Smokey and Ginger

SMOKEY AND GINGER

“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Ginger.

They were sitting on a wall outside of Smokey’s house. Being late October, it was dark out, but not too late. The days were getting shorter, the nights longer, as the northern hemisphere tilted farther away from the sun with the approaching Winter Solstice. But neither Ginger nor Smokey knew anything about hemispheres or solstices. What they did know was that Hallowe’en was approaching, and pretty soon Smokey would be locked in the house.

Smokey looked over at his friend. Ginger continued.

“I mean, I have to stay in the house around Hallowe’en as well. I’m not saying it’s right or wrong. It’s just the way it is.”

“Humph,” said Smokey. “It doesn’t make it okay. What about free-will and self-determination?”

“I know,” said Ginger. “But I think it’s for our own good.”

Smokey looked at her, unblinking.

“You think being locked in the house for most of October is for our own good? How so?”

“Well—“

Before she could could finish her statement, a pickup truck drove down the street with three teenage boys in it.

“There’s two! Get ‘em!”

Ginger and Smokey heard the driver slam on the brakes, and watched as the trio piled out the of the truck, running towards the two friends sitting on the wall.

“Run!” hissed Smokey.

Ginger didn’t ask any questions — she knew danger when she saw it. She turned tail, and ran after Smokey, towards the house. But instead of going in, they ran around the back, continuing through the back yard and over the fence into the neighbours’ yard, where they hid under a bush.

“Hey! What are you boys doing?”

Ah, thought Smokey, Brian to the rescue.

The boys mumbled something about a lost dog.

“Well, Greg Best, I’ll call your mother and let her know if I find one.”

Brian did not sound like he believed the boys’ story.

“What the hell was that?” panted Ginger.

Smokey shook his head.“Teenage boys. The worst,” he said, “And the most dangerous.”

Just then he heard Brian’s voice calling him.

“I gotta go,” said Smokey, looking towards his house. “You better make yourself scarce. Be safe and stay hidden on the way home.”

He ran to the fence and jumped back into his yard.

Once they were inside, Brian turned to Smokey.

“How did you get out? I told you it’s dangerous for you this time of the year. There is nothing some people would like more than to capture you, and torture you. I was worried, Smokey. What would have happened if Greg and his buddies grabbed you?”

Smokey said nothing, just swished his tail, and jumped up on the counter. Brian stroked his back.

“You know Fluffy from down the street went missing a couple of days ago. No one has seen her since. Roscoe and Eva put up signs all over. I think something terrible has happened to her.” Brian looked at Smokey. “I don’t want that happening to you. That’s why I think it’s best if you stay in the house until after Hallowe’en. It’s just not safe.”

After tonight’s episode with the teenagers, Smokey had to concede that maybe Brian was right. Hallowe’en was not the best time of the year for cats, especially black ones.  

Fluffy had been a white Persian, almost the opposite of Smokey in looks and demeanour. And now she was missing, and no one knew where she was, or if she was even alive.

Smokey thought about Fluffy. She was a purebred — maybe someone just took her. She might be living her best life in a new house with new people who always wanted a white fluffy cat. Because she was missing didn’t mean she’d been hurt. In the summer, someone had stolen the Ryerson’s French bulldog, Henri. He’d been found safe and sound living with a couple who said they’d bought him online. The same thing could have happened to Fluffy. Right?

But in his heart, Smokey knew it probably wasn’t just a simple snatch and grab. It was probably the worse case scenario, and he would never see Fluffy again.

That made him sad. Not just for Fluffy — she was kinda stuck up, with her “Oh I’m a Persian. I’m so special. Blah, blah, blah, look at me, you common cats. I’m a purebred.” But for all of them. Hallowe’en was open season on cats.

And because Smokey was a black cat, some people believed that he was evil. He called bullshit on that. He wasn’t evil. Sure he caught his fair share of birds. And mice. And voles. And bunnies.  And chipmunks. He knew that made him an asshole, but he couldn’t help it. He had to stalk and kill — it was in his genes. And, yes, he did fight with other cats who dared enter his property without permission, but that was natural. He was a cat after all. He was no better or worse than any other cat. Except maybe Bongo, who didn’t have any claws. Or teeth. He tried so hard to catch things, and failed miserably. It would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so sad. But besides Bongo, all his outdoor friends did exactly the same thing as him. Had anyone seen Ginger — beautiful, delicate Ginger — catch and decapitate mourning dove? She was an efficient killing machine and no one said she was the spawn of the devil.

But, because he was black, he was seen as evil. Some sort of nonsense about black cats being the devil in disguise. Smokey snorted.  

Seriously, he thought. If I was the devil, I wouldn’t come back as a cat — I’d come back as something with hands. Try opening a door without opposable thumbs. I don’t think the devil gets himself locked in the laundry room and has to wait until Brian realizes that he hasn’t seen him for a couple of hours before he's let out. Nope, the devil would probably come back as a racoon. Those miserable trash pandas and their clever hands can get into anything. I’m pretty sure the devil would come back as a racoon, not a black cat.

Smokey walked over to his food bowl, and looked at the offerings.

Surprise, he said to himself, Kibble.

But it was food, and after tonight, Smokey had worked up a bit of an appetite.

The next morning dawned bright and warm.  Smokey wanted out, but Brian was very vigilant, making sure that Smokey didn’t scootch by him when he left the house. The best he could do was sit in the window and watch the world go by. Before long Ginger strolled by, saw Smokey and came over for a chat. 

“Yeah, Melda let me out this morning. She told me to be home before the street lights came on. Like I’m one of her kids. Sheesh!”

“At least you’re allowed out. I am under house arrest until November second.”

Ginger looked questioningly at Smokey through the window.

“November second? Hallowe’en is October thirty-first, so why not November first?

“Don’t ask. Something about the Day of the Dead, and the fact that I could be seen as a harbinger of death, and it could be just as dangerous for me as on Hallowe’en. And don’t get me started on Devil’s Night.”

“Devil’s Night?”

“Yeah. The night before Hallowe’en.” He sighed. “Apparently, it’s also known as Mischief Night, which sort of sums it up. Ne’er-do-wells go out and cause havoc, from egging houses, to slashing car tires, to setting fires in vacant buildings. Apparently, sometimes, they nail a dead cat on the door of their enemies.”

“Who does that?” asked Ginger, incredulously.

Smokey snorted. “Probably teenaged boys.”

Ginger left not long afterward, but Smokey continued to sit by the window, dozing in the sun. Brian had left the window open smidge, and Smokey enjoyed all the smells — the tangy smell of fallen leaves, the dampness that permeates the air after a frost, the tinge of wood smoke on the breeze, smells of mice rooting around the garden looking for a place to hunker down for the winter. It irked Smokey that it was his favourite time of year, and he couldn’t get out to enjoy it.  

About an hour before Brian would be coming home, when the sun was dipping lower in the horizon, Smokey noticed the same pickup truck from the night before cruising up the street.

He figured they were looking for either Ginger or himself. Not too worried, he watched the truck slow down, then stop in front of his house.

“What the—“ he said, watching as the same boys from the night before pile out of the truck and come up to the house.

“There he is,” said the driver, pointing at Smokey.

Alarmed, Smokey watched the boys walk across the lawn towards the window he was sitting it.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” said the second one.

Smokey thought of dashing off and hiding in the house, but, damn it, this was his home. Besides, he was inside and they were outside.

Then the third miscreant pulled out a knife, hit a switch on the handle, and blade erupted from the top of the handle.

Oh oh, thought Smokey. This is not good.  

Involuntarily he arched his back and hissed at the boys looking at him through the window.

Thug number three quickly sliced down the side of the screen with his knife, and was starting to put his hand through the slit, when a flash of orange streaked out of the bushes landing on the kid’s back.

Ginger!

She clawed over the kid’s shoulder, swiped at his throat, leaving four gouges down to his collar bone gushing blood. He screamed and tried to throw Ginger off, but she held fast. His buddy, the one driving, tried to grab Ginger, but she turned and clawed at his arm. Another direct hit as blood streamed down his arm and off the tips of his fingers into the grass as the kid screamed. The third kid stepped into the foray and tried to stab Giner with his knife. Ginger looked at him, hissed and swiped at his hand. Three for three — another direct hit. He yowled and dropped the knife.  

The second kid turned back and punched at Ginger, sending her flying.

“Fuckin’ cat!” he said as he moved to stomp her.

But Ginger was faster. She sprang up, crawled up the leg of his jeans, ripping the fabric and sprang away into the bushes, using his chest as a spring board. Smokey knew it was a clear shot to the back of the house. If she could get there, she would be able to jump the fence, and make her way home through the backyards of the neighbourhood.

Smokey jumped down and ran to the back window. He just caught sight of Ginger as she made the dash for the back fence. But she was limping. The boys were gaining on her as she ran across the lawn. She made the jump for the top of the fence, but came up short, smacking into the wall, and falling to the ground. The driver scooped her up, and stuffed her into a burlap sack. They turned around and ran out of the backyard, towards the street and their pickup truck.

Smokey was frantic. They had his friend. She had risked her life for him, and he needed to help her now. He jumped up to the front window sill. There was a slit along the edge of the screen. Smokey stuck his two front paws through, and shimmied out through the opening. He hit the lawn running.

The boys were throwing the sack with Ginger in it into the truck bed, under the tonneau cover, and piling back inside the vehicle. Smokey sped towards the truck. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he had to save Ginger. He owed her, and she was his friend.

He sprang just as the truck pulled away from the curb, landing on the tonneau cover, and dug in with his claws. He moved to the back corner of the cover. In their haste the boys hadn’t secured it properly, and Smokey squeezed through the small opening as the truck sped away.

“Ginger? Talk to me! It’s Smokey!”

“I’m here,” came her determined voice from somewhere in the truck bed. “Get me out of here, Smokey. I’ve got some payback for that little bastard who punched me.”

“Ginger, where are you?”

Cats have amazing night vision, but the bed of this truck was a dumpster fire. There was all kinds of crap piled and shoved into the bed of the truck.

“Over here!”  

Smokey crawled over to Ginger.

“Stay back!” he said, “I’m gonna get you out!”

He started shredding the sack. Smokey was a world-class shredder — just ask Brian about the couch.

In no time, Ginger was free, as little worse for wear, but mad as, well, a wet cat. And just in time! The pickup slowed down.  

“Can you jump out of the truck?” Smokey asked Ginger.  

“I’m ready, willing, and able!” she said, swishing her tail. “Payback’s a bitch, and her name is Ginger!”

“Okay, when they open the cover, we spring out at them, take a few swipes, and run into the bushes.”

Which is exactly what happened. All three teenagers suffered the wrath of Smokey and Ginger together before the two cats hightailed it into the brush.

They ran until they were sure they weren’t being followed.

Smokey looked around.  

“Where the hell are we?” he said.

Ginger looked around, as well.

“I have no idea.”

They sat.

“Well, we came on a road. Let’s find it and follow it back.”

After a few wrong turns, they finally found the road, keeping to the shadows around the shoulder of the road in case the truck drove by. It took much longer than they expected, and it was dark by the time they got home. Smokey walked Ginger home.

“I guess I’m in trouble,” she said looking at the light standard in front of her house. “The street lights are on!” 

She limped up to the front door, and started yowling. The door opened, and Ginger hobbled in past Melda’s feet.

“Ginger! Where have you been! I’ve been so wo—“

The door shut, and Smokey headed home knowing Ginger was safe.

When he got there, there were police cars in the driveway, and people milling around the window that Smokey had made his escape from. The front door was open, and people were coming and going. Smokey slinked in without being noticed. Well, no one noticed except for Brian.

“Smokey! Oh my God! I thought those boys got you!”  

He rushed over and scooped Smokey up.

“You’re a mess, my boy! What’s this all over you?”

Brian, ran his hand down Smokey’s front, and it came away bloody.

“Detective Waits, I’ve got blood!”

A tall Black woman turned and walked towards them.

“This is Smokey, I presume?” she said, looking at the cat.

Brian nodded. Waits looked at the blood on Brian’s hand.

“It’s not his?”

Brian ran his hands over Smokey.  

“No, he’s fine.”

She called a tech over, and had them take a swab off of Smokey.

“Well,” said the tech, “it’s human. I’ll match it with the samples we collected outside the window.”

Brian looked at Smokey.

“What happened today, boy?”

Well Brian, if I told you then you’d just say “I told you so,” and we can’t have that.

Instead, he swished his tail.

“Meow,” was all he said.