The Case of the Missing Cat. John R. Erickson
you as odd that Pete has won five out of five games? Did it ever occur to you that Pete might be cheating?”
“Oh heck no. We promised that we wouldn’t cheat.”
Pete was still grinning and had begun to purr. “That’s right, Hankie. We both promised not to cheat, because cheating isn’t nice.”
Suddenly I stopped pacing and whirled around. “It’s all clear now, Drover, and I can tell you what’s been going on. You’ve been duped. This cat lured you into a game you couldn’t possibly win, and he has cheated you.”
“But he promised . . .”
“Never mind what he promised. Cats always cheat. You can write that down in your little book.”
“I don’t have a little book.”
“Get one. I’m ashamed of you, Drover. Only a chump would play Checkerless Checkers with a cat.”
“Well . . . we had fun.”
“Exactly, and having fun is one of the many things we’re not allowed to do in the Security Business. Speaking of which, since you’ve spent most of the morning goofing off, why don’t you go down to the corrals and check things out.”
“We can’t play another game?”
“That’s correct, because I’m closing it down. This cat is through, finished.”
“Oh drat. I was just catching on.”
“Go! And I’ll expect a full report in twenty minutes.”
Little Drover went padding down toward the gas tanks. When he was gone, I turned to Pete. He was doodling around on the so-called checkerboard with his left front paw. His tail stuck straight up in the air and the end of it was twitching back and forth.
“Pete, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of a dunce.”
“It’s hard to fool you, Hankie.”
“Not just hard, Pete. Impossible. I had your con game figgered out the minute I walked up here. Playing checkers without checkers! I can’t believe you talked the poor little mutt into that.”
“You never know until you try.”
I studied the cat for a long time. “Pete, there’s a certain understanding between creeps like you and a dog like me. It’s like cops and robbers. Only the cops know how good the robbers are in their shabby work, and only the robbers know how good the cops are.”
“That’s right, Hankie. You understand me and I understand you.”
“Exactly. We’re on opposite sides of the law, we’re sworn enemies, and yet we can’t help admiring each other’s work.”
“Um-hm. I learned long ago that I couldn’t put anything over on the Head of Ranch Security.”
“Exactly. We’ll never be friends, Pete. Fate has taken care of that. But in a crazy sort of way . . . what are you doing?”
He had swept his paw over the so-called checkerboard, and now he appeared to be . . . I wasn’t sure what he was doing.
“Oh I’m through with the checker game. I know it won’t work on you.”
“That’s correct, but what are you doing?”
After clearing the board of so-called checkers, he appeared to be . . . setting it up again?
He looked at me with his lazy cattish eyes. “I thought I might play a game of chess—with myself.”
“Chess?”
“That’s right. You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s a very complicated game that requires concentration and . . .”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Pete, is it possible that you think I don’t know about chess? The ancient game of war, invented thousands of years ago by the Balonians? Which requires cunning and intelligence? Hey, I’ve got bad news for you, cat. I know ALL about chess. Ask me anything.”
“Black or white?”
“Huh?”
“Would you rather play black or white?”
“Oh. Black, I suppose. It matches the color of my heart.”
“All right. I’ll open with pawn to king four.”
“Oh yeah?” I hunkered down and studied the board. “Well, that doesn’t scare me at all, cat, and I’ll move this little fawn out here.”
“It’s a pawn, Hankie, not a fawn.”
“Whatever. There’s my move. Weed it and reap.”
Five minutes later, I was in deep trouble, I had lost three bishops, one knight, and my castle was in check. And at that very moment, I realized Drover was standing beside me.
He stared at us. “What are you doing?”
I looked at Drover. I looked at Pete. I looked down at the empty space of dirt between us. It occurred to me that . . . I swept my paw across the so-called chessboard, erasing all traces of the so-called game.
“We were studying the dirt, Drover, talking soil samples, you might say, and what are you doing back so soon?”
“I just wanted to tell you that I saw a cottontail rabbit. He was eating grass right in front of our gunnysack beds.”
“You’re bothering me with a report about a rabbit? I’m a busy dog, Drover, and I have no time for . . .”
It was then that I realized that Pete had disappeared. I glanced around and saw him—creeping down the hill TOWARD MY COTTONTAIL RABBIT!
Chapter Two: Pete Makes a Foolish Wager
It didn’t take me long to catch up with Pete. “Hold it right there, cat. It appears to me that you’re moving toward a certain cottontail rabbit. Before you get yourself into some serious trouble, I should point out that the alleged rabbit belongs to me.”
“Oh really? I thought you were too busy for rabbits, Hankie.”
“I was misquoted. What I meant to say was that the rabbit belongs to me and you can keep your paws off of him.”
“Now Hankie, be reasonable. You don’t have any use for a rabbit.”
“Oh yeah? Says who?”
“In the first place, he’s not bothering anyone. He’s just a cute, innocent little bunny who’s eating grass.”
“Yeah, but it’s MY grass, see, and he’s down there by MY gunnysack and he doesn’t have a permit to eat my grass in the vicinity of my gunnysack.”
Pete grinned and licked his front paw with a long stroke of his tongue. “And in the second place, it’s a well-known fact that a dog can’t catch a rabbit.”
I stared at the cat and began laughing. “A dog can’t catch a rabbit? Is that what you just said?”
“Um-hmm, because a dog goes about it the wrong way. Instead of being patient and stalking the rabbit, as a cat would do, a dog just blunders in and starts chasing.”
“Blunders in and starts chasing, huh? Go on, cat, I’m dying to hear the rest of this.”
“Mmmm, all right. And once the rabbit starts running, the game is over because a dog can’t catch a rabbit on the run. That’s a well-known fact.”
“No, Pete, that’s well-known garbage,