Scarborough Fair and Other Stories by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough Page A

or even water. And don’t take any catnip from him.”
    â€œIck,” the kitten said. “That nasty stuff. I am not one of the youth with a drug problem, Uncle Mustard. I think that stuff sucks.”
    â€œJust keep thinking that way,” he said, noticing she was already falling into the teenaged vernacular.
    He was about to run back down the road to check on Moonshadow when Susan drove up. She got out of the car on one side. Drew emerged from the other. “Thanks for coming to get me, Susan. With Diane’s car broken down again, and me taking that job out of town, I had no way to get here. But it will be good to see the kitties again. I’m sure going to miss Blackie and Mus—“ he stared straight at Mustard, who walked calmly over and sat down in front of him and stared straight up at him.
    â€œReturned to the scene of your crime, eh, murderer?” he asked, but Drew didn’t understand that much. He did, however, recognize Mustard for who he was. Which was unfortunately more than Susan did.
    â€œWhat’s wrong? Oh, look at the pretty white cat. Hello, honey. You better be careful around here.”
    White
cat? Was she nuts? He looked down at his own orange stripes and back up to her. Well, Mu Mao had said this was a second life and he wouldn’t seem the same to Susan. But
white
? So impractical.
    He returned his attention to his murderer, who certainly looked guilty enough. Mustard was certain that somehow Drew saw his victim for who he really was. There had always been something uncannily catlike about the big man—leonine, really. It was what the cats liked about him. Had he been a cat in his last life like Tony and Jeannette? But he was no bodhisattva, even though at one time Mustard would have said so. Drew was wonderful with animals, he had often heard Diane and Susan say. But Diane had thrown him out. And Mustard doubted it was for peeing on the rug. She must have found out something about him to make her run him off and hadn’t told Susan yet. No wonder, really. Right after Susan met Drew, she and Diane had had a fight, though they’d been the best of friends for years. But why would he poison the cats? His friends? Because now Mustard was sure it was Drew who did him in. You could still smell the tainted catnip on him. Probably had a bag in his pocket to feed the old girl and kitten.
    Well, no way was that man going near them! Or any other cat, or Susan, not if Mustard had his way. He did the only thing within his power and sprang for Drew’s throat, biting and clawing his way up as he went while Drew swore and tried to tear him off.
    â€œThe damned thing’s rabid!” Drew screamed to Susan, who tried to pull Mustard away from his murderer. “Kill it!”
    â€œNo! I have it, see?” she said, pulling Mustard spitting from his victim. “But you need a doctor.”
    â€œNo, I—“
    â€œDon’t be silly. I saw Tony’s van up at Diane’s. He can look at those scratches and test the cat for rabies. Just let me pop him into the carrier in the trunk. I still have it—“ her voice broke and she looked very haggard. “From taking Blackie in, you know.”
    Of course, Mustard, white or not, was gentle with Susan and only hissed over his shoulder at Drew, who surprised him by sticking his tongue out at him and making a neck-breaking gesture with his big hands just before Susan tucked Mustard into the carrier.
    They drove down the street in a split second, just as Tony was leaving. Moonshadow, bundled into Jeannette’s arms, mewed plaintively and Drew pretended to make over her. “Don’t let him near you, Moon!” Mustard cried. “He tried to kill you!”
    As Drew stuck out his hand to stroke Moonshadow, she crouched back against Jeannette, laid her ears back, hissed, spat, and tried to rip his hand open, despite her illness.
    Drew pulled his hand back just in time, then hissed