The Case of the Vampire Cat Read Free Page B

At last I’ve found a friendly face!”
    I backed up several steps to get away from . . . fellers, this was a weird cat! I’d been rubbed on by cats before, but nothing like this. I backed up to get away from her, but there she was again—rubbing, purring, and yowling about cheese.
    â€œKitty, I’m sorry you’ve been marooned and I guess you think you’ve found a friendly face after all these years, but . . . get back, will you? I think you’ve made a slight error. That is, I think you’ve mistaken my face for . . . WILL YOU STOP RUBBING ON ME!”
    â€œCheese, just one little piece of cheese. I dream of cheese, you know. And baloney. And Vienna sausage. And sir, you have such a friendly face, I just know you won’t turn me away.”
    I was baffled. I mean, what can you do with a cat that is half-starved, half-crazy, and trying to love you to death? You can’t just beat her up and go on about your business.
    I solved the problem by surrendering my spot. I ran around to the other side of the army truck and waited to see what Drover would do. When I left, Kitty didn’t miss a beat. She moved right in on Drover and started the same routine about cheese and a friendly face.
    Drover wasted no time with niceties or small talk. He didn’t know what was wrong with this cat but he knew something was screwy, and he wasn’t going to take any chances. You’d have thought he was facing a python or a boa constrictor or a ghost.
    Zoom! He vanished. Kitty had just lost another friendly face. Not one to be discouraged, she went straight to the Cammo-Stealth and jumped up on Slim’s lap. He was deep into his lesson on starting the truck.
    â€œOkay, you pull out the choker, let ’er sit for a minute, then . . .” He pitched the cat away. “Then you mash down on the starter . . .” The cat was back in his lap. “. . . with your foot, like this here.”
    He pitched the cat and pushed on the starter. It turned over with a growl. The cat jumped back on his lap. He pitched her again. The motor continued to turn. Then it fired once. The cat was back in his lap.
    Slim stopped what he was doing and looked down at her. She rubbed her ear across his chin and then flicked her tail over his nose.
    â€œKitty, I know you love me and I don’t blame you ’cause I’m so wonderful, but we’re fixing to have a problem. I can’t start this truck with your tail in my face. Now scram.”
    He pitched her out, and two seconds later, she was right back. “Button, will you get this love-crazed cat out of here? ’Cause if you don’t, I’ll be forced to break her heart and possibly her neck.”
    Little Alfred took charge of the cat problem, and right away I could see that he had just the right approach. Holding her in a loving headlock, he began dragging her around through the snow. And it worked. The cat just went limp, didn’t fight or scratch or struggle or make any kind of protest.
    Well, with the cat under control, Slim turned back to the problem of starting the truck, which sounded as though it didn’t want to start. He hit the starter again and the motor turned over and over, until at last it kicked off.
    I had the misfortune of standing near the exhaust pipe when the motor kicked off, and it may be years before I get all of that blue smoke out of my lungs. Boy, that was quite a . . . COUGH, HARK, ARG . . . quite a cloud of smoke, and I decided to move my business around to the front.
    Slim revved up the motor and adjusted the choke and told Alfred to get in—without the cat. Then they pulled around to the cake house and started loading sacks of feed.
    I followed and heaved a sigh of relief. At last we were rid of the . . .
    You’ll never guess who went streaking past me and headed straight for the cake house. I’ll give you a hint. She was calico-colored and weird.
    Yes, it was the cat.
    Perhaps you know