Read Online The Black Cats by Monica Shaughnessy - Free Book Online Page A

paws and licked them.
    “The
Butcher. Please keep up.” I flicked the end of my tail. “From what Silas and
Sam— I mean, the Water Giants, tell me, he is a kindly old man who
rescues homeless cats. Though he may have a small flea problem.”
    Margaret’s
eyes grew wide. “You met the Water Giants?”
    “They
are not dead, either,” I added. “You may meet them yourself.”
    George
and Margaret sneezed, one after another—a clear rejection of my proposal.
    “I
assure you, I am serious. In fact, I would like you to accompany me to the
Butcher’s home.” I rose to all paws, keeping my tail low. “He is in possession
of a clue, and I need your help obtaining it.”
    “A
clue?” Margaret asked. “What is a clue?”
    I told
them the story of Snip, the book, and Mr. Fitzgerald. I’d even come up with a
plan on the way over, which I explained to them now. I softened the danger by
calling it a game of cat and mouse with unorthodox rules. This seemed to calm
George a bit, for he relaxed his ears toward the end of my speech.
    “We don’t
condone stealing,” he said once I’d finished. “Taking the book would be against
our code. Mr. Beal would be unhappy if we—”
    “Don’t
think of it as stealing,” I said. “Think of it helping a fallen… friend .”
    Margaret
blinked. “Very well. We will help you. But once you enter the Butcher’s home, you’re
on your own.”
    ***
    For all
the wailing, I would’ve thought George at death’s door. He lay on the walkway
leading to Mr. Eakins’s home, legs kicking in spasm. When I explained he would
be the mouse , not the cat, in our
charade, he took some convincing. But I am nothing if not persuasive. I
crouched in the holly bushes next door and waited for the game to begin.
    “What
do you think of my performance?” George asked me.
    “Can
you cry louder?” I asked. “The Butcher is old and does not hear so well, I
imagine.”
    George
obliged, shrieking at full capacity. Another cat down the block screeched in
reply. Every performance needed an audience, I supposed. In a fashion, the
caterwaul lured Mr. Eakins outside, parrot cage in tow. “Heeeere kitty, kitty.
I’ll fix you up.”
    “Run,
George, run!” I shouted.
    George
needed no prompting. He leapt to his feet and disappeared from the garden like
a puff of smoke. Mr. Eakins gave chase, but the tom was in no danger of being
caught, not without aid of a net and perhaps a horse and driver. When George
reached the street, he signaled Margaret. She streaked across the old man’s
path, and the two tabbies ran ziggety-zag, luring Mr. Eakins down Green Street
and away from his home.
    I
slipped inside Mr. Eakins’s front hall and headed for the kitchen. Having been
a “guest” this morning, I navigated the rooms with ease, finding no Coon Cats. The cat -pendium lay on the tabletop,
waiting for my perusal. I climbed topside and pushed the book open to search
for Snip’s entry. Spotted cats, striped cats, black cats— I paused on
Midnight’s page. Mr. Eakins had captured his likeness quite well. I continued
flipping until I reached Snip’s page. The black cat stared back at me with both
good eyes. I’d been right about him losing one after his rescue. Had Mr. Fitzgerald
taken it? I studied the marks beneath Snip’s sketch and wondered if they told
of his new owner and street address. I switched my tail. This I would leave to Eddy,
my man of letters.
    I tried
to lift the volume with my teeth. It dropped to the floor with a weighty thud. Fiddlesticks.
    A thump
and a crash rang out on the second floor. The Brothers Coon?
    I tried
nudging my prize from the kitchen to the parlor. I gave up when my nose hit the
raised threshold between rooms. Too many cobblestones lay between here and home
to continue in this manner. I knew this firstpaw or rather, first bottom . I swiveled my ears and caught
the sound of footfall upon the stair—Silas and Samuel, without a doubt. I
opened the book again to Snip’s entry.