Guardian Cats and the Lost Books of Alexandria

Chapter 19: Dumpster Cats

It was the dead of night in the parking lot behind the Café Ole. The lot was empty. So empty, that for a while Marco wondered if he had the wrong place or the wrong time, but gradually a few strays straggled in.

“You’re not from around here, are you?" accused a wind-blown cat with bug eyes. Marco tried to hold his tongue.

"Speak up, stranger! Make yourself known,” the hostile cat retorted.

“Easy there,” said a sleek gray cat, just coming in.

“You causing trouble again, Skitzo?” asked a scraggly tom missing one eye.

“Everyone knows the rules. We have to be careful who we let in. And don’t call me Skitzo. It’s not my real name.”

“What is your real name, Skitzo?” asked the biggest cat Marco had ever seen.

Skitzo mumbled something no one could understand.

The big cat, a Maine Coon, turned to Marco. “Skitzo tells us his owner inserted a chip in his head.”

“Former owner, thank goodness. But it’s true! They’re using it to track me.”

“Why would they want to track you, Skitzo? You’re so mean.”

The aristocratic gray introduced himself to Marco more formally. “Excuse our bad manners. My name is Bait. It’s short for Baitengirth, but I rarely use my royal name.”

Marco had never met royalty and liked his polished manner. Better than the others, he thought.

“You got something to hide?” asked Skitzo, not wanting to drop his challenge. “Out with it.”

“Show some manners,” said Bait. “We should treat our guests more graciously. Now, how about a civilized introduction. You are…?”

“I’m Marco.”

“Marco,” muttered Skitzo. “Wasn’t he some kind of spy?”

“Boy, you should read more, Skitzo. Marco was a famous explorer, not a spy,” said the scruffy tomcat.

“Well, Marco, you know who Skitzo is,” continued Bait. ”This is Tweezer, that’s Pudge and over there is Gypsy with her kittens.”

A long-haired white Persian sauntered in. “Anyone seen my book? I stashed it here last meeting. Now I can’t find it anywhere.”

“You mean that stupid fashion magazine, Caffeina?" asked Tweezer. "That's not a book!"

“Well, it’s a lot better than your biker magazines.” The white cat swished her tail in Tweezer’s face and strolled off.

This is not what Marco expected. Was this some kind of joke Cicero was playing on him?

For all their grumbling, the arguments didn’t get physical. They scattered out and a few of them disappeared into a large dumpster to search for food scraps from the restaurant.

Marco investigated the surroundings. Metal trashcans and empty food boxes lined the back of the brick restaurant. He sniffed lettuce, rotten bananas and dead potted plants. It seemed a waste of time, and he decided to leave.

“Seize the day!” cried a familiar voice.

Marco jumped, along with the others.

Cicero had arrived unnoticed and taken his place on the wooden crate he used as a podium.

“Greetings, fellow Readers,” he announced, unable to hide the fact that he was enjoying the small bit of drama caused by his arrival.

But the drama was short-lived. Now they just seemed bored, licking French fry grease off their paws.