Scarborough Fair and Other Stories by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough Page B

back at her, “
Traitor
,” he spat, and then tried to look wounded. “She must be delirious. Doesn’t seem to know me,” he said to the others.
    It was Mustard’s good luck that Tony and Jeannette were who they were.
They
didn’t think he was white and recognized him too. Furthermore, they seemed to understand him. While Tony was examining Drew’s scratches right there in the driveway, Jeannette called Susan and Diane over to look at his shirt. The pocket was ripped and a small bag of the tainted catnip sprinkled its contents down to mingle with the still-wet blood.
    â€œJust what is this?” Jeannette demanded.
    â€œA treat for the cats,” Drew said. “OUCH,” as Tony washed out a scratch.
    â€œIt smells funny. You don’t mind if I analyze it, do you?”
    â€œIt’s a special kind and it cost me a lot. But hey, nothing’s too good for my kitties, huh?”
    â€œIs that why Moonshadow is afraid of you?” Jeannette said. “Because you gave her this?”
    â€œAfraid of me? Why should she be afraid of me? When
Diane
wouldn’t let Moonie in the house because Rasta gave her too much shit,
I
took her in. But when Diane threw me out, did Moonie so much as catch me a mouse to get by on? Hell no! And Susan—she wouldn’t even hold my hand but she treated those cats of hers like royalty and wanted me to do it too! She wouldn’t even pay for me to go to a movie with her but she spent thirty bucks every two weeks on food for
them
.” His eyes, which had always seemed blue, were now blazing green with jealousy. Yep, no doubt about it. The guy was one jealous dude—even of the cats. And if Mustard was right, he had
been
a cat himself. But then, cats were jealous of other cats. Mustard himself, for instance. He began licking his right front paw in embarrassment while the questioning continued. It didn’t take long to wring a defiant confession from Drew.
    As he had already said when he let the cat out of the bag, he had poisoned Mustard, Blackie and Moonshadow because he was angry with Diane for throwing him out and with Susan for breaking up with him—which Mustard actually hadn’t realized happened. Human mating habits weren’t of particular interest to him, after all.
    Mustard told all of this to Mu Mao and the others later, as they kept vigil over the still body of Boston Blackie.
    â€œBut why did he hurt the cats he had taken such care to befriend?” Paka asked.
    â€œWell, I guess he had a long record as a con man who got nasty when his victims turned. He was nice to us because that was a good way to get him close to single, cat loving independent ladies like Diane and Susan. He tried to go back on what he said about trying to punish them for rejecting him and said he was just trying to upset them so they’d turn to him in a crisis because they thought he was sympathetic to their love for us.”
    â€œAnd with your Susan, it almost worked,” Mu Mao said.
    â€œShe’s sweet, but not always real bright,” Mustard admitted. “But at least the neighborhood should be safe from that particular danger now.”
    â€œYou’ve done good work, my brother,” Mu Mao said and Mustard noticed that he said “brother” instead of “son.” “Will you be returning home to Susan again, even if she thinks of you as a white cat?”
    â€œI’ve thought about it,” he said. “But I’d like to know a little more about this place and there’s a shelter full of kittens who’ve never had a good home. Susan will fall in love with some, the kitten will play with them and the old girl will have her usual tantrum. But she’ll be okay.”
    â€œIt isn’t just that Susan didn’t know you and it hurt your feelings is it?” Paka asked.
    â€œNo, no,” he said, though perhaps that was part of it. “I was never her top cat. I think