Chapter Ten: The Infamous Black Hole of Mustard

I just didn’t understand.

Everything had been going my way. I had sniffed out all of Pete’s sneaky tricks and had made the appropriate countermoves. I had held my temper, resisted the temptation to make hash of him, had maintained Iron Discipline throughout.

I had even laughed at him.

I had known from the start what he was trying to do, and yet he had somehow managed to do it anyway.

How could one cat be so lucky, so often?

It strained my concept of luck. It strained my concept of who I was and who I had always wanted to be. It strained my . . .

My eyes were rolling around in circles and, hmmm, I appeared to be banging my head against the northwest leg of the workbench.

Something bad was happening to me, fellers. I was losing control of my control. My instruments were shorting out. I felt myself spiraling toward the Infamous Black Hole of Mustard.

In one last desperate effort to save myself, I took a firm grip on the cement floor with all four paws and fought against the tremendous swirling vacuum sweeper that threatened to swallow me up.

And—you won’t believe this—I saved myself from vacuumization by singing a song. Why not? “Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast,” says the old saying, and here’s how the song went:

I Must Dispose of the Cat

I don’t understand what’s going on here.

It makes me have questions about my career.

I used to have pride, I thought I was shrewd,

So how come my game plan is coming unglued?

My countermoves backfire, my plots go awry,

I’ve got indigestion from Pete’s humble pie.

It’s happened so often, I’m starting to think

This cat will eventually drive me to drink

So to save the dignity of my ranch,

To stop this mental avalanche

I hereby burn the olive branch.

I must dispose of the cat!

It’s not that I’m bitter or violent or mean.

I’m not in the habit of making a scene.

I don’t take positions from which I won’t budge,

Yet now I perceive that I’m holding a grudge.

There’s nothing too personal in this, I submit.

Well, maybe I’m bothered by cats, I admit,

Their hissing and yowling and humping their backs.

I hate them, that’s all, it’s as simple as that.

So to save the dignity of my ranch,

To stop this mental avalanche

I hereby burn the olive branch.

I must dispose of the cat!

El Gato is rumored to have several lives,

Nine, I believe, which is four more than five.

But gato and gravy, served up on a plate

Will get the grand total down closer to eight.

A kitty for supper, a kitty for lunch,

A kitty con queso, a kitty with punch.

A kitty for snacks, oh my this is fun!

And shortly the total will shrink down to none.

So to save the dignity of my ranch,

To stop this mental avalanche

I hereby burn the olive branch.

I must consider the pros and cons

Of bumping off the cat!

When I had finished the song, I looked around. I was standing in the middle of the machine shed. The bells and whistles had vanished. My mind had cleared.

Best of all, the Infamous Black Hole of Mustard had swallowed itself and returned to the ethers of the vapor, or wherever it is that Black Holes come from.

But the important thing was that I had snatched myself back from the edge of despair and had survived one of the most dangerous moments of my career.

And, all at once, it was clear what I had to do. Heh, heh. Oh, a few details still had to be worked out, but those were small matters of procedure.

I wondered why I hadn’t thought of this sooner. Surely it was a testimony to my sweet nature and gentle disposition—and yes, to a certain dread of consequences. Sally May, for example.

I had a suspicion that she would not think kindly of my plots and schemes, and that fact pretty muchly determined the method I finally chose for the job.

Here’s what I did. I left the machine shed and, on silent feet, went hunting for the villain. I checked out the yard. He wasn’t there, which was good. I checked those tall weeds around the water well, and he wasn’t there too.

I was on my way down to the corrals when I happened to glance to my left and saw something that brought bubbles of joy bubbling to the surface of my . . . something. Pete was asleep on my gunnysack bed beneath the gas tanks.

This cat, who had been so cunning and shrewd only hours before, had made the incredibly dumb mistake of taking an afternoon nap—away from the house and on my bed! He was making it easy for me, which I appreciated.

There are several ways of catnapping a kid . . . kidnapping a cat, I should say, and also several ways of getting your eyebrows torn off your face by a hissing, spitting, clawing little buzz saw—unless you happen to pick the cat up by the loose skin behind his neck, in which case he will hang as limp as a sock.

You see, I had watched Little Alfred in action on many occasions and had observed him dragging Pete all over the ranch in this manner.

Pete never suspected a thing. I slipped up to the gas tanks, scooped him up in my jaws, and was well on my way to the wild canyon country north of headquarters before he knew what was happening.

“Mmmm, you’re taking me somewhere, Hankie.” I couldn’t respond because my mouth was full of cat, don’t you see, and I didn’t have anything to say to him anyway. “It’s a nice evening for a walk in the pasture, Hankie, but I think we’ve gone far enough.”

Silence.

“Hankie, I’m wondering where we’re going. Are you listening?”

I was listening but my heart had turned to cement. I continued on a northward course until I reached the base of the caprock. There, I stopped and released the cat.

“Here we are, kitty. This is where you get off. It’s called Coyote City.”

Pete had his ears pinned back. He humped up his back and hissed at me, also took a swipe at me with his paw but I managed to dodge it.

“You know, cat, if you’d ever shown any signs of wanting to get along with me, things never would have gotten to this point. But you’re so greedy and spiteful, you’ve forced me to take drastic measures.”

He yowled and hissed.

“You’ve driven me to this. What happens is your own fault.”

He yowled and hissed.

“Nobody ever deserved this more than you, Pete, but on second thought it does seem a little severe, and if you approached me just right, I might consider accepting an apology.”

“I’ll give you an apology, Hankie. Just take two steps this way and I’ll give you an apology you’ll never forget.”

“There, you see? You cats won’t compromise. You don’t even try to get along. But after considering the finality of what we’re doing here, I’m willing to give you one last chance to apologize and start all over with a clean slate.”

“Cats don’t compromise, Hankie, and we don’t ever apologize for anything. If we can’t run the show, we don’t play.”

I shook my head. “Hey Pete, you might think we’re playing games here, but let me point out that when I leave, you’re going to be all alone in the middle of coyote country.”

He continued to glare at me. “Cats enjoy being alone, Hankie, because when we’re by ourselves, we’re in the very best of company.”

This was hopeless! I began pacing. “Listen, cat, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you’ve never had any experience with coyotes but I have, and I can tell you that their very favorite meal is fresh cat. Now, if you’ll just . . .”

“I can take care of myself, Hankie. I don’t need the help of a bungling dog.”

I stopped pacing and our glares met. “Okay, Pete, let’s lay all the cards on the table. I brought you up here because I wanted to bump you off. Now that we’re here, I find myself having second thoughts about it. If you’ll just make a small apology . . .”

“Not interested, Hankie.”

“Okay. If you’ll promise to make a small apology within the next three days . . .”

“Apology is a word cats don’t understand, Hankie.”

“All right, this is absolutely your last chance. If you’ll promise to consider thinking about making a small apology . . .”

He grinned and shook his head.

“Very well, Pete, in that case I have no choice but to order you to return to the ranch with me—immediately. And that’s a direct order.”

“But Hankie, I don’t take orders—not from you, not from anyone. Cats are very independent and we take care of ourselves.”

“Will you listen to reason?” I yelled at him. “This place is crawling with wild hungry coyotes. If I leave you here, you won’t have a chance to take care of yourself because you’ll be a kitty sandwich.”

He studied his claws. “I’ll go back with you, Hankie.”

“That’s better.”

“IF you’ll make a full and complete apology to me, and IF you’ll agree to let me be Head of Ranch Security forever and ever.”

HUH?

I stared at him. “Are you crazy? You want me to . . . okay, fine, I should have known better than to talk sense to a cat. Have it your way, Pete, I’m washing my paws of the whole mess. Good-bye and good riddance!”

And with that, I whirled around and headed back to headquarters, satisfied that I had done the world a tremendous service.