Historia, Part XI

The largest cat, a light-brown-dark-brown furred feline, stood on the hitch of a wagon, looking out over the other seventeen cats, “The Council is called to order. I am Slagthor the Great, hereby starting the meeting.”

Henry pushed open the barn door, “Mittens. Come here, Mittens.”

The cat on the hitch winced (not nearly as funny as a sighing mouse) and jumped down from the hitch, “I’ve told you, Mittens is my human name.”

Henry picked up the cat and stroked his back, unleashing a rather fierce purr, “Yeah, I know. But I called you Mittens before you talked, and I’ll call you Mittens till the day one of us dies.”

Mittens finally noticed Schrodinger sitting on Clifford’s shoulder, “You brought us a mouse, eh?”

Clifford spoke, “Actually, he’s with me, and no, you can’t have him.”

The cat glared at him, “I think you’ll find that we cats get what we want.”

Clifford shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

Mittens purred, “Okay, fine. He’s with you. Hear that, cats, no touching the mouse, no matter how delicious he looks.”

Henry motioned Clifford back to the barn door, sitting down Mittens, “They like to have ‘council’ meetings in here. I let ‘em, figure it can’t hurt.”

As they closed the door Schrodinger spoke up, “Actually, cats are rather devious. You might want to watch over them.”

Henry took up his cane and they started walking back to the house, “I’ll remember that, little mouse.”

They made their way back to the farm house just as Margaret was walking onto the porch to call them to dinner. The table spread was fantastic, by far the best food Clifford had seen since leaving Nostalgia, and probably better than most he’d had living in Nostalgia. Ham and Turkey, buttered rolls, carrots, peas, corn, and chocolate cake for dessert. After eating Clifford and Henry went back out onto the porch.

Clifford picked up his guitar and began playing “Old Man River” and singing “Yellow Submarine.” Henry was notably impressed.

As Clifford went to put his guitar down a gunshot rang out over the farmstead. Both men looked up immediately in the direction of the King’s Valley. Moments after hearing the first shot, a second shot rang out. Mere seconds after that Brigadier General Israel Putnam came running out of the forest and down the hill, followed shortly by his men.

“Hide! The King’s Valley charged us and we couldn’t hold them back! Hide!” Putnam yelled.

Henry was already up and moving toward the door. He walked past it, suddenly not needing his cane, but moving rather sprightly. Clifford remained seated, in awe of Henry’s change. Henry reached back, grabbed his cane, and then tapped it three times on the loose board on the porch, right at the base of the wall.

The wall parted, revealing a stash of guns and ammunition, “I’ve been waitin’ on this day,” he said, turning and tossing a gun to Clifford. “Margaret! Get out here! War’s a-coming!”

Margaret rushed onto the porch, tying a strip of cloth around her head to keep her hair back. Clifford looked at his gun, unsure of how to use it.

“Just point and pull that little trigger, the gun’ll do the rest.” Margaret said, tipping over one of the small tables that lined the porch and kneeling behind it, “Oh, and find some cover. You’ll need it.”

Clifford dove to the porch, and as he did an arrow pierced the wall where he was sitting. He tipped over his own table and leaned around, looking for the enemy. It luckily wasn’t dark enough yet to conceal the barbarians of the King’s Valley.

He heard gunfire erupt from the far end of the porch, and looking down, he saw Henry crouched behind a tipped table and blasting away at the oncoming enemy.

Israel Putnam reached the porch and began directing his men to take up positions around the farm, all guns pointed back toward the enemy. The men did as directed, and the hill west of the farmstead became a killing field.

Schrodinger reappeared on Clifford’s shoulder, “We shouldn’t be here.”

Clifford snorted, “You think I don’t realize that?”

“No,” the mouse said emphatically, “We really need to go. Bad things are about to happen here. I feel sorry for the cats.”

At the precise moment the barn door burst open and all eighteen cats charged out, Mittens, or as he called himself, Slagthor the Great, at their head, “Go, Cats! For the glory of Kittendom, our time has come.”

Clifford was mesmerized as the kitten brigade crashed into the oncoming enemy. Some cats were cut down almost immediately. Another arrow hit the table behind which Clifford knelt. He raised the gun and popped off three quick shots.

From what he could tell, Putnam’s men were holding back the charge, rather amiably. He moved as quickly as possible toward Henry, “What do we do?”

Henry pointed to the door, “Go inside, upstairs, and use one of the doghouses as cover. Try and take out as many as you can. They’ve never charged like this.”

Clifford did as he was told. He pushed open the upstairs window and looked out as the battlefield. Putnam was pinned down behind a water-trough, his men scattered across the field. The cats were down from eighteen to just five, Slagthor still leading them, directing them.

Schrodinger sniffled, “I feel sorry for them. This isn’t their war, and yet they’re dying.”

Clifford raised his gun, “I’m trying to keep us from dying.”

Schrodinger jumped down onto the windowsill, “I’m only going to say this once, Clifford. Don’t think about the enemy. Think about anything else, but not them.”

Clifford was so puzzled by Schrodinger that when he looked up it took him a moment to realize that the enemy was gone, as was Israel Putnam, “What happened?”

Schrodinger shrugged, “You’ve a gift, Clifford Jenkins. You never saw the enemy in the King’s Valley, and now, the moment your mind is taken off of them, they disappear. Interesting, eh?”

Clifford slumped down against the wall, “But what about the dead cats, the dead men? Are they still dead?”

Schodinger looked out the window, “From the looks of it, when you stopped thinking about them, everything went back to where it was before they charged, probably even before we got here. Meaning that Margaret and Henry don’t know we’re in their house.”

Clifford stood up and walked to the door, “So how do we get out?”

Schrodinger was ignoring him, “This could be a problem, you know? This gift you have.”

Clifford pointed to the closed door behind him, “Do you hear that? Footsteps. Someone’s coming.”

The mouse leapt out the window, “C’mon!”

Clifford followed him, diving out the window and stepping quickly around the doghouse to hide from view. Henry’s head appeared out the window, “Anyone there?”

When Clifford didn’t answer, Henry closed the window and walked out. Schrodinger climbed back onto Clifford’s shoulder, “There’s a haystack over that way,” he said, point to the south end of the house. “You’re stuff should still be on the porch. We can grab it and run. Oh, and you still have the gun. Good thing. We might need it.”