Disclaimer: Although unnamed in this story, the human characters belong to Bilson, DeMeo, and Pet Fly. I just lured them into my yard for an hour or two, and they'll go back once they've had their cookies and milk.
Spoilers: None at all.
Rating: PG-13, for two naughty words. No actual animals were injured or threatened in the climactic fight scene.
Author's Notes: While I've been writing fanfic off and on for many years, this is my first piece for "The Sentinel," so bear with me. The title is adapted from the book "Broadsides from the Other Orders," a study of the insect world.
Thanks to Andrea Brown, Warrior Princess of all things Beta, and wolfpup, who took in this stray writer.
For feedback, contact the author at: jassmoris@yahoo.com
Linda Stoops
The Hutcheson stakeout was into its ninety-fifth consecutive hour, and the midnight-to-six shift was running out of ideas to entertain itself.
"Okay, your turn," the watcher sitting on the blue-and-white flatbed's passenger side announced.
"I'm thinking," his companion replied, rolling his left shoulder to work out a stiff muscle. "Lessee... Historical Figures for $300."
"Uhm, okay." The first man, his right foot propped on the dashboard while the other lay sideways on the floor, tilted his head back and closed his eyes tight. Five seconds later, an idea surfaced with a low "Ha!" and a snap to attention of the head. "Best known for portraying a serial killer, this actor also played a cereal maker and two American presidents."
"That's a $300 question?"
"Too hard?" Even in street light, the sly glint in topaz blue eyes was hard to miss.
"Just wait till you get a Daily Double, Brainiac."
"Bring it on, man. C'mon, the clock's ticking."
"Yeah, yeah, give me a second."
After twenty, the querent suggested, "You've seen at least one movie of his."
"I thought we said, 'no hints.'"
The smaller man shrugged. "What hint? You've seen a lot of movies. He could've been in any of them."
"Okay. Hrrmmmmph. Oh, wait, Anthony -- who is Anthony Hopkins?"
"Bing! Anthony Hopkins is correct. I'll take--" Assuming the role of contestant now, he handed the clipboard with the categories and their scores to his 'co-host.' "Crossword Clues, 'B', for $500."
The effort to formulate a truly mind-taxing question was derailed by movement near the dumpster behind Scolaro's Cafeteria. A popular place for those on fixed incomes, its trash receptacle was also much-visited after hours by those with no income. The late-night patrons made covert surveillance on this particular case a challenge no one liked to deal with.
Both men went on yellow alert for about four seconds, then relaxed when two, then three more, feral cats padded out of the shadows and leaped into the dumpster through one open side door. A bag was clawed into, and the first wave made off with their booty, leaving room for the next in the hierarchy to feed.
Except for one.
A huge calico, fur patched with scars and one ear missing its tip, sat on the back steps of the restaurant. It had taken position when the original handful appeared, but it didn't join them. Instead, it trotted toward the door, bounded halfway up, then turned and settled in the middle of the riser. Tail curled tightly around the haunches, it pivoted its head in a somewhat regular pattern, as if the animal were on guard duty.
The man on the passenger's side pulled a pair of wire-framed glasses from a coat pocket and slipped them on quickly, while his partner rolled down the driver's side window a full handle turn and narrowed his gaze in concentration. "I didn't know cats did this kind of cooperative behavior. Not a specific sentry, anyway. Think it's a tom?"
"That size, looks like he's gone several rounds with Mike Tyson in a bar fight? Oh, yeah. If not, she's probably killed and eaten her mate."
"Only insects do that. You don't suppose...?"
"You need a vacation from that paper, Darwin. You're seeing Sentinels in alley cats, now."
"Hey, I'm not saying we're looking at an example of heightened senses being utilized in the animal kingdom. I mean, that's natural for them. More heightened than ours, anyway. But there are lots of social behaviors in the lower orders that we see reflected in humans all the time. So why not a tribal watch cat?" He grinned at the title.
The taller man rolled his pale blue eyes and flashed a smile of his own. "So, you think he's got a cat watching his back, too?"
"Well, that might be stretching things a bit far. I could probably check with somebody at the zoo, the vet hospital or the Wildlife Research Institute, see if..."
"Shh!" The driver held up a hand for silence, his eyes narrowing intently.
"Hutcheson?" The question was a whisper.
The answer came as an abrupt headshake, coupled with a gesture toward the feeding troop and a low "They're hiding. He growled; they scattered. Uh-oh."
Seconds after the dispersal, a trio of street dogs galloped into view. The calico ran to meet them and planted himself between them and his escaping kin, crouched into battle stance and snarling. One dog lunged, and got its nose clawed.
"Oh, man, they're gonna tear him apart!" A hand grasped the passenger door handle, ready to open.
A long arm reached out and stopped the motion. "We can't risk blowing the stakeout. He's gotta be covering their retreat. He'll pull out when they're away."
But the cat held his ground too long, and one of the invaders got behind him. He wheeled, ducking under the rear assault and biting his attacker's leg before bounding into a new location. The larger of the other two pounced, almost running him down, yet he managed to wriggle free. His third position, unfortunately, wasn't a good choice: the three could now maneuver him, forcing him back against a chain link fence.
"Cornered, damn it!" The speaker's hand raked through short, straight hair, the debate between maintaining a low profile and aiding a fellow guardian, human or not, all too evident in his eyes. The decision took less than two breaths to make. "Okay, you'll have to do this. Slip out and just cross the street toward -- what the...?"
Halfway into his instructions, he caught sight of a dark cannonball with a tail hurtling into the face of the biggest dog. It screamed like a small cougar and dug its back feet under the victim's jaw while the front talons raked the length of the muzzle. The dog howled and tossed its head, trying to either shake the mad creature off or get some kind of grip on it.
The calico took advantage of the confusion and leaped over the head of the dog whose leg he had bitten. He buried his claws in his opponent's back, spun in place and grabbed an ear, shredding it. As the wounded animal twisted around to bite its tormentor, the tom sprang away to land on the rear flank of the third dog, who happened to be the first one he'd torn into. That dog nipped at him, butting heads with the second dog. Both were now too enraged to recognize friend from foe, and they turned on each other in a brief exchange of growls and snaps.
Their human audience watched in frozen amazement. When the cats seemed to disappear under the mass of writhing, yelping canines, the man who had wanted to intervene first began to pull the latch again, his attention flipping from the struggle to the building they were assigned to watch. Since his longer hair and more casual clothing would not have pegged him as an outsider to the neighborhood, it made sense that he could have broken up the fight without attracting the wrong attention.
With a soft clunk, the truck door opened, and he shifted a little to slide out while his partner sank from view, a useful ploy in case one of them was seen leaving the vehicle.
New activity from the parking lot stopped them at once. The tom, then his companion, had appeared on the dumpster lid and observed the chaos below. The calico was still puffed-up, tail thrashing wildly, ears canted sideways, while the other cat, now identifiable as a smaller gray, was a little less agitated.
"I was told cats could teleport," the intended rescuer murmured, scooting back inside, "but I thought they were kidding."
"They just move fast." The bigger man chuckled. "He's still growling. Huh, now they've figured out the cats're gone." They watched the injured dogs cast about without success for their prey, then seize and devour whatever abandoned garbage they could reach. Hunger satisfied, they trotted away.
"So, you think the others will come back now?"
"Dunno. They might be blocks from here already." Gaze still on the pair across the street, the driver laughed in quick surprise. "As I was saying earlier?"
"What?"
"Any of their behavior look familiar to you?"
The passenger squinted for a second at the dumpster. A sort of recognition made his eyes go very wide, and he breathed, "Holy shit!"
The gray cat had sidled up to the calico, purring and chirping, and gently nosed the bigger animal's right shoulder and ear. The grumbling had subsided by then, and the angry tail-flipping was slowing. One ear, then the other, returned to an upright position.
"That's gotta be his mate, then, right?" The casually-dressed observer seemed both rattled and excited by what they were witnessing.
"Not from where I'm sitting." He let the silence drag on, seeming to wait for a comment from the opposite side of the truck, before adding, "Think that's worth a chapter in your dissertation, Chief?"
"I... need to do some research."
"Thought you might. Now, what was your category, again? 'Crossword Clues'?"
END