Page 3 of Cats Never Fly

Eachtime the tube man collapsed down, it reached right for me before the air filled it and it went shooting up again.Justthinking about it made my fur puff up more.Thething was freaky.Iswore it spied on me asIdid my rounds every night.

Now, you might think working security at the motel was a bad career choice for a scaredy cat like me, but no one ever did anything inWillowLake, especially not to a place that a minotaur owned.Thejob was boring, like me.Justthe wayIliked it.

Inever expected to come across a robbery like this before.

Withoutanother word, the trio of bandits hopped into their old truck.Theengine started with a cough and a sputter, then the truck peeled out of sight, leaving behind a cloud of dust that settled quickly in the still night.

Myclaws dug into the tree branchIwas clinging to.Iitched to jump down and go for my treasure, but were they really gone?Ididn’t see another truck, soIfigured it was a pretty safe bet that no one else would pop up out of nowhere, but what if those wolves realized they’d dropped something?Whatif they came back to get more stuff from the inn tonight?

No.Itwas too risky to act too quickly.

Mymama always told me the best way to live was to treat each of my lives like it was precious. “Youmight have nine, but that doesn’t mean you should squander them.”

Ididn’t know how many times she’d told my brothers and me that when we were growing up.Itwas usually after one of them did something stupid, like whenClivejumped off the roof of the house, convinced he could leap farther than a flying squirrel could fly.

Yeah, that brother wasn’t the smartest kitten in the litter.

Catswere not meant to fly.

Mamasaid he might have been okay if he’d stayed inhis cat form the whole time, but for some crazy reason he shifted into his human form when he realized he wouldn’t make it.Buteven after breaking both his legs and losing one of his nine, he hadn’t learned his lesson about what cats should or shouldn’t do.Iwas pretty sure he was down to about five lives now, althoughMamathought he still had seven.

I’dfound the whole thing educational, though.I’dwritten an essay about cats and their ability to survive falls for one of my biology classes in high school and everything.

IfIwas ever in that situation,Iwouldn’t make the same mistake asClive.Ofcourse,Inever ever planned to be in that situation, so there was that.Iwas the only one of my brothers who still had all nine.Andyep, you guessed it.I’dbeen called a scaredy cat my whole entire life.

Itwas fine.Really.Therewere worse things.

AndIwasn’t about to rush over to that shiny bit of temptation and risk losing one of my nine now.

Iwas patient.Icould wait.

Aspinks and oranges streaked across the eastern sky hours later,Icautiously descended from the tree branchI’dperched on for most of the night.Mycat form was small, soIwas pretty agile, even ifIwas a little on the chunky side.Assoon as my paws hit dirt,Ipaused again and listened.Nothing.Iinhaled and found no fresh scents in the air.

Islunk toward the treasure, my furry belly close to the ground.

Myears swiveled with each sound.Mymuscles coiled,ready to sprint ifIneeded to make a quick getaway.Mysteps were silent.

AsIneared the place where the wolves had been, the scent of wet wolves grew stronger.Disgusting.Mynose twitched and threatened to sneeze.Howwas that smell possible when it hadn’t rained in at least a week?

Iinched forward.

There, glinting under the new day’s warm rays of sunlight, was a shiny lump on the dusty ground.Ipadded a little closer.Itlooked like a whistle made of some kind of gold-like metal.Ornatecurls and swirls, which reminded me a little of both fire and waves on the water, covered the surface.

Itwas wonderful.

Itwas mine.

Ipounced and covered it with my body.

Thesmells of ozone and lightning and licorice, all mashed together in a distinctive blend, hit my nose.Thesneeze that threatened to come a moment ago exploded out of me.Once.Twice.Threetimes.Mamasaid sneezing three times in a row was lucky.Ihoped she was right because that smell could only be one thing: magic.

Mybrand-new little whistle was drenched in it.

Whatdid that mean?Whatdid it do?Wasthis a trap?

Normally,I’dhave abandoned the prize at the first hint of magic, but…Ijust couldn’t.IfIdidn’t know better,I’dswearMotherMagicherself was screaming at me to take the whistle.Hideit.Protectit.Aslong asIdidn’t start calling itmy preciousI’dbe okay, right?

Mamaalways said we should trust our instincts.AndItrusted my mama.