RingWorm, Sylvia and I hastened headlong across the yard to where hordes of heathen mice were dragging a bedraggled Gordo, who was one sorry-looking cat. They were joined by even more mice exiting from my house.
“Hurry!” yelled Sylvia. “The mice have seen through Gordo’s disguise and they’re going to lynch him and steal all our gold.”
A couple of packrats, carrying a hank of rope I recognized as once being mine, joined the lynching party. They were followed by a large mouse flopping along on his sticky trap.
“Stop, stop!” I yelled at the mice who totally ignored me as more and more of them raced to attack Gordo, whose mouse disguise was now in tatters.
“What’ll we do?” I shouted at Sylvia who seemed intent only on the battered chest containing what she thought was gold. Like Gordo, it was considerably worse for the wear from its fall from the broken wagon.
“The gold’s in that chest,” Sylvia cried. “You distract the mice and I’ll grab the chest and hide it.”
“How am I supposed to distract them?” I questioned in protest.
Sylvia looked blank until RingWorm caught up with us and whispered in her ear.
“Get the DeCon,” Sylvia relayed. “The mice love it. They’ve been eating it like candy all month. Just spread it around.”
Thinking I must be more than crazy to be following the directions of an ancient cat relayed to an over-eager dog, I ran into the house and gathered all the DeCon from my bedroom where it lined the floor along the walls. I threw it into a plastic bag and raced back outside, scattering DeCon over the yard like Johnny Appleseed.
A mighty cry arose from the mice who were now numbering in the hundreds. They rushed to the DeCon, dropping Gordo in a sorry heap. Tangled in the remnants of his mouse suit, he was unable to rise.
The two packrats were engaged in rigging a noose on a ponderosa tree and paid no attention to the DeCon party or the dropped prisoner.
“Now’s your chance,” said Sylvia. “You grab Gordo while I get the chest of gold.”
“There’s one thing wrong with that plan,” I said. “Gordo never lets me pick him up. He’ll allow me to feed him alright and once in a while to pat him on the head. But pick him up – never.”
RingWorm meowed something which must have been in agreement for Sylvia said, “I’ll get Gordo then and you pick up the chest. Mind you’re careful with it and don’t under any circumstances peek inside. Synchronize your watch and –“
“What am I supposed to synchronize it with since you and RingWorm don’t have watches?”
“Don’t bother me with details. We’re in crisis mode now. On my count of three head for your objective. Once you’ve accomplished your mission, run for the house. When we’re all inside, barricade the doors.”
RingWorm began meowing frantically.
“What’s she saying?” I asked while making sure my shoelaces were tied.
Sylvia hissed, “She says she and Gordo aren’t allowed in the house because you’re allergic to cats.”
“I’ll make an exception this time and endure watery eyes. We’d better hurry. The mice have scarfed up most of the DeCon.”
“One, two, three. Forward ho-o-o-o,” cried Sylvia in her best John Wayne manner.
She was much faster than me and before I reached the small chest she was racing toward the house with the nape of Gordo’s neck clenched in her teeth, looking less like John Wayne and more like a mama cat.
The packrats were scrambling down the tree by the time I snatched the chest from the demolished wagon and took off for the house.
That caused the dirty rats and mice to set off a mighty hue and cry. I am proud to say that I ran the way I used to 40 years ago and outdistanced the pursuers. However I ruined the entire effect by tripping on the porch steps sending the chest scooting through the front door which RingWorm was holding open.
As I picked myself up to the sound of Gordo’s frightened wails I could see what appeared to be gold coins tumbling out of the now completely smashed chest.
… To be continued and possibly concluded next week
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