Fool's Moon, page 9
But as she gathered the deck back together and tucked it back into its box, she knew she was fooling herself. Chances were that no matter how informative the lecture, she was going to spend the whole night second-guessing herself.
“Be good girls, and don’t tear up anything in the shop. I’ll be back from school in a few hours.”
Ruby hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder, and Ophelia gave her a quick look. The human had changed from her usual flowy clothes and instead wore what she called jeans—faded blue pants that looked like an angry feline had shredded them at the knees. Ruby’s shirt was strange, too … black with a big red mouth with its tongue hanging out, reminding her of Zuki, the more so because a sprinkling of the pit bull’s white fur decorated it. She had never understood why humans had to look different every single day.
Ruby grabbed up her keys and turned out all the lights except for a lamp in the shape of a chicken sitting on a table in the front window. With a couple of air kisses, she slipped out the front door and closed it behind her. Ophelia waited until she heard the distinctive click as the human locked them in. Then she turned to Zuki.
“Okay, Ruby’s gone. Now we can go find Brandon.”
The pit bull didn’t immediately respond, but instead trotted over to the front window and sat up so that her paws were resting on the sill. She cocked her blocky head and waited a moment, ears on alert. Then she nodded.
“Her car just turned the corner. Now she’s gone.”
“Good. Show me this secret way out so we can start looking for my brother.”
“I will … but not until you promise.”
“Promise what?”
Zuki padded back to where Ophelia sat and leaned in close to her. “You have to promise that you’ll listen to me and do exactly what I tell you to do. I’ve been on the streets before, and I know what goes on out there. No hissing and puffing up, and no running off on your own. And don’t even think of talking to a canine out there unless I tell you it’s okay.”
Ophelia gave a little hiss and puffed her tail just a little. “You’re not the boss of me. Don’t worry, I can handle myself.”
Zuki rolled her brown eyes. “You’ve never been out on the streets except for when we found you in that box. I know you’re brave, but you have to be smart, too. And if you don’t promise, I’m not going to show you the way out.”
Ophelia hissed again, but then she nodded. “Fine, I promise. But just for tonight.”
“Fine. Now, come on.”
The pit bull led the way out to the courtyard. A few tiny solar lights put out a soft glow near the pond, turning the water’s surface as silvery as Philomena’s eyes when she spoke. Roosters One, Two, and Three were in their respective cages. They clucked and muttered a bit as Ophelia and Zuki padded past them, and then promptly fell asleep again.
“This way,” the dog whispered, heading to the narrow side yard that was the roosters’ daytime domain.
It also was where Rosa grew her herbs in big boxes above the ground. At the very front of that yard, a table made of metal and pine, with lots of shelves, was set up against the stucco wall. It blocked a wooden gate that now was permanently locked.
Ophelia eyed the table, frowning. She could easily leap atop it, and would be in jumping range of the gate’s top edge. The only probably is that the wooden slats were cut so that they were all pointy on top like big knives. If she wasn’t careful, she might get stuck on one of them. But Zuki …
She gave the dog a pitying look. The pit bull might be muscular, but the leap from ground to tabletop would be awkward. And no way could she jump over the gate. So how did Zuki expect them both to get out?
“Not up there,” the pit bull said, seeing where her gaze was fixed. “There!”
Climbing beneath the potting table, she pawed at a section of gate behind the narrow wooden plank that connected the table’s back legs and held them steady. To Ophelia’s surprise, a rectangle of pickets moved outward, reminding her of the doggie door that led from the house to the courtyard.
All a canine—or feline!—would have to do is crawl beneath that long piece of wood and shove their way outside.
Zuki gave her a smug canine grin. “Ruby doesn’t know about this. A long time ago, some human cut a dog-sized door in the gate. It used to swing both ways, but because the potting table is pushed up against the gate, the door can only swing out, not in. And there’s a bunch of vines growing on the other side, so humans never notice the door, and neither do the street canines. ”
But Ophelia had already seen a problem with Zuki’s plan. “So you can get out … but how do you get back in again?”
“Whenever I sneak out, I roll that rock”—Zuki pointed a paw at a baseball-sized chunk of white coral rock near the table leg—“so that it keeps the door from closing all the way. That way I can stick a paw in to open it and squeeze back inside again.”
Ophelia gave the dog an admiring look. Truly, she was almost as smart as a feline.
A few moments later, they were out on the darkened street. Despite her earlier brave words, Ophelia was glad that Zuki was with her. Not that the darkness bothered her—of course, she could see almost as well as she could during the day—but the sounds and smells were different, scarier. Even the houses and shops around them that looked cheerful in the daylight had put on sly shadow masks that made them seem somehow foreboding.
Zuki paused in the shadow of the Botanica and sniffed the air. “Felines the next block over,” she declared. “Let’s start with them and see if they know anything about Brandon.”
Ophelia trotted alongside her as they rounded the block and, after carefully watching for cars to pass, crossed the street. She spied the cats before Zuki did … two gray tabby toms lazing atop the wooden bench where humans waited for the giant stinky car they called a bus. The toms spotted them, too, and they gave small yowls of warning as she and Zuki drew closer.
“No worries,” the pit bull assured them, halting a respectful distance away. “We’re looking for some canine or feline who might know my friend’s brother. He’s gone missing on the streets, and we’re trying to find him.”
“He got a name?” the bushier of the toms asked, ignoring Zuki and addressing Ophelia.
“It’s Brandon. Brandon Bobtail. He’s black like me, but a little bigger, and he only has half a tail.”
The two gray tabbies exchanged glances.
“Maybe we’ve seen him … and maybe we haven’t,” the second feline with one ragged ear said. “If you can hook us up with some tuna, maybe our memories will improve.”
Ophelia’s long tail reflexively bristled in irritation. What, did they think she carried around cans of cat food with her whenever she went walking? But before she could spit out an insult, Zuki broke in.
“If you have some information that leads us to him, I can get you a can. But I don’t do payment in advance.”
The first tom hissed. “Yeah, well, we don’t give out information in advance. So I guess you’re out of luck.”
“Why, you—”
The rest of what Ophelia was going to say was muffled by Zuki’s big paw abruptly covering her mouth.
“That’s fine,” the pit bull said. “We’ll be in the neighborhood for a while. If you change your mind later and decide you know something, we can make a deal. C’mon, Ophelia, let’s go.”
The dog waited until they were out of earshot of the toms and then added, “I told you no hissing and bristling. You have to know how to talk to the street dogs and cats if you want to learn anything useful.”
“They didn’t know anything about my brother,” Ophelia said with a sniff. “They just wanted free tuna.”
“Probably. But you never know. Look, there’s a beagle in that doorway. Let’s see what he knows.”
The half-blind beagle was no more help than the tabbies, and so they continued walking.
“You do know how to get home again,” Ophelia nervously asked as they crossed yet another street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a skinny green motorcycle that whined like a giant mosquito as it flew past on a single wheel.
Zuki gave her a reassuring nod. “Of course. Did you ever hear of a canine who couldn’t find her way home again?”
Since the pit bull was the first canine she’d really ever known, Ophelia couldn’t answer that, but she was willing to trust her friend. Even so, she did her best to watch for landmarks as they moved about, in case they got separated.
She had just paused and crouched for a sniff at a section of sidewalk that smelled familiar—was that the lingering scent of bananas? And a very particular kind of dog pee?—when she heard it. Drifting to them from the next block over was a drawn-out, fur-ruffling caterwaul that pierced the night air.
Mee-yowwwwwwww! The screech was angry but also frightened, the patented cry of a feline ready to do battle.
And it was a voice that she recognized.
“Zuki!” she yowled. “That’s my brother! That’s Brandon … and he’s in trouble!”
Nine
“MEEEE-YOOOOOW!”
Another frantic, angry feline screech ripped through the night. Ophelia, who’d been momentarily frozen by the first cry, leaped to her paws. “C’mon, Zuki! We have to save Brandon!”
“Hop up and grab my collar! It’ll be faster!”
With a nod, Ophelia sprang onto the canine’s back. She sunk her claws into the heavy mesh of Zuki’s black collar, gripping the dog’s muscular flanks with her rear paws as Zuki took off like a pit bullet in the direction of the cries. They rounded a corner, and the cries grew louder. Now Ophelia could hear yips and growls … dogs, goading and taunting the cat.
“That way!” she shrieked in Zuki’s ear, pointing with one paw toward a dark, narrow opening between two boarded-up shops midway down the block.
The pit bull swung right and zipped into that gap, slowing her pace a little as she dodged discarded boxes and broken bottles. A few feet later they reached the buildings’ rear corners. There, the gap opened up onto an alley that ran in either direction the length of the block.
Zuki halted so quickly that Ophelia had to sink her claws into the dog’s flanks to keep from flying over her blocky head.
“Sorry,” she said at Zuki’s reflexive yelp. “Look, over there!”
The alley was dark except for the reflected light of a distant street lamp, but Ophelia didn’t need the bright half-moon above to clearly see what lay to either side of them. To the right, the alley led to the side street where the streetlight stood. To the left, where it should have opened onto a second side street, it instead was blocked by a chain-link fence topped by curls of wire twined with pointy bits. Not a fence that a reasonable feline would attempt to scale … not unless she—or he—were desperate. Against that fence squatted a broad, rusty green trash container almost as high as a human’s head and twice as wide, so that it nearly touched the stucco buildings on either side of it.
But that was not what held Ophelia’s attention.
Three street dogs—a stocky boxer mix, a rangy German shepherd, and a tiny black-and-white terrier—were pacing at the dumpster’s base, barking and snapping. She caught an occasional word … territory … intruder … dead. But what sent a chill through her was who stood atop the trash container. There, perched upon the dumpster’s closed plastic lid, was her missing brother.
Brandon! Found!
Even though she’d recognized his voice, she had to blink several times to be sure the feline held at bay was really he. But her joy and relief were swiftly supplanted by fear as she assessed his danger.
Brandon was pacing like a cat on patrol, his bobtail bristling like a brush as he yelled back at the dogs. Where Brandon had taken refuge, he was safely out of biting range … at least, for the moment. But he wouldn’t stay safe for long.
Though skinny, the shepherd had a look of wiry strength. While the dog appeared content now to merely taunt his prey, making little mock leaps that brought his black snout even with the dumpster’s edge, Ophelia knew that wouldn’t last. She had seen shepherds in action at the shelter. If this dog put an effort into it, he doubtless could make a leap high enough to scramble onto the dumpster’s lid. With the other two mutts patrolling below, and the chain-link fence with its wire barbs behind him, Brandon would have nowhere to flee to.
The ending for her brave brother would be horrific.
Even as this frightening scenario whipped through her mind, she saw the flash of green eyes. Brandon had noticed her! His green eyes grew wider still and he halted his pacing. But rather than call to her, he commenced yowling again, so that the pack’s barking grew more frenzied.
Holding the street dogs’ attention. Smart.
By now, Zuki had also spied Brandon. With a whispered “Hop down and stay behind me” to Ophelia, the pit bull padded closer to the dumpster.
Brandon saw the canine then, and shot Ophelia a shocked look. Not only had he not expected to see her there in the alley, he obviously hadn’t expected her to be with someone else … especially not a dog!
Ophelia gave him a reassuring blink in return.
This one is a friend.
Brandon must have understood, for he blinked back. Then he began prancing about the dumpster lid, giving Zuki time to get into position while the dogs kept up their threatening act. Keeping low, Ophelia followed after her friend. She might not be able to tackle the boxer mix or the shepherd, but at least she could take on the yappy terrier, if it came to that!
Zuki moved in so that she was directly behind the three street dogs now, yet far enough back that they couldn’t readily lunge at her or dash around her. Ophelia took up the spot behind her, deliberately puffing herself up so she looked double her size. She wasn’t sure if Zuki could best three dogs at once, but she was certain the clever pit bull could outsmart them.
She braced herself, ready for action … and Zuki didn’t disappoint. She let loose with the deep, long bark of a larger canine.
“Leave! Cat! Alone!”
The powerful barks made the three street dogs woof in surprise. Snapping their jaws shut, they swung about, eyes glowing in the moonlight as they took in this unexpected threat. Realizing it was but a single canine that confronted them, they exchanged glances. Then the boxer mix spoke up.
“Hey you, pit bull. You’re sticking your snout in other canines’ business. This is our turf. Turn around now, and we’ll let you go peacefully.”
“No, wait,” the shepherd broke in before Zuki could speak. Jaws opening in a wide grin, he went on. “Look, she brought us another cat to play with. Isn’t that nice? Bobo, go get it.”
“No!” Zuki barked out, slamming a large paw on the ground for emphasis. “Both these felines are under my protection. No street dogs are going to hurt them. Let the black cat on the dumpster go, and there won’t be any trouble.”
“No trouble, eh?” came a higher-pitched bark. “I don’t think you heard my friend, Sammy, there. This is our turf.”
This from the terrier, who had scampered out in front of his two much larger friends. He sat, hind legs jauntily shifted to one side, and bared his crooked teeth in what Ophelia assumed was supposed to be a threatening expression. Instead, it made him look like a human child’s goofy toy.
This is the leader of the pack?
Ophelia shot him a suspicious look. His wiry black-and-white fur was matted in spots, and he wore a frayed yellow collar that still had an old rabies tag dangling from it. Obviously, he’d been someone’s pet once, though whether he’d been dumped on the street or simply had run away from his human, Ophelia couldn’t guess. But any sympathy she’d normally have for him was lost in the fact that he was threatening her brother.
“Here’s the deal, pit bull,” the terrier went on. “You take your little kitty cat and go, and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened. But if you’re not out of here by the time I bark three, Bobo and Sammy will take care of you, and then we’ll have some fun with this new cat before we chomp up the first one. Got it?”
“I don’t think you want to do that,” Zuki softly replied.
“Really?” The terrier got to his paws, while the other two canines silently closed in behind him. “I think I do. Bark.”
One.
Zuki gave an exaggerated snort. “Are you boys sure you want to mess with a canine that was made to join a dogfighting ring as a pup and lived to tell about it?”
“You’re bluffing. Bark.”
Two.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“Yeah, and I used to race at the Palm Beach Kennel Club,” the terrier countered with a sneer, naming the spot where humans made greyhounds run the track. “Time’s up. Bar—”
“Wait, Rally!” The German shepherd gave his terrier friend a nudge before he could finish the count. “She’s a pit bull. It could be true. Ask to see her scars.”
Rally replied with an irritated growl, “So what’s the big deal if it’s true? There’s three of us, and only one of her.”
“Wrong!” Ophelia yowled, stepping forward so that she stood right next to Zuki. Raising a paw with all claws extended, she said, “There’s two against three.”
“No!” came an echoing yowl from behind the three street dogs. Puffing himself out to twice his usual size, Brandon exclaimed from his perch on the dumpster, “It’s three against three.”
Zuki, meanwhile, had moved to one side, so that the moonlight reflected off her snowy white coat. Now Ophelia could better see what she’d noticed before but never had been rude enough to mention: a series of dark pink scars along one shoulder and flank. Bite marks. They shone like stripes of honor, testifying to the pit bull’s fighting spirit, even as a pup.
