Grand Champion, Page 2

not sensible about it. They should give his twoleg a needle and put her out of her misery.”

  “That's what Percy says, but I can tell he'd be reluctant to have it done. He's going to miss her. She’s been a far better servant than his first one.”

  “What happened there?”

  “Well, it was sad, really,” Sy mused. “Percy named her Sniffles because she had an allergy to his fur and he tried to cure her by rubbing around her ankles and under her chin every chance he had, so as to get her acclimated. Didn’t work, though.”

  “Too bad. Will he have any problem finding another servant?” Abby asked.

  “Apparently not. His twoleg has three daughters and they’re fighting over which one will get to look after him. He's just sitting back, watching and waiting. He'll pick the one he wants when the time comes.”

  “The one who needs the least training, I suspect.”

  “According to Percy,” Sy said, “there's not much to choose between them. They all talk too much and seem addicted to noise. I'm surprised that more twolegs don't die of heart attacks; most of them simply have no idea how to relax.”

  When Sy and Abby reached the judging platform, Miz Maine Coon, chief judge for the Competition, paced back and forth as she waited for the finalists to be brought from their cages.

  “Sy Meeze,” she called, “hurry them up, will you?”

  Sy trotted off to the last line of cages again, his willowy tail switching rapidly back and forth, ears laid back in annoyance. It wasn't as though the twolegs’ owners were participating in their first show. Sometimes owners needed as much training as their pets.

  Before he reached his destination, however, half a dozen twolegs and their owners came down the aisle. The owners, tails upright in a suitably dignified manner, led the twolegs by decorative chains fastened to their ankles. With some confusion, the twolegs were persuaded to sit down in the row of contestants' chairs behind the judging platform to await Miz Maine's call.

  “Oh, look,” Abby whispered, “Pookie and Precious are talking to each other.”

  “Drat! I'll have to stop that before things get out of hand.” Sy trotted over to the contestants' chairs. He stood up, put his front paws on Precious's knees and spoke sharply to her. She leaned forward and began stroking him.

  Abby admired Sy's technique for a moment. If she put out a little effort, she might get a date with the handsome, sinuous, blue-eyed hunk. She trotted over to Pookie and provided a similar distraction for him, hoping Sy would notice not only her efficiency, but her own sleek, copper-colored, well-muscled shape.

  “These creatures might be good about opening cans of food, but they are incredibly stupid about following other commands,” Sy growled to Abby. “Sometimes I wonder why we bother.”

  “I do, too,” Abby said. “They drive you nuts and take endless hours to train. They hog the bed, the couch and the fridge and leave their trinkets everywhere. But, as you say, they do pretty well at providing food. And mine likes to play, so I can forgive her the other sins. Most of the time.”

  Excitement in the hall was mounting. Members of the audience jockeyed for position, pressing close to the stage. A few kittens clung to their mothers' backs in order to get a good view.

  Miz Maine strode to the front of the stage. “Before I begin, I'd like to remind you of the criterion I use for judging grand champions: obedience. This is the most important attribute to cultivate in twolegs and the most difficult. They see themselves, sad to say, as something special, something more than the animal heritage they share with the rest of us. They tend to think they own us, not to mention the rest of the world and everything in it. Many of them even regard us as mindless because we don't communicate the same way they do.”

  A few angry hisses erupted from the audience.

  Miz Maine held her paw up for silence. “Yes, it makes me furious, too, but losing our tempers won’t make these creatures realize that they are no more important than the fleas some of you entertain. We need to use more subtle approaches.”

  “Isn't being a good provider more important than obedience? I depend on my human to open cans,” said a young cat in the front row of the audience.

  “Apparently your mother did not teach you the value of independence,” Miz Maine said, glaring at the young tabby tom. “Freedom to come and go as we please is part of our Bill of Rights. Once you are outside, you are capable of obtaining your own food.”

  Someone in the audience said, “But…”

  “Oh, I know.” Miz Maine flicked her tail. “Hunting our own food is hard work. And dangerous. Many of us live longer because we share our lives with twolegs and eat the food they provide. I'm not denying that owning a twoleg provides advantages. What I do say is that we must retain our emotional independence.”

  A pure black Himalayan in the back said, “Oh, honey, you got that right! Don't ever forget we are laying high honor on twolegs by letting them wait on us.”

  “You are absolutely right, too,” Miz Maine responded. “I'd like to remind all of you that our Bill of Rights also entitles us to sleep and eat whenever and wherever we choose, without restriction.”

  “Don't forget the dog clause,” a strident voice called from the back of the hall.

  “Of course not,” said Miz Maine. “We can control dogs if we need to, of course, but some of us have better things to do with our time. If you like dogs, fine, but my approach is that the hand which pats a dog will never pat me.”

  Miz Maine paused to lap at her water. “These six humans on the stage behind me have come top in the other trials. The most interesting one, as you all know, is the maze. Strength and agility are essential in humans. They must be able to fetch food and prepare it, give massages on demand, pull strings, throw balls and retrieve catnip mice from under couches or beds.”

  “And open doors,” said someone in the audience.

  A cheer went up and several kittens, too excited to sit still, began chasing each other up and down the aisles. Miz Maine frowned at the distraction, brushed her whiskers and said, “We'll proceed with the judging now.”

  For each candidate, she listed breed and proven attributes, then brought the contestant on stage to do one final test for obedience. Each request was different, to make sure the twolegs still waiting couldn't copy the actions of the one that had gone before.

  The final two candidates were Pookie and Precious. Miz Maine asked Precious to kneel and stroke her gently. Sy and Abby watched, tail tips twitching, as Precious immediately did as she was told.

  “That's wonderful,” Abby whispered. “I'll bet Pookie can't match that.”

  He finally picked up Miz Maine in the approved fashion, but it seemed to take him an inordinate amount of time to figure out that's what she wanted.

  “He blew it because he kept looking at Precious,” said Sy. “No doubt about him being in heat. I just hope Allie can keep him under control until this is all over.”

  With the Blue Ribbon candidates back in their chairs, Miz Maine walked to the front of the stage. “It gives me great pleasure to announce this year's Grand Champion. Please applaud entry number 267! Devon, come up on stage so I can present you with the Blue Ribbon for Precious.”

  Purrs, yowls and stamping paws greeted the announcement. Allie Catt looked as if she'd like to spit and two of the other owners actually slumped to the floor and put their heads on their paws rather than standing proudly beside their pets. Gradually the furor died down and the owners began to lead their charges back to the cages. As the audience padded away, one twoleg remained sitting on the stage.

  Miz Maine, looking annoyed, checked the twoleg's tag and called, “Twoleg number 317 needs a ride home!”

  A ginger tabby came racing out of the back. “Sorry! Got so busy comparing notes I forgot all about her.” She turned to the twolegs. “Come on, Sweetums, time to go home.”

  As she coaxed her servant to its feet, an anguished cry sounded from the back.

  “Twoleg loose!”

  Sy
and Abby, who had been sprawled side by side, discussing the possibility of a stroll along the river at midnight, after the servants were in bed, both jumped to their feet. “That sounds like Allie,” Abby gasped.

  They raced into the back. Allie Catt was pacing beside Pookie's empty cage, wailing, “He's gone! What am I going to do?”

  Sy looked around, then said, “Allie, you idiot, he's not loose. He's in Precious's cage, talking to her.”

  The ragdoll stopped yowling and peered into Precious's cage, where both twolegs were huddled in the dark at the back, holding hands. “Pookie! Get back here at once,” she cried.

  Pookie turned his face toward Precious, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge Allie.

  Sy went over to the ragdoll. “Allie, don't sweat it. If you try to force him, he'll just get more obstinate.”

  “See, they're making a date,” said Abby. “They're exchanging those little white pieces of paper that have phone numbers on them.”

  “But what if they decide to live together?” wailed Allie. “He'll pay more attention to her than me and it's not fair; I've spent years of hard work training him.”

  “It might not be so bad,” said Sy, twitching his ear at Abby. “If Pookie and Precious move in together, you'll have Devon Rexford as a companion.”

  “Devon Rexford!” Allie's ears perked and her tail stood straight up, except for the slight bend at the tip. “I hadn't thought about sharing a home with that handsome swashbuckler.” She looked at her twoleg