It was dusk when I, Luna the Cat, brushed my whiskers and joined my friends on patrol.
“Today was too easy,” said Felix, the oldest and wisest in our little group, flicking his tail to indicate our small surveying area: a few damp trash dumpsters and a dingy little alley near the city. “We haven’t had a single adventure lately.”
“Yup! A pouncing good fight would put the full rosy in my cheeks,” chuckled the fat, jolly Beppo, shaking his mottled face.
“Or perhaps merely swatting the flies that come near it,” said Felix, as he turned his wise green eyes on the speaker.
But Beppo did not mind, for he was mostly good-natured, and had been specially chosen for his jolly disposition to amuse us. But Felix’s keen observation reminded us of why we were guardians, and of the duties we had undertaken; for Felix was the philosopher of the band, saying little, but always with a meaning about it.
“If we don’t arrange something soon,” said Bright Eyes, “that big bully of a dog that prowls around the back yards, biting and fussing around, will be reconnoitring here, md I for one don’t want to meet Johnny. And if we can’t protect our little Beat, he’ll be a sad lad.”
“We must all see the matter in three lights,” said Felix slowly; “physical strength, sapient cunning, and—“
“Oh, I’ll put a little spice into this discussion, if you’re going to have such a serious one,” said Bright Eyes, scampering off for her little pack of pepper from the dusty old shop af the corner.
But Felix gravely continued without heeding her antics: “You ladies can do wonders at bringing about reconciliation; but in a quarrel between a dog and a cat—“
At this moment Bright Eyes returned, her blue eyes filled with mischief.
“You’re Meliboeus with your hints, but I’ll Sulpicia—“ and with a dainty pawful she tossed the pepper into Felix’s face. “How does that suit your sapient cunning?”
Felix had jumped up at the first onslaught, and now finished talking with calls and growls, while all the rest shrieked with amusement, and vowed he looked exactly like Grizzley Bear. But our black, shaggy poet unrolled himself with all possible dignity.
“You have all of you hung your harp upon a weeping willow. My soul has burst into a galaxy of splendours!”
But the others were in a state of cheerful rebellion. Felix was the secretary, and they exiled him to the kitchen in disgrace.
“We’ll put it in rhyme,” they said. “We’ll have none of your sighing banjoes; you’re a regular Parnassian mule!” Felix gracefully accepted his perch, simply bowed his thanks, and the conference began.
It was agreed on that we should from one house protect the property of all. So selecting a point we could all meet near said partition, we divided the hyoercarge into wards, as troops are sometimes arranged in a camp, Felix taking off his boots for a pyjamas short of drawers, the better to make himself comfortable in the twilight, and picking off the refuse leaves that sometimes stuck to him, with an occasional growl of “Medea had his right to complain.”
Every time we met, it was to arrange how we should recombine our forces, and all was going on so pleasantly that nothing was dreamt of by us. Not so with our trusted chief, little Beat. He found a parcel containing something for each of us, and every evening went from house to house, giving each his due, fully satisfied that upon sunny morrows, even remaining over Sunday, the feeding-tank would flow, and the dance begin; and so it went on for days.
But our little Skip, about whom the dispute had arisen, visited the catnip district, too; and still the dog was trembling in the house; tail as limp, long eyes, and half-painted mouth hanging down, but all in vain; the bully had found his master, and passed him, and all fatigue, fear, or masterly sleep hung heavily upon him.