perhaps he should have, said no. Curling up in a hole underneath one of the empty houses, he fell asleep.
Several hours later, he awoke to the sound of rain. It was coming down in buckets. Backing away from the opening to a safer position, he avoided the rush of water, which flowed, past his hideaway. He took the downpour as a good sign. From personal experience, he knew that cats do not like rainstorms, and he could hear the cries of his feline brethren as they dashed about looking for the nearest shelter. He thought that the cloudburst would make finding the white cat easy. All he needed to do was go to the places where the cats were hiding, waiting for the rain to pass.
The storm eased up long enough for Caterwaul to venture out. It was still more than a drizzle, but it was no longer the torrent it had been. Up ahead, he thought he saw a place likely to be full of refugees.
It was an old abandoned building that looked like it had at one time been used for some sort of local industry. He could hear the many catcalls as he approached. It sounded as if some of the toms were fighting for the best vantage points. As he got closer, he could see there were a large number of cats inside. Some appeared terrified, but most of them seemed happy just to be out of the rain.
He quickly did an informal count. He figured there were at least twenty-five cats in this old abandoned facility. It shouldnât be too difficult to make friends, Caterwaul thought to himself. But where am I to find a solid-white cat? All of these have colors or some sort of markings on them.
It was true. He even noticed what he thought to be a completely hairless cat. Heâd never seen one of those before; one of the other cats called it a Sphynx. But it didnât look entirely real to him. He was sure it was some kind of prank. Caterwaul looked around for hours, but saw no pure-white cats at all.
Even here, where heâd hit upon the highest concentration of potential contestants, heâd struck out. There was not a single pure-white animal, female or otherwise, to be found. There was one that looked like it might be suitable, but on close inspection he saw that she had a black spot on her nose and another one on her left ear. Apart from that, though, she was quite charming.
When the storm subsided, the cats inside the building scattered. There were kitties to meet and places to be, after all. Caterwaul thought he would take the time to explore the large and now empty facility. It appeared to be a deserted blacksmithâs shop. He assumed this because there were many tools, such as hammers and anvils, lying about.
There was a forge for heating metal and devices that smiths used for shaping it. Most of the items looked to be in workable condition, and Caterwaul could not understand why all of this was just abandoned. What had happened here? he wondered.
Then it dawned on him. That chattering fool of a rat, Edsel. He had been a blacksmith, hadnât he? At least Caterwaul thought that was what he remembered the rodent having said. But then Edsel said a lot of things, most of which were untrue. However, this time it made sense. This had been his place. The word must have gotten out that the Witch had cursed the place and taken him away. So, the mouthy little pest was telling the truth after all.
As he examined Edselâs facility, Caterwaul heard what sounded like a heated argument. He crept toward the sound of the voices. There, just inside the fence of what must have once been a horse paddock, he spotted an obese, gray-and- white youngster that had a smaller kitten cornered against the gatepost.
âYou call that food?â the fat kitten squawked. He stood over what looked like a piece of the ravaged carcass of a pigeon or some other bird. Whatever it once was in life, it was now only yellowish bones long picked clean of its tasty bits. His fat face pressed close to the little fellowâs, and gobs of cat spit flew onto the
Several hours later, he awoke to the sound of rain. It was coming down in buckets. Backing away from the opening to a safer position, he avoided the rush of water, which flowed, past his hideaway. He took the downpour as a good sign. From personal experience, he knew that cats do not like rainstorms, and he could hear the cries of his feline brethren as they dashed about looking for the nearest shelter. He thought that the cloudburst would make finding the white cat easy. All he needed to do was go to the places where the cats were hiding, waiting for the rain to pass.
The storm eased up long enough for Caterwaul to venture out. It was still more than a drizzle, but it was no longer the torrent it had been. Up ahead, he thought he saw a place likely to be full of refugees.
It was an old abandoned building that looked like it had at one time been used for some sort of local industry. He could hear the many catcalls as he approached. It sounded as if some of the toms were fighting for the best vantage points. As he got closer, he could see there were a large number of cats inside. Some appeared terrified, but most of them seemed happy just to be out of the rain.
He quickly did an informal count. He figured there were at least twenty-five cats in this old abandoned facility. It shouldnât be too difficult to make friends, Caterwaul thought to himself. But where am I to find a solid-white cat? All of these have colors or some sort of markings on them.
It was true. He even noticed what he thought to be a completely hairless cat. Heâd never seen one of those before; one of the other cats called it a Sphynx. But it didnât look entirely real to him. He was sure it was some kind of prank. Caterwaul looked around for hours, but saw no pure-white cats at all.
Even here, where heâd hit upon the highest concentration of potential contestants, heâd struck out. There was not a single pure-white animal, female or otherwise, to be found. There was one that looked like it might be suitable, but on close inspection he saw that she had a black spot on her nose and another one on her left ear. Apart from that, though, she was quite charming.
When the storm subsided, the cats inside the building scattered. There were kitties to meet and places to be, after all. Caterwaul thought he would take the time to explore the large and now empty facility. It appeared to be a deserted blacksmithâs shop. He assumed this because there were many tools, such as hammers and anvils, lying about.
There was a forge for heating metal and devices that smiths used for shaping it. Most of the items looked to be in workable condition, and Caterwaul could not understand why all of this was just abandoned. What had happened here? he wondered.
Then it dawned on him. That chattering fool of a rat, Edsel. He had been a blacksmith, hadnât he? At least Caterwaul thought that was what he remembered the rodent having said. But then Edsel said a lot of things, most of which were untrue. However, this time it made sense. This had been his place. The word must have gotten out that the Witch had cursed the place and taken him away. So, the mouthy little pest was telling the truth after all.
As he examined Edselâs facility, Caterwaul heard what sounded like a heated argument. He crept toward the sound of the voices. There, just inside the fence of what must have once been a horse paddock, he spotted an obese, gray-and- white youngster that had a smaller kitten cornered against the gatepost.
âYou call that food?â the fat kitten squawked. He stood over what looked like a piece of the ravaged carcass of a pigeon or some other bird. Whatever it once was in life, it was now only yellowish bones long picked clean of its tasty bits. His fat face pressed close to the little fellowâs, and gobs of cat spit flew onto the
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