Catfantastic II

'A boon, O mighty King. I crave revenge for my poor, dead kitten.'

Humph, mused Greywhiskers, does she really want revenge or is this just a clever trick by her king to test my power and ability to rule? Is Blue-eyes II planning a territorial expansion, and are these really three clever spies? He must be certain that whatever report they took back to their king would bring honor to himself as king of Catasia! Long experience in intercat diplomacy had taught him to look beneath the surface of appearances to locate hidden meanings. He brought his right hind leg to the front, examined it critically, gave it a few licks of grooming, then permitted himself a soft purr of consolation.

'My heart goes out to a mother in her moment of sorrow,' the king replied in a manner completely devoid of emotion. 'And, now, feel free to give us the sad details. Then, if it so pleases us, we will pass judgment.'

'It was one of your territory's citizens,' interrupted one of the visiting bodyguard cats. 'A certain boxer dog named Flintface killed the Lady Fluffa's child, your majesty!'

The king's reply was a rumbling yowl of displeasure. This was followed by a moment of tense silence, broken by the large cat on the king's right who spoke tersely.

'The king was speaking to her, not you! Be advised that in this court you will speak only when spoken to, or when you ask permission. Since you are apparently untaught in court procedure, this infraction will be overlooked this time, but if it occurs again, it could get your tail cut off… right behind your ears!'

There was another impressive silence, then the offending cat bobbed his head and said, 'Permission to speak.' After receiving the king's nod, he continued, 'I wish to apologize for the interruption. No offense was intended.'

'Apology accepted. Flintface, you say? Harump! I seem to remember something very recent and unpleasant concerning that name. Refresh our memory, Lady Scribe.'

Of course he remembered every detail of the Flintface episode, but he would not miss a chance to demonstrate to these upstart strangers how excellent were the records this court kept.

A small striped female moved to the king's right, carefully licked an immaculate paw and intoned: 'One moon and three nights ago, it was brought to our noble lord's attention that the organ grinder's monkey, one Peppo by name, had been chased away from his place of honest employment by a member of the canine tribe, one Flintface by name. It was further noted that this canine was only living here by your majesty's tolerance. It was this court's judgment to give said canine one fair warning, to wit: such conduct would not be tolerated in your majesty's catdom. Said warning was given the following day by the king's own knights, Sir Strongheart and Sir Fairhowl. End of record.'

King Greywhiskers put on a show of feline fury aimed at impressing his foreign visitors. He succeeded admirably; never would they forget the picture of flattened ear anger that was frightful to behold. His voice became a sibilant hiss of rage, forgotten were his courtly manners.

'Sssso! That rebel thinks he can avoid my edict by going to a friendly neighborhood to commit his catacide, does he? He refuses to show remorse for his gangsterlike behavior, does he? Why, that obscenity on the face of this earth deserves to be cut up and used as fishbait! I swear by my royal kingship, that the only answer is his death! How votes the council?'

By this time the king had left his throne and was pacing back and forth in an angry crouch before the five royal advisors, his tail flicking back and forth in rage.

One by one the five cats on the fence nodded to their king, each giving a murderous yowl of assent and exposing the claws in the right forepaw like flashing sabers. The affirming vote was unanimous! Flintface was as good as dead!

The Royal Chamberlain, the cat who had corrected the visiting bodyguard's bad court manners, now placed himself between the Lady Fluffa and Greywhiskers' royal throne. He paused to impress his visitors with the seriousness of the moment, then gravely he spoke in measured tones.

'Be it noted by our visitors from the land of the Blue-eyes: King Greywhiskers the Fourth has heard and passed judgment on your request. We have condemned the gangster Flintface and will carry out his execution in such time as the Royal Executioner chooses.'

Then, feeling the puzzled response of the visitors to the courtly language his king insisted upon using on formal occasions, he lowered his voice until only the visitors could hear and added, 'Relax doll-face. You put the finger on the mutt, now the boys will be happy to bump him off!'

Resuming his courtly dignity, the Lord Chamberlain yowled, 'Will the Royal Executioner come forth and face his king?'

The circle of court cats moved aside to allow a wide lane for the king's chosen to enter. Even the visitors found themselves slinking backward to place as much distance as possible between themselves and that terrifying presence. Greywhiskers never batted an eyelash but thought gleefully to himself that he bet they did not have anything like that in their kingdom!

The approaching cat looked like death incarnate. He was a good six inches longer than the average adult Tom, and at least four pounds heavier. The tufts of hair on the tips of his ears showed that somewhere in his ancestors there had been a bobcat, which was further confirmed by his twitching stub of a tail. His coat suited his court position, for it was solid black from his nose to his tail. As he strutted slowly toward his king, massive muscles could be seen rippling under his glossy hide.

'Sir Ex,' as he was known to the court, was a Tom without the slightest twinge of mercy. It was hard to believe he was the same bedraggled kitten that their king had saved from a storm sewer at the risk of his own life, that had been two years ago, and 'Sir Ex' had rewarded his king with a devotion unparalleled in catdom.

'How can I serve my lord?' the big cat murmured with a voice like an idling diesel engine.

'You know what the boss wants,' responded the Chamberlain. 'How soon can we get some action against this glorified fleabag?'

'I should be ready to lower the boom on the mark by 5:45 Wednesday morning, on the execution field. Will this be soon enough to please my king, or would he prefer I cut him to ribbons tonight while he sleeps?'

'I prefer the formal execution. It will better impress other members of the canine tribe that might become troublesome.'

Two days, mused the king, his mind racing like a calculator. Two days will give sufficient time for the visitors to report back to their king, and then… he decided on a bold stroke of diplomacy.

He waved a regal paw to an elderly cat at the head of his loyal advisors. It was evident from the elder's arthritic walk and the white hairs on his muzzle, that this was one of the oldest dwellers in Catasia. After consulting with him in subdued tones, the king nodded to his hit man in satisfaction.

'The Royal Astrologer informs me the stars are right and the weather should be good on the day you have chosen. I trust your judgment in this matter, for you have never failed me.'

Then turning his attention to his visitors, he continued, 'Return to your king, most welcome visitors, and inform him that he is invited to send a detail to observe this execution, or if he should choose, to even come himself to observe our royal justice!'

We'll teach that upstart not to doubt our ability to cope with any situation! His entire contingent of bodyguards could not polish off a dog the size of Flintface! Wait until he sees Sir Ex in action, his whiskers will have a permanent curl!

Now if they had been human beings, the entire court would have gasped aloud at their king's audacity. Suppose Sir Ex failed to bring it off? But being well-mannered cats, they merely squinted their eyes and flicked the tips of their tails in anticipation of the great event.

The court broke up and the citizens went their various ways. Soon all Catasia would be buzzing with the king's daring invitation, but it was tacitly understood that no information would be leaked to anyone friendly with the intended victim; for cats know well the value of guarding secrets, and in all the animal world, no one can keep a secret better than they.

Sir Ex passed the word: he had an urgent message for the Sirs Fairhowl and Strongheart, they were to report to him at once. They knew better than to keep him waiting.

The message was simple; the 'mark' was to be placed under constant observation. It was urgent that he know Flintface's personal status by 5:30 Wednesday morning. In the meantime, Sir Ex had some work to do on the important matter of checking out the execution machine.

So saying, he moved over to his favorite 'scratching post,' a nearby telephone pole, and proceeded to peel off great splinters of wood while he exercised his powerful back muscles. Without a sound the other two knights