Crookedstar’s Promise

“Can I help?” Crookedkit suddenly wanted to find a way to thank this cat for his kindness. “I could look after the kits with you.”

Fleck purred. “They’re a pawful,” he warned.

Crookedkit remembered his denmates with a pang. “I can handle kits.”

“Okay.” Fleck swallowed the last of his mouse and sat up. “Let’s hunt first.”

Crookedkit followed the ginger tom behind a pile of straw that was rolled and stacked high as a mountain. Fleck didn’t hesitate as he slid into the gap between the packed straw and the stone wall of the barn. Crookedkit padded after him, tasting the air. The tang of barn prey was familiar now and he smelled something warm as Fleck led him into a space shielded from the rest of the barn.

“They always hide here.” Fleck’s mew dropped to a whisper. Something was moving through the shadow at the bottom of the stone wall. “Can you see it?” he breathed.

A small brown creature was scuttling along the wall, pressing its body to the stone. It was heading for a crack. Crookedkit crouched, tail swishing. With his heart pounding like a woodpecker battering a tree trunk, he shot forward, paws outstretched. Belly brushing the ground, he skidded toward the mouse.

Crash! He hurtled into the stone wall as the mouse dashed for the crack and disappeared into the shadow. Frog dung! He sat up and glanced sheepishly at Fleck.

Fleck shrugged. “Mice are dumb but not that dumb.”

“I attacked as fast as I could,” Crookedkit mewed apologetically.

“Speed isn’t everything,” Fleck warned. “The mouse had seen, heard, and smelled you before you jumped.”

“How?”

“Your tail was swishing over the straw,” Fleck told him. “And you were panting like a badger with your breath stinking of mouse meat.”

Crookedkit scowled. “I have to breathe.”

“Let me show you.” Fleck beckoned him back with a flick of his muzzle and Crookedkit hurried and crouched behind the ginger tom.

“Breathe through your nose,” Fleck ordered as they waited.

Crookedkit closed his mouth. His tail longed to twitch, but he held it still, copying Fleck. When a tiny nose twitched in the crack between the stones, Crookedkit stiffened.

Fleck seemed as relaxed as a basking trout beside him. “Wait,” the farm cat murmured.

Crookedkit swallowed the excitement rising in his belly as Fleck padded forward, shoulders loose, belly swinging. How was he going to catch a mouse moving that slowly? Crookedkit unsheathed his claws, preparing to make the attack, but, before he could lunge, Fleck darted forward. The fat farm cat covered a tail-length fast as a kingfisher, scooping the mouse from its hiding place with a nimble paw. He tossed it to Crookedkit.

It’s alive!

Crookedkit stared at the stunned creature trembling on the straw-strewn stone.

“Kill it before it comes to its senses!” Fleck hissed.

Crookedkit froze.

“Bite its spine with the strong side of your jaw.”

Crookedkit ducked, tipping his head sideways and clamping his back teeth around the mouse’s spine. He felt it go limp and tasted blood on his tongue. He sat up. “It’s a strange-tasting mouse.”

“It’s a vole.” Fleck padded over. “Mitzi will be happy. Vole’s her favorite.”

Crookedkit purred. He’d killed his first prey. Wait till I tell Oakpaw! His heart dropped. Oakpaw was so far away. I should go back.

With his belly full and the sun still climbing, he could be home by dark.

Fleck picked up the vole. “Come on, let’s take this to Mitzi.” He bounded away, climbing out through the hole Crookedkit had used last night.

“But —” Crookedkit scrambled after him.

“Keep your eyes open in the yard,” Fleck ordered as he jumped down on to the hard earth outside. “There are farm monsters everywhere. You’ll hear them but it’s not always easy to know where they’re coming from.”

Crookedkit pricked his ears. “I don’t hear anything.”

“We’re early.” Fleck darted through a gap in the stone wall that circled the flat open space outside the barn. Crookedkit hurried after him, alert for any sudden monster noise. On the track beyond the wall, Fleck slowed to a trot. Green meadows lay on either side and blue sky stretched overhead. The track, speckled with pebbles and lined with ruts, wound downhill toward a golden field. Crookedkit gazed at it, eyes wide. It shone like the sun and rippled like water.

“That’s Mitzi’s cornfield.” Fleck’s mew was muffled by the vole in his jaws. “She’s made a nest in that dip.” He flicked his tail toward the middle of the field. They followed the track down and, as it wound around the edge of the cornfield, Fleck veered on to a tiny path that was almost invisible. Pushing through long grass, the farm cat leaped a ditch and ducked through a hedge.

Crookedkit stopped. He watched Fleck disappearing into the corn beyond the hedge, his orange tail merging into the golden stalks.

“Are you coming?” Fleck called.