, turned sideways to look bigger, and had our claws out, ready to engage the enemy. The raccoons, too, began their own posturing with a sideways stance and bared teeth. They began a slow, cautious, snarling advance.
Just when things looked darkest, the outcome uncertain and our very lives in peril, Bastet, the cat goddess of protection, smiled upon us. A large, shaggy object with giant teeth and a frightful growl sprinted straight at the raccoons at high speed, never slowing down, scattering the intruders. It was the Slobbering Beast! The Beast gave chase, its leash trailing behind and bouncing like a live thing as the Beast snapped at the heels of the raccoons, driving them all the way down the street and out of our territory.
“Just the outcome I had hoped for,” declared Holmes. “I could not be absolutely certain, of course; the Beast might have been recaptured by our staff. But there was always the chance it was still out and about and on paw to provide backup.”
With grateful relief, we picked up our gifts and continued on our way across the street. We laid our gifts at the portal entrance where our staff could easily spot them, so as to fill their hearts with joy and appreciation. As we waited by the portal, the Beast came trotting back, tongue hanging out and breathing hard from its exercise. We could sense happiness radiating from the Beast and its joy of the chase.
The Beast sniffed at our gifts and gobbled one down.
“My chipmunk brûlée!” Inspector LeString cried in dismay.
The Beast, perhaps sensing the Inspector was in distress, gave LeString a big, wet, slobbering lick. Its way, perhaps, of reassuring her.
Inspector LeString stood stiffly, paused for a moment, then sat down. “Well,” she said, “it may be a slobbering beast, but it’s our Slobbering Beast! Perhaps we should keep it after all.”