Chapter Six: A Plunge into Darkest Darkness

Okay, where were we? Oh yes, I had stormed out of the office and had entered the world outside where darkness and temptation lurked behind every bush and tree. I felt the darkness, both inside and out, and believe it or not, all at once I began hearing a creepy song in the back of my mind. No kidding. Here, listen to this.

Chickens

Chickens . . . all I see are chickens.

It really is the dickens

When the mind plays clever tricks,

Projecting colored pictures

Of a bird upon a plate.

Such a cruel fate!

Dinners . . . all I see are dinners.

Just exactly what a sinner

Doesn’t need. It’s so frustrating

To see roasted birds parading

Down the Broadway of my mind.

Destiny’s unkind!

On the other hand, it’s really kind of neat to have these visions.

It provides a little break between decisions.

Don’t forget, a guy needs rest,

A break from all the stress

Of working day and night to earn his pay.

Sleeping . . . Sally May is sleeping.

And while she sleeps I’m creeping

Like a panther through a park,

At ease in total darkness.

A phantom in the night,

But still aware it isn’t right.

Lurking . . . images are lurking.

I hear the sounds of slurping

In the river of my mouth.

My life is going south,

For if I should get caught,

I’d have to eat these chicken thoughts.

On the other hand, there’s a kind of peace of mind that I am needing.

It’s the calm that soothes the conscience after eating.

Good digestion forms a link

To what we do and think,

’Cause nourishment is part of mental health.

Chickens . . .

Pretty spooky song, huh? I thought so, but it sort of expressed the situation in which I found myself.

I made my way toward . . . do I dare reveal my destination? I guess it wouldn’t hurt, and you’ve probably already guessed it anyway.

The chicken house. If a guy wishes to mug a chicken after sundown, that’s where he goes, because that’s where chickens roost at night.

It was very dark out there and I had switched my instruments over to Smelloradar, but then I noticed a flash of light off to the northwest. It appeared to be lightning inside a line of thunderclouds. This promised to be either good news or bad news: good news if it brought rain, bad news if we got lightning and no rain.

See, dry lightning is a major cause of prairie fires, and don’t forget that our country was dry, very dry. I made a mental note to keep an eye on those clouds, once I had taken care of my, uh, business.

Slurp.

I crept through the darkness, up the hill to the flat area where the chicken house stood about twenty yards southwest of the machine shed. I paused to reconoodle the situation, cocked my left ear, and listened. Not a sound, except . . . okay, relax. It was just a distant thumber of rundle.

Rumble of thunder, let us say, but nothing to worry about. I paused long enough to grab a quick gulp of air, knowing that I would need plenty of air to . . . well, to do what I was fixing to do, and we needn’t dwell on that.

I turned my nose toward the dark outline of the chicken house and began my stealthy march toward . . .

“Mmmmm. Hello, Hankie.”

I froze in my tracks. The voice had come from somewhere above my present location. I lifted my eyes to the first branch of a chinaberry tree and saw . . . would you like to guess? Pete.

The air hissed out of my lungs. “You again? Don’t you have anything better to do than lurk in trees?”

“Not really, Hankie. See, I knew you’d be back and I decided to wait right here. Just as I suspected, you came back.”

“Okay, Pete, you get an A for being a snoop. You’re the champ, so watch all you want and enjoy the show.”

“Actually, Hankie, I’ve been thinking about your situation.”

I studied his silhouette in the tree. He was sharpening his claws on a limb. “I didn’t know I had a ‘situation.’”

“Of course you do. It’s just dawned on me that you’re out of dog food, you poor thing. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t consider it any of your business, kitty, and I still don’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

“But Hankie, don’t you see? This changes everything.” He stopped clawing the limb and sat with his tail curled around his haunches. “It explains why you’re going to the chicken house. I had no idea!”

I moved to the base of the tree and studied him for a moment. I noticed that he wasn’t smirking, which came as a shock. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Pete without an insolent smirk wrapped around his mouth.

“What’s your point, kitty, or do you have a point?”

“Actually, Hankie, I do.” He leaned out on the limb and said, “I can help!”

HUH?

His words went through me like a jolt of electricity. At first I was stunned, then I heard myself laughing. “Oh, that’s rich, Pete! Ha ha. After years of being a pestilence, you’ve decided to help? Ha ha! Sorry, pal, I don’t believe it.”

He wasn’t laughing. “I know, Hankie, I never thought I’d be so moved by . . .” He turned his eyes toward heaven. “Well, by the spectacle of a loyal dog going hungry for a whole day. It’s . . . it’s so very sad.”

I glanced over both shoulders, just to make sure that Drover wasn’t listening to this. I mean, carrying on friendly conversations with cats was strictly against regulations. “Pete, you’ll have to forgive me for not believing this. See, you’re a cat and cats never think of anyone but themselves.”

He heaved a sigh. “I know, Hankie, we are inclined that way. All I can say is”—holy smokes, he seemed to be fighting back tears!—“your situation has touched my heart.”

Gee, what does a guy say to that? I had to sit down. “Pete, don’t cry. I mean, I haven’t been starving or anything, but now you understand the strain I’ve been under . . . with the chickens and everything.”

“I do, Hankie, I do! I don’t know how you’ve been able to hold yourself back.”

“Well, it’s been tough, Pete. I won’t deny it. And I want the record to show that eating a chicken wasn’t my first choice of things to do.”

“I understand, I do. It’s so sad that your human friends have pushed you into this. But Hankie, I want you to know that you deserve a chicken!”

Wow. I was speechless. I mean, the scheming little reptile . . . Pete, I should say, had put it even better than I could have: I deserved a chicken! It took me several seconds to recover from the shock.

“Pete, I must ask you a question. Are you being sincere about this? I mean, I’d really be mad if this turned out to be another of your tricks.”

Get this. He sat up straight and placed a paw over his heart. “On my Honor as a Cat, Hankie, I swear by everything sacred and holy . . . that you’d be really mad if this turned out to be a trick.”

Wow again. The cat had sworn a sacred oath and I couldn’t believe I’d heard it. This had never happened on our ranch before, never.

After a moment of stunned silence, I managed to say, “Well, that settles it. I guess we’ll be working together on this job, pardner. You don’t mind if I call you ‘pardner,’ do you?”

He came slithering down the tree. “Oh no! In fact, I think it has a nice ring to it.”

He came over to me and started rubbing on my legs. As you know, I don’t care for that, but . . . what the heck, we had just entered a new chapter in our relationship and if my pardner wanted to rub on my legs, that was okay.

“What did you have in mind, Pete?”

He stopped rubbing and glanced over both shoulders. Then he leaned toward me and whispered behind his paw. “You’ll need me to unlock the chicken house door.”

“I will?”

“Oh yes. For the past two weeks, Sally May has been bolting the chicken house door. Didn’t you know that?”

Huh? I turned away, so that he couldn’t see the shock on my face. “I didn’t say that. Of course I knew it. What’s your point?”

“Yes. She’s seen some footprints around there, and she’s afraid that someone is going to get in. Anyway, the point is”—he raised a paw and wiggled his toes—“I know how to open the bolt.”

“So you’re saying . . .”

He fluttered his eyelids and grinned. “I’ll throw the bolt and hold the door open while you do your business. When you’re outside again, I’ll bolt it shut . . . and nobody will ever suspect a thing!”

I couldn’t help being impressed. “Well, you think of everything, Pete. Nobody schemes better than a cat.”

“You can bet on that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said, thank you, Hankie. Your trust really astounds me.”

I patted him on the back. “Well, that’s what this life is all about, Pete, trusting each other and working together. Let’s get this over with. To be honest, I’m a little nervous.”

“You should be.”

“Right. I mean, this goes against all my training and instincts. I hope you understand that.”

“Oh, I do, I do.”

Pretty amazing, huh? You bet. Who would have thought that Pete and I would end up working on the same team . . . or that it would be his idea? He was just a dumb little ranch cat, but I guess he’d finally figured out that playing on a winning team is always a winner.

We slipped through the darkness and made not a sound, and I had to give Pete some credit there. The guy was good at the stealthy stuff, and I was impressed that he didn’t seem the least bit nervous. In fact, the old Kitty Smirk had returned to his mouth, only now he was putting it to good use—smirking for Our Team.

We crept up to the little door on the north side of the chicken house. As you may recall, there were two entrances, a big door for people and a smaller one near the ground that the chickens used. The smaller entrance had a hinged door that opened one way, to the outside. In the mornings, Sally May wired it open so that the chickens could go outside and spend the day chasing bugs. In the evenings, she shut them up again, to protect them from . . . uh, bad guys.

That little door would be my Entry Point into the Target Area. Our most recent satellite pictures had revealed that Sally May had started bolting the door, see, and that’s why I had hired an assistant to help with the job. Heh heh. Was that clever or what?

We stopped beside the chicken entrance and I studied the door. Sure enough, there was a new brass device with a sliding bolt, just as our satellite imagery had predicted. Everything checked out and we were ready. I took one last look around. The sky was dark and quiet except for an occasional flash of lightning and thumder of rundle.

“Okay, pardner, I guess we’re ready. You lift the door and hold it open. I’ll snatch a bird and run. Make sure nothing goes wrong. It wouldn’t be funny if I got trapped in there.” I heard something that sounded like muffled laughter.

“You’re right, Hankie. That wouldn’t be . . . pfffft . . . funny at all. Hee hee.”

“Are you laughing?”

“It’s a backward laugh, Hankie. It means that this is not . . . tee hee . . . funny at all.”

“Oh. Good. You know, Pete, if this works out, I may find a little job for you in the Security Division. We could start you out working a couple of days a week, sweeping floors and hauling trash. How does that sound?”

For some reason, he couldn’t speak. Maybe the thought of working with the Security Division had just overwhelmed him, and I could understand that. I mean, how many cats get such a great opportunity?

“Okay, Pete, we’ve got a Go for the mission. Stay alert and I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Pffft . . . hee ha . . . pffffft!”

You know, cats make odd sounds sometimes. They’re strange, even the good ones.