Catfantastic II

The Royal Chamberlain, the cat who had corrected the visiting bodyguard's bad court ma

"Be it noted by our visitors from the land of the Blue-eyes: King Greywhiskers the Fourth has heard and passed judgment on your request. We have condemned the gangster Flintface and will carry out his execution in such time as the Royal Executioner chooses."

Then, feeling the puzzled response of the visitors to the courtly language his king insisted upon using on formal occasions, he lowered his voice until only the visitors could hear and added, "Relax doll-face. You put the finger on the mutt, now the boys will be happy to bump him off!"

Resuming his courtly dignity, the Lord Chamberlain yowled, "Will the Royal Executioner come forth and face his king?"

The circle of court cats moved aside to allow a wide lane for the king's chosen to enter. Even the visitors found themselves slinking backward to place as much distance as possible between themselves and that terrifying presence. Greywhiskers never batted an eyelash but thought gleefully to himself that he bet they did not have anything like that in their kingdom!

The approaching cat looked like death incarnate. He was a good six inches longer than the average adult Tom, and at least four pounds heavier. The tufts of hair on the tips of his ears showed that somewhere in his ancestors there had been a bobcat, which was further confirmed by his twitching stub of a tail. His coat suited his court position, for it was solid black from his nose to his tail. As he strutted slowly toward his king, massive muscles could be seen rippling under his glossy hide.

"Sir Ex," as he was known to the court, was a Tom without the slightest twinge of mercy. It was hard to believe he was the same bedraggled kitten that their king had saved from a storm sewer at the risk of his own life, that had been two years ago, and "Sir Ex" had rewarded his king with a devotion unparalleled in catdom.

"How can I serve my lord?" the big cat murmured with a voice like an idling diesel engine.

"You know what the boss wants," responded the Chamberlain. "How soon can we get some action against this glorified fleabag?"

"I should be ready to lower the boom on the mark by 5:45 Wednesday morning, on the execution field. Will this be soon enough to please my king, or would he prefer I cut him to ribbons tonight while he sleeps?"

"I prefer the formal execution. It will better impress other members of the canine tribe that might become troublesome."

Two days, mused the king, his mind racing like a calculator. Two days will give sufficient time for the visitors to report back to their king, and then… he decided on a bold stroke of diplomacy.

He waved a regal paw to an elderly cat at the head of his loyal advisors. It was evident from the elder's arthritic walk and the white hairs on his muzzle, that this was one of the oldest dwellers in Catasia. After consulting with him in subdued tones, the king nodded to his hit man in satisfaction.

"The Royal Astrologer informs me the stars are right and the weather should be good on the day you have chosen. I trust your judgment in this matter, for you have never failed me."

Then turning his attention to his visitors, he continued, "Return to your king, most welcome visitors, and inform him that he is invited to send a detail to observe this execution, or if he should choose, to even come himself to observe our royal justice!"

We'll teach that upstart not to doubt our ability to cope with any situation! His entire contingent of bodyguards could not polish off a dog the size of Flintface! Wait until he sees Sir Ex in action, his whiskers will have a permanent curl!

Now if they had been human beings, the entire court would have gasped aloud at their king's audacity. Suppose Sir Ex failed to bring it off? But being well-ma

The court broke up and the citizens went their various ways. Soon all Catasia would be buzzing with the king's daring invitation, but it was tacitly understood that no information would be leaked to anyone friendly with the intended victim; for cats know well the value of guarding secrets, and in all the animal world, no one can keep a secret better than they.

Sir Ex passed the word: he had an urgent message for the Sirs Fairhowl and Strongheart, they were to report to him at once. They knew better than to keep him waiting.

The message was simple; the "mark" was to be placed under constant observation. It was urgent that he know Flintface's personal status by 5:30 Wednesday morning. In the meantime, Sir Ex had some work to do on the important matter of checking out the execution machine.

So saying, he moved over to his favorite "scratching post," a nearby telephone pole, and proceeded to peel off great splinters of wood while he exercised his powerful back muscles. Without a sound the other two knights melted away into the morning darkness.

His two scouts came back and reported to Sir Ex the following evening, but their report was not good. Their target was in bad with his owners. They had caught Flintface chasing cars and had chained him in his yard for an indefinite time.

"That's it, boss. You will have to postpone the action until the 'mark' serves his time and gets out of the clink!"

In the stream of cat profanity that followed this suggestion the two royal knights gathered the following information: Sir Ex felt that dog couldn't do anything right, not even to keeping an appointment to depart this life; he was saddled down with two asinine helpers who did not know that you simply did not put off affairs of state; and by the cat-god's headdress, he for one was going to make the deadline if he had to do everything all by himself!

Then Sir Ex resumed the calm, probing air that all catdom had come to fear and respect. Was the mark on a leash, rope, or chain? Were they certain? How long was it? Where was it fastened, to the fence or a peg in the ground? Were they positive?

Over and over the questions were asked until Sir Ex had an accurate picture of the situation. Flintface was in his backyard, chained to a wrought iron fence about six feet long, and the chain had a snap lock on it. Clearly the cats would have to enlist outside help. And he knew where that help was going to have to come from.

"Where does this monkey Peppo live?" he snarled at the other two knights. Silently they led him over rooftops to the home of some sleeping humans only fifteen minutes away form the dog's home. There, sleeping in a basket on the back porch of this house lay their future partner, Peppo, sound asleep.

Peppo awoke to face the meanest looking cat he had ever seen. It was watching him from the other side of the back porch screen.

"Be silent, little one, and listen and you won't get hurt," hissed the terrible face. "Our king has honored you by permitting you to aid us in carrying out his orders. Do you remember the big boxer dog named Flintface that chased you down the street a moon ago?"

The little monkey hissed and bared his teeth to show that he remembered the humiliating incident.

"He was warned for that, then committed an even more evil crime. The king has put out a contract on him, and we intend to collect it tomorrow morning. It must be done in a very public way to be a warning to other mutts not to step out of line, get the picture?"

The little monkey jumped up and down to show his excitement.

"I'm glad you approve," the big black cat said sarcastically, while the two other knights smirked to themselves in the shadows.