Chapter Text
It had been three months and it was hard to keep track of everything.
He said this by way of an excuse, yes, but it was also very true. When it had just been the three of them in the little farmhouse, he’d had his hands full enough with the daily chores, to say nothing of the perpetual threat of certain, terrifying doom. Now, with eleven villains in the house at any given time (counting Big Toe and his lesser appendages), Courage couldn’t possibly be expected to keep up. And when one added to that the chaos inspired by all the visiting friends, he was doing all he could just by trying to fit into the new normal.
All things considered, he thought he could be forgiven his failure to notice that the doilies were multiplying.
***
One morning, weeks after Muriel and Eustace had been buried, Courage had slowly awoken on the bed. There had been nothing left for him at the farm except long crying jags on Muriel’s grave, so since he was warm and safe in bed, he knew he must have died in the night and gone to dog heaven. There was a warm hand on his side and he stretched into it, craving a good, long scratch.
Courage snuffled his nose into the blankets and inhaled deeply, excited to smell Muriel again.
Cat.
Cat hair.
Courage’s eyes burst open and he found himself staring at a pair of half-lidded, annoyed eyes.
“At last,” Katz drawled, pulling back his paw. “I’d rather begun to think you’d finally bit it, dear boy.”
Courage started to scream. That monster was lounging on Muriel’s bed! That wasn’t right! If Katz was here, that meant Courage hadn’t gone to heaven--he’d gone to the other place!
“Aw, don’t be so dramatic, velvet cake,” said a voice from behind Courage. The dog turned his head so fast that his body had to take a second or two to catch up. The Cajun Fox’s black sunglasses gleamed in the morning sunshine and he cracked a broad, white smile. “Hey there, fella. Nice to see y’all again!”
Courage started babbling.
“We’re not here for pleasantries,” Katz said. “You needn’t treat him like a friend when we know he’s nothing of the kind.”
“Well, my mama always said there’s no substitute for good manners. Looks like we ain’t got that kind of good upbringing in common.”
If Courage hadn’t been too busy trying not to have a heart attack, he would have noticed how Katz bristled. “Listen here, you bug-eyed hayseed--”
“Hush now,” said a soft, whispery voice. Courage wailed, seeing the Queen of the Black Puddle arising from a bucket of water beside the bed. “It’s no good fighting amongst ourselves.”
“Huhuhu, we will have to divide him in parts so that everyone gets a turn,” chuckled a fourth voice. Le Quack was standing on the bedside table and holding a huge mallet. “I’ll flatten him out, first--”
“Like hell you will!” the Cajun Fox cried. “Pup’s tender enough! You slap him with that mallet of yours and he won’t be fit for horse food! What we’re going to do is roast him nice and slow--”
“Drown him,” the Queen of the Black Puddle declared.
“Squeeze him!” bellowed a voice from the hallway. A chorus of “yeah!”s echoed into the bedroom.
“Flatten him,” Le Quack purred.
“We shall do nothing of the sort,” Katz insisted. “First, we’re going to have a bit of sport.”
Courage’s courage fled. Consciousness shortly followed.
***
By the time he awoke once more, the sun was high and Courage was alone in the living room with Katz.
He’d had nightmares like this.
“We appear to have reached a diplomatic impasse on the grounds that none of us are willing to compromise,” Katz murmured from his seat in Eustace’s armchair. He had a cup of steaming tea balanced on his knee and he was looking at Courage with a bored kind of distaste.
“We all feel ourselves entitled to the exclusive privilege of causing your demise,” the cat said. “As you can imagine, that means that no individual can make a move without fearing brutal reprisal from the others. It’s nearly impressive, really. If I weren’t so convinced of your absolute insipidity, I would almost imagine that you were some manner of tactical genius.”
Courage moaned quietly. He was tied into Muriel’s rocking chair with bungee cords. He could hear an enormous clattering in the kitchen and the sound of the tub running full-blast in the bathroom.
“A brief recess has been called,” Katz reported, sipping his tea. “For some moments it looked like Her Majesty and the hick would compromise on boiling you like a lobster. That fell through as soon as the question of what would ultimately kill you arose, since he simply must cook you to death and she will not hear of anything but drowning. Then Dr. Le Quack and the fungus seemed to reach some kind of agreement where the foot would crush your body if the duck could squish your head.”
Courage squealed.
“Obviously, we outlying three could not let that stand,” Katz murmured. “And no one is in support of any of my ideas, which I can’t say is especially surprising, given the company.”
Courage whined. “So what are you going to do?” he asked, trembling violently.
“We will stay here and continue to debate it, ” Katz replied, “for however long it takes to reach concord. In the meantime, you are disgusting and malnourished and I do not think any of us will consider it a particular feather in our caps if we stoop to slaughter a weak, foul-smelling mutt. You will be given a bath.”
Courage shuddered. “By who?”
Katz smiled in a thoroughly unhappy, unpleasant way. “By me.”
“Can’t you just kill me?” Courage cried.
Katz looked him up and down. “Oh, I do wish,” he said, drinking his tea. After a few minutes, he rose and walked over to Courage.
“Now remember, boy, you are a hostage,” Katz said, untying him from the rocking chair. “There’s nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.”
Courage thought about it as he marched up the steps, followed by Katz. He could run to the police, surely. There wasn’t much they could do about the Queen of the Black Puddle or Katz, who was probably still a legitimate businessman as far as anybody knew. Le Quack and Big Toe had criminal records, of course, and he would put money down on the Cajun Fox being wanted for granny-snatching.
It sounded like a real option until he realized that even if prison could hold Le Quack for twenty-four hours together, he’d be whittling down the obstacles for Katz and the Queen and he’d likely as not wake up the next morning, drowned.
Or forced to play racquetball.
Though of the two, he’d really rather drown.
He endured the world’s most rapid and brutally efficient bath at Katz’s hands. The cat only dunked him a few times and scrubbed him with brisk, firm strokes. By the time he was wrapped in a towel, his fur once again clean and pink, he felt a little better though no less terrified.
Then Katz dragged him downstairs and deposited him in front of a concoction of the Cajun Fox’s that smelled like a nightmare and tasted like a kick in the tonsils with a cayenne boot. It made his eyes water and he shoveled it into his mouth, face dripping, because he was starving and against all odds it was delicious.
The thought that Cajun Granny Stew might actually have been tasty made him want to die all over again, but he kept it together, sensing that any snivelling on his part might lead to his death sooner rather than later.
There was nothing to do but bide his time and try to plan an escape.
No one was willing to leave the house, each unwilling to trust the others with him. The Queen of the Black Puddle took up residence in the bathtub, while Big Toe slept in the living room. Le Quack licked his hand, smoothed back his feathers, and with a sleazy grin declared his intention of spending the night in the chicken coop. The Cajun Fox got in a brief argument with Katz over the bed in the bedroom, before discovering that there was a camp bed in the attic with the computer.
“Oh-ho-ho,” the Cajun Fox drawled, a dirty smile climbing across his face. “Never mind, tomato sauce--I’ll camp up here.”
“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS,” the Computer buzzed, horrified.
“You and me are going to get to know each other real well,” the fox said to the machine, plopping down at the desk. “Now, show Daddy some’a that good stuff.”
Courage covered his ears and moaned as he left the room, but he wasn’t able to keep himself from hearing “Oooh, Julia Child, you saucy minx!” as he scampered down the hall.
Katz took the bed.
Courage wanted to protest but one look from Katz quelled him.
“We cannot indulge your sentimental protests when there is scarcely enough space to house all of us,” Katz said, peeling back the covers and stripping out of the white dress shirt he’d been wearing. “I understand your qualms but you are going to have to reconcile yourself to the fact that a bed is just a bed.”
Courage grumbled to himself. “And where am I supposed to sleep?”
“I understand that the foot of the bed is considered traditional.” Katz cracked his neck.
Courage froze up. “No way!”
“There’s also the floor.”
“No!”
Katz slid into the bed and pulled the covers up to his hips. “This is not something I will debate with you, boy,” he said, aggravation leaking into his voice. “You are perfectly welcome to take your chances with the rest of the household and their varying competence at nocturnal murder or you can sleep here, confident in the conviction that I do not engage in spontaneous and straightforward slaughter.”
Courage howled.
Katz hissed. “Shut up and get on the bed!” he snapped.
Courage yelped and leapt onto the foot of the bed, terrified to disobey and unable to come up with any other sleeping arrangements.
Katz nodded once and doused the light. Courage could feel him sliding deeper between the covers.
It was silent for a long time. Courage dozed fitfully all night long.
***
Seven nights later, the question was still unresolved.
Courage had the farm itself to thank for that. For all the times he had kept the farm safe, now the farm was doing its part to return the favor.
The villains had chosen a venue not particularly conducive to long-term murder negotiations. Farms needed constant attention and upkeep or they would crash around the inhabitants’ heads. Every conversation that might have lead to concurrence on the subject of Courage’s death was interrupted by chores. The Cajun Fox cooked, the Queen of the Black Puddle cleaned, Le Quack “paid” for electricity and television, and Big Toe and Co. managed to be a remarkably proficient handyman.
Courage began to be able to sleep a night through. The smell of cat dander in the bed still rankled him, but every night he was exhausted enough to ignore it, and that was a victory in itself.
***
Courage had never in his life been so happy to see the Hunchback and Theodore, the Bigfoot. Now that they were here, he never wanted them to leave.
Two weeks had passed without any new developments in the plans to kill him. Courage was beginning to wonder if Katz hadn’t lied to him earlier. Maybe they had agreed to go along with Katz’s ridiculous compulsion to play with his prey and were lulling him into a long-term false sense of security.
But every day went by without Courage being killed and every day he wondered a little more if they weren’t beginning to lose sight of their self-proclaimed goal.
He was pretty sure the Cajun Fox was fixing his favorite foods, for one thing. Though why every meal was being served with a doily between the bowl and the plate was an unfathomable mystery.
The Hunchback and Theodore stayed in the barn for a few days, while they found a situation for themselves nearby. Courage and the Hunchback had a late-night jam session with the bells and Courage found himself pouring out his heart to his old friend, crying and whimpering in the Hunchback’s misshapen arms.
“You’re a very brave dog,” the Hunchback said kindly. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”
The Hunchback set up a little apartment for himself in the hayloft and made his keep by performing for the entertainment of the household. Theodore visited as often as he could gain his mother’s permission, sleeping in the hayloft with the Hunchback and lifting and carrying around the farm.
“I don’t know if they’re ever going to try to kill you,” the Hunchback murmured one evening. “They seem more interested in just living on the farm. I really can’t say I know what to make of it.”
Courage whined a little, but his heart wasn’t in it.
Two days later, the Queen of the Black Puddle rose out of the sink while Courage was taking a bath.
“Hey, hon,” she breathed, “can you tell me a little bit about the guy living in the hayloft? He seems...nice.”
“Don’t you eat him!” Courage cried.
The Queen of the Black Puddle laughed, sharp teeth flashing behind her lips. “Oh, don’t worry. I just want to get to know him better.”
Courage sniffed and turned his head away, waiting for her to drain back down into the pipes.
Courage didn’t say anything to the Hunchback, but he stared and boggled when the Queen of the Black Puddle gave the deformed man such sappy looks.
***
By the fifth week, the Hunchback and the Queen of the Black Puddle were stepping out together, Big Toe had found a couch for the living room, and the Cajun Fox, Le Quack, and Katz were taking their smoke breaks together on the back stoop.
It was almost like having a family again.
***
He would wake up some nights, shaking violently, tears streaming from his eyes and drying in his fur. He never remembered his nightmares exactly but he knew what must have happened.
“Muriel,” he moaned, sobbing. “Muriel…”
He’d feel the bed shift and the body in it turn, and hear an exasperated sigh from the region of the pillows.
Katz would reach down and pull him up the bed, until he was about level with the cat’s stomach. He’d pick up whatever blanket Courage had been sleeping on and wrap him in it like a burrito. Then, he’d put his paw on the dog’s side, and let it rise and fall with Courage’s sobs and, eventually, slow, deep breaths.
“I know,” Katz would murmur, running his hand up and down Courage’s blanket-wrapped side. “I know, dear boy. But there’s nothing anyone can do. Now, go back to sleep.”
And Courage would.
***
Now and then he woke up on Katz’s lap.
He hated waking up on Katz’s lap. It was one of the plains of hell, just big enough for him and stinking of feline loathing and the residual pong of old man and armchair. There was no place on earth he’d less like to be, and it was really unfortunate because he was actually very comfortable there.
Katz had one paw resting on Courage’s side. Sensing that Courage was awake, Katz relinquished his grasp. “You were having another nightmare, boy,” the cat informed him coldly. “You were whimpering and sniveling on the floor, making a pathetic ruckus.”
Courage knew that. He’d been having a nightmare involving Muriel and the longing for his owner made him whine softly.
“If you’d just drink a cup of tea, you’d probably be fine,” Katz muttered. “Stupid boy. This has to stop, you know.”
Courage trembled quietly in the cat’s lap. After a few moments, Katz’s hand returned to Courage’s side and began to stroke slowly. Courage tensed up, horrified, but Katz just clicked his tongue and kept petting. Slowly, Courage’s muscles unwound again and he sighed deeply, inadvertently inhaling the smell of Katz’s fur.
It was complicated.
The whole thing had gone political on him, without him even realizing it. Muriel’s love and Eustace’s hate had kept him on an even keel before now, but with so many people and so many hateful dispositions in the house, it was almost impossible to keep track.
They all hated Courage as a kind of intellectual exercise. Instead of acting on it, they patted him distractedly on the head, kept the farm in habitable condition, and sniped at each other.
“Get’cha hands outta that soup pot!” the Cajun Fox would cry, slapping the Weremole’s curious claws with a wooden spoon and eliciting a sharp screech and angry gibbering. “It’s lunch for the pup!”
“Oh,” the Queen of the Black Puddle would say, as she began to emerge from Courage’s water dish. “Sorry, honey. My mistake.” She’d slip back beneath the surface and take her time dripping out of the sink.
“Here,” Le Quack would drawl, hurling a white stick at Courage. He’d duck, whimpering, only to discover that the duck had thrown him a huge bone. “Ze idiots who dug ze tunnel into ze bank vault found zis before ze police arrived. I zhought you might as well have somezing to chew.”
He didn’t know what to do. Sure, they nearly killed him pretty regularly, but only by accident. (He was about ninety percent sure Big Toe hadn’t meant to step on his tail. Well, eighty percent. Well, he apologized, anyway.) Things had been so clear-cut with Eustace and Muriel. One loved him, one hated him, and he didn’t have to worry about anything but keeping them safe.
But these creatures could take care of themselves. They didn’t need him at all. And yet, here he was.
Courage wanted to gravitate away from all of them, because they still scared the life out of him, whether they were taking care of him or not. Unfortunately, he couldn’t pull away from one without drifting into the sphere of another.
He didn’t know what to do. He was still scared, sort of, but he couldn’t really scream at top volume all day, every day. Besides, it was hard to stay focused on living in mortal fear when your enemy was sitting on the sofa, pretending not to cry, and blowing his bill into a handkerchief while watching The Young and the Restless.
It was hard to be afraid when the Queen of the Black Puddle giggled like a schoolgirl whenever the Hunchback smiled at her.
It was hard to cower when the Cajun Fox and Le Quack tried to speak to each other in French, each growing increasingly frustrated with the garbled diction of the other.
It was hard not to fall asleep, smiling, when everyone proposed a cure for his nightmares.
Muriel used to say that you didn’t really know someone until you lived with them. It turned out that that was true. He hadn’t known them at all before, and even if he only barely knew them now, it was a definite improvement.
In fact, Katz was the only one he still didn’t get. Everyone else was more or less understandable, although of course they could turn on a dime and surprise the life out of him when they wanted. Everyone else had real personalities. Everyone else liked things.
The Cajun Fox loved food and cooking and chasing chickens in the backyard. Le Quack loved money and jewels and watching the French soccer team win matches. The Queen of the Black Puddle loved sharks and the taste of human flesh and reading long books about sad Russians. Even Big Toe and his cronies liked gambling and peeking into the shoe section of the Queen of the Black Puddle’s fashion magazines.
Katz didn’t like anything. He drank tea as a kind of joyless compulsion, as necessary and unglamorous as breathing. He read the newspaper and took long naps and maintained his position as ultimate ruler of the armchair, all without seeming to actually care about any of it.
Courage was pretty certain that the only things Katz liked were winning and being in control and he didn’t think those really counted. Everyone liked winning and being in control, even if Katz usually took it way too far. Knowing that the cat was bored and tired and would rather be off masterminding something somewhere else didn’t shed any light on him, the way cohabitation had for everyone else.
He was just weird, and creepy, and Courage didn’t understand him.
And anyway, who really preferred to spend so much time in the basement?
Everyone else had a job around the house, but all Katz seemed to do was keep an eye on the laundry. They didn’t generate much of it, since the only one who really wore clothes was the Queen of the Black Puddle, so the hours Katz spent down there didn’t make much sense at all.
No one else went down into the basement and Courage’s terror-tortured imagination ran wild with possibilities. Who knew what the cat was cooking up, hidden away from everyone and everything in the house? On some nights, Courage could still hear Tarantella and Von Volkheim muttering to each other from their graves under the floor, and he had feared that Katz was plotting something with the zombies.
But every morning there was nothing more sinister from the night before than clean linens in the closet, freshly folded. The cat even discovered things that must have been in mothballs long before Courage’s time at the farm.
One of these was a warm knitted blanket. Courage was very fond of it, although it smelled potently of cat. He often took naps on it, folded up on Muriel’s rocker.
The Queen of the Black Puddle was the first to comment on it.
“Poor little dogfish,” she said one day, patting him on the head as she slithered towards the sofa. “Given such an ugly blanket to sit on.”
Courage snuggled down on the blanket in defiance, but jumped when Katz sat up straighter in the armchair and snapped down the newspaper. He peered at the Queen as if he was offended.
“I think it’s a handsome little throw,” the cat murmured. “Subdued shades of gray. Very sophisticated.”
“What? No,” the Queen replied. “It’s a hideous combination of colors. Purple and orange and brown--eyuck.”
Katz stared at the blanket. “Is it?” he asked, sounding bored.
“Yes. Aren’t cats colorblind?” the Queen asked, picking up the remote and turning on the TV. “I think the old woman must have been colorblind, too, to knit that thing.”
“Well,” said Katz, getting up from the chair. He set his tea down on a doily on the end table. “If it really clashes with the decor that badly, I’ll take it down to the basement--”
He reached for the blanket but Courage dug his nails into it and moaned. “No!”
Katz glowered at him. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t care if it clashes,” Courage whined. “I like it.”
Katz huffed a sigh, as if Courage was being totally unreasonable. “Design cohesion is important to the appearance of a functioning household,” he said. “Release the blanket.”
“But Muriel made it!”
“She most certainly did n--” Katz shook his head. “Fine. If you are determined, you may keep the rag. But take it up to your bed and pick something else to keep down here.”
Courage grumbled and took the blanket upstairs, spreading it out on the foot of the bed. Even if it was ugly, it was a nice blanket, with rows of neat, straight stitches made in soft wool.
He ended up having the rest of his nap upstairs, curled up on his blanket.
Things were going really well.
***
It was early afternoon and Courage was taking a nap on the porch. Deep in the house, he heard the low susurrus of the television, the discreet sniffling of Le Quack, and the soft snores of the Cajun Fox. He rolled over onto his back and stretched his legs up in the air, spreading his toes and sighing indulgently.
He dozed, happy not to think about anything at all. He’d spent the morning in the garden with Theodore and the Queen of the Black Puddle, trying to grow tomatoes, and then he’d fed and counted all the chickens. The only missing hen subsequently appeared in the refrigerator, on a doily, on a plate, with a little sign that said “For Dinner, Keep Your Filthy Hands Off.” Now he was taking a little break, and later he might go and see what the Hunchback was up to.
He rose up to bleary consciousness some minutes later when the distant rumbling of an engine woke him. Bewildered, he blinked his eyes clear. Nothing ever came out this way at this time of day. What was going on?
Courage rolled over onto his feet and squinted across the sand. His eyes widened and he screamed, racing into the house and shouting at the top of his lungs.
He’d recognize the grin in the truck window anywhere.
***
My gentle friends: hello, t’is I.
I am quite well, as you espy,
Although my spirits are not high.
I’ve been a little
Naughty.
The Home for Freaky Barbers is
A paradise and seat of bliss
But if I stayed I’d be remiss,
E’en if escape is
Naughty.
Word had reached me of sad events
(Such vagaries as Fate presents)
So I was forced to abscond thence
And thus be somewhat
Naughty.
Do not imagine that I go
With joyful heart and happy glow!
My soul is burdened down with woe,
Though soon I shall be
Naughty.
So tragic are the deaths of aunts
That all earth’s pleasure only daunts
The man returning to old haunts
and leaves him feeling
Naughty.
Yet steadfast hearts within our breast
Will make us do our very best
To carry on the family crest,
However much we’re
Naughty.
I drove a truck to Nowhere land.
One could not leave the house unmanned!
I went to take the farm in hand:
A place where to be
Naughty.
Behold: the farm stands very near!
A landmark on the still frontier
And on the porch? The doggie dear!
Oh...I yearn to be
Naughty.
***
One thing that really had to be said for living with monsters was that they didn’t disbelieve him when he warned them that something terrible was on the horizon. They knew better than anyone that things bumped in the night and they were perfectly willing to bump back.
And when they decided that bumping back was not an option? They were admirably quick to go hide in the attic and try not to make a sound.
It took all of Courage’s persuasive talents to explain the situation to them, certain as they were that they could handle a measy barber. But each and every one of them had been thwarted by Courage, and if Courage couldn’t thwart Fred, well, that put things in a new light.
The Cajun Fox and the Queen of the Black Puddle were the first to be convinced, each a little vain about their hair, and Le Quack had only needed to be reminded that there was nothing to suggest that Fred wasn’t as willing to pluck his victims as he was determined to shave them. Big Toe went along on the grounds that he didn’t want to be caught in any crossfire.
Though Katz was still unconvinced, he had the misfortune to be on the computer at the time and was locked in with the rest of them, glowering through the window.
Weeks ago, The Hunchback and Theodore had set up a semaphore system that communicated to the barn and now Courage warned them about the impending doom. He flashed them the number of the Home for Freaky Barbers and sat, shivering, as he waited for the news that they’d placed the call.
“He’s opened the door,” breathed the Cajun Fox, holding a glass to the floor and his ear to the glass. “Stepping inside.”
The house was so still. Even without the glass, they might have been able to hear the click of Fred’s shoes.
“Heading to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator,” the Cajun Fox whispered. “He better damn not touch that chicken…”
“He’s running the tap,” hissed the Queen of the Black Puddle. “I feel it.”
“This is ridiculous,” drawled Katz, only to have Le Quack’s hand clasped over his mouth.
***
Why, such a cozy, clean abode!
That these five months did not corrode
The furnishings at all thus told
Me: someone here was
Naughty.
In the fridge I found a chicken.
My heart’s pulse began to quicken!
Surely now the plot did thicken;
I’d soon be very
Naughty.
Somebody here--besides the pup--
Intended to sit here and sup
But now they’d find the jig was up,
I’d catch them being
Naughty.
But hark! A voice within the wall
All my attention did enthrall.
I would root out this strange cabal.
They’ve been so very
Naughty.
***
“He’s leaving the kitchen,” the Cajun Fox whispered.
“Heading for ze steps?” demanded Le Quack, in a breath.
“Shh,” the Cajun Fox insisted, frowning. “I can’t tell.”
“Try harder,” insisted the Queen of the Black Puddle. “And what is taking the Hunchback so long?” she hissed, glancing out the window at the barn.
Courage whined.
“NOW, DON’T LET ME INTERRUPT IF THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT,” whispered the computer. The sound came out of a pair of headphones plugged into the speaker jack. Courage lifted one headphone up to his ear. “AND I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU MAKE SO MUCH NOISE WHILE TYPING THAT YOU MIGHT AS WELL SHOUT, BUT PERHAPS AN EMAIL TO THE HOME FOR FREAKY BARBERS WOULD NOT GO AMISS?”
Courage grumbled and put the headset back down. Katz bumped him out of the way and put the headphones on, booting up the email application.
OH GOOD, Courage read off the screen. THE TEMPERAMENTAL KITTEN INSTEAD.
Katz flicked the screen with one finger--OW! NO NEED TO BE SO ROUGH--and swiftly tapped out an email. He sent it with a soft click, put the headphones down on a doily, and stood up again, staring out the window at the barn. His tail twitched from side to side.
“No,” the Cajun Fox said, shoulders slumping in relief. “Not the steps. He’s just heading for the basement.”
Everyone sighed.
Except Katz.
“The basement?” he asked.
“Yup,” the Cajun Fox said. “Definitely the basement.”
“But the door isn’t locked!” The cat’s hackles were up and his tail was puffing. Courage whined a little.
“Who cares?” mumbled Big Toe. “That’s even better. We just have to let him stew in the cellar until the barred window boys show up.”
“Damn it, you don’t understand!” Katz growled. “I must leave! He can’t go down there!”
“Not through the door,” the Queen of the Black Puddle replied. “That thing isn’t going to be unlocked until that barber is gone.”
“Don’t trifle with me!” Katz hissed, hackles rising. “I’m leaving this room!”
Big Toe and company shuffled in front of the door. “Not a chance, pussy cat,” muttered the gangster.
Katz gave them all a murderous look and turned to the window, throwing it open in a jerky gesture. “Fine,” he snarled, and climbed out, dropping from view.
Courage, the Queen, and Le Quack ran over to the window. Katz had landed on the porch roof and was shinnying down the gutter.
“You’re going to get killed!” Courage whined.
Katz waved an impatient hand at him and disappeared beneath the porch awning.
***
The basement is the place to hide
When the tornado’s strength is tried
And up the floorboards all are pried;
It’d hide a dog who’s
Naughty.
I stole towards the darkened door,
My clippers aching for the chore.
We’d have these problems nevermore
As soon as I got
Naughty.
(Now, never think I’ll hurt the mutt!
My own throat I would sooner cut.
A little trim of ears and butt
Is how far I’d be
Naughty.)
But then before me leapt a cat
His claws outstretched for close combat.
He pounced and would have knocked me flat
But I reached out and
Caught he.
***
It was very quiet for a few moments.
“NEW EMAIL,” the Computer announced. The representatives from the Home for Freaky Barbers were on their way. From the barn, Theodore reported that the call had been made.
Then, from deep within the house:
“REOWRRRRRR!”
Courage covered his ears and moaned.
***
His eyes, so sharp! His hair, so red!
He twisted, turned, and never fled,
His fangs protruded from his head
As I was very
Naughty.
It fell in locks, it fell in curls,
It tumbled to the floor in whirls!
His tender skin my snip unfurls,
I felt so good, so
Naughty.
He yowled, he hissed, he scratched my face,
He bit, he clawed, with feline grace,
He stayed my progress to that place;
Guarding the crypt, he
Fought me.
***
“Zey’re here! Ze men from ze asylum,” Le Quack said, looking out the window. “At last. Idiots.”
“Can you hear anything?” the Queen of the Black Puddle asked the Cajun Fox.
“Nothin’, darlin’, hang on a minute now…” The Cajun Fox frowned behind his sunglasses. “I think they’ve got him. No more fighting, anyway. They’re...talking?”
The inhabitants of the attic waited, tense, for several moments.
“Red’s saying something,” the Cajun Fox said. “Can’t quite make it out…oh, but someone’s leaving.”
“Oui, zey have him,” Le Quack said from the window. “Zey are loading him in the truck.”
Courage peered out the window beside the con man and sighed with relief as he watched a straitjacket-wrapped Fred get packed up in to the back of the armoured ambulance. The barber looked up at him and grinned still more broadly.
Courage whined in fear and Le Quack absent-mindedly patted him on the head.
“Stupid dog,” the duck muttered. “All is well. Be calm.”
The truck drove away and the Queen of the Black Puddle sent a flirtatious all’s-clear to the barn. They were ready to head back down into the rest of the house when the attic door rattled in its frame under the force of three loud knocks.
“What’s the password?” demanded Big Toe.
“Bloody incompetents,” came Katz’s voice, sour and weary.
Big Toe shuffled out of the way and Courage unlocked the door, opening it.
Katz stood outside, leaning on an arm on the door jamb. He was wearing a white shirt with all the buttons closed and the sleeves rolled down.
“There,” he said, glowering down at Courage and then at the others. “You cowards can come out now.”
“You’re wearing the David Lynch special, Red Vine,” observed the Cajun Fox, grinning and gesturing at his neck. “You have a close shave down there?”
Katz snarled and stormed out of the hallway and down the steps, amid much snickering.
“I will pay a million dollars to anyone who can get a picture of his haircut,” Le Quack volunteered.
***
Three men burst in with nets and straps
And caught me fast within their traps
And stilled me as they forced collapse;
Surfeit of being
Naughty.
My scratchéd face alarmed them some.
They turned to kitty, fearful, glum,
And asked to know how we’d become
So brawly, mauly,
Naughty.
The half-shaved puss, that suave, smooth tom,
Began to speak with great aplomb,
As if he’d never lost his calm,
And told them why he’d
Fought me.
“I think I am within my rights
To banish with my claws and bites
An invader who so delights
In trespass. He’s been
Naughty.
“I found him in the kitchen here
And fought to guard my new home dear
And won’t endure ever to hear
You tell me I’ve done
Wrongly.
“The house was left to one upstairs.
I’ll get the deed to soothe your cares
And prove to anyone who dares
To question his
Property.”
Aslack our lips, agape our jaws!
The puss went out on soft cat paws
And came back with the deeded claws
And proved that I was
Naughty.
“Please take him now so I may tell
My family that all is well.
They’re hiding upstairs in a cell,
Afraid of how he’s
Naughty.”
With nods and grunts they heard the tale.
He filled them in on each detail
And they dragged me, my legs gone frail,
Back to the truck that
Brought me.
I caught a glimpse, the merest gleam,
Of something watching from the beam,
Or somethings, someones’ eyes aleam,
Watching, waiting, so
Tautly.
At the window young Courage stayed,
Tremulous, anxious, and afraid,
With duck and foot and fox and maid:
A good boy, never
Haughty.
No heart turned hard or feelings cold
You need to dread that I shall hold.
My regard for you all is bold,
Warm, sweet, kind, fond, and
Naughty.
And so it ends! To dog defaults
The farm, the house, and cat’s assaults.
I am content without that schmaltz,
Happy to have been
Naughty.
Thus I did leave my aunt’s estate.
Not wanting to recriminate,
A quick note would have set me straight!
These things drive a man
Dotty.
Adieu, dear aunt! ‘Mongst heaven’s blest
You surely are uniquely best
And I am sure you sweetly rest
While we, down here,
Are naughty.
Oh, tender pup and house divine,
Your excellence shall not decline.
But have you any iodine?
I fear I’ve been quite
Naughty.
With love,
Fred
***
Courage awoke that night on the ugly blanket. He sniffed the air. The bed was empty and had been for some hours. The house was dark and silent.
What was in the basement?
Courage whined softly to himself. “I’ve got to go look,” he mumbled to himself. “But I’m not going to like it.”
He crept out of the bed and tiptoed through the hall. From the bathroom, he could hear the soft gurgling of the Queen of the Black Puddle in the bathtub. He passed the open window, no longer astonished that he could hear the nasal snores of Le Quack all the way in the chicken coop. He slipped down the stairs, avoiding the creaky steps, and snuck past Big Toe. The gangster was grumbling about “doity rats” in his sleep and Courage covered his mouth to block any worried noises that might emerge.
The basement door was just barely cracked. Of course it was. Courage wanted to think that he would someday get to the point where subtle little hints of horror would make him roll his eyes instead of chattering his teeth, but he wasn’t holding out too much hope.
He pulled the door open just a bit more and tried to peer around the banister. The basement was dark except for the soft yellow glow of a lamp in the far wall.
Katz was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. He was still wearing the shirt from earlier in the day, although he’d unbuttoned it enough that it revealed the pink skin exposed by Fred’s clippers.
In his hands he held a quartet of knitting needles, attached to which was a ball of slender white thread. He was slowly knitting his way around a large, complicated lace doily, the soft click of the needles and whisper of the yarn the only sounds in the room.
He looked focused, calm, content.
He also looked like he had spiders crawling all over him.
Which he did.
Courage stuffed his paws in his mouth and tried not to scream as he watch the creepy crawly monsters drag their webs across the cat’s arms and shoulders. The corners and edges of that part of the basement were covered in enormous cobwebs and horribly lumpy bundles of spider silk.
A spider clambered up Katz’s arm and onto his hand, trying to spin between his fingers. He stopped knitting and put his hand to the ground, coaxing the spider off. “I know, darling. I know you’re hungry. I’m hungry, too. Tomorrow we will go to the motel and I’ll find you something to eat.”
The spider on his shoulder dribbled onto his shirt and made a horrible chittering noise.
“Because he was more than you could handle,” Katz murmured, as if in reply. He glanced at the spider with a skeptical expression. “You might be able to eat bathing old women and unconscious old men but an unhinged barber with a selection of sharp objects would pose quite a challenge for you. Especially with your sister in this delicate condition.”
Katz paused his knitting again and reached for yet another spider hiding beneath the water pipe. He placed his paw on the spider’s belly, sitting very still and seeming to listen. “Still with us, my love?”
At last, he smiled faintly.
“Very good. You’re being very brave, dear,” Katz murmured. “The last thing you need is some damn-fool barber trying to shave you.”
One of the spiders was crawling up his knee and he reached down to pet its head for a few seconds. “Now, go on. Go clean up. I want all of those empty bundles down before I go to bed tonight. They’re disgusting. Move.”
Four spiders scattered to the back corners of the basement and began gnawing on the bundles. Small bones clattered to the floor as Katz resumed his knitting. Every few seconds he would reach down and touch the hiding spider, feeling for her in the dim shade of the basement.
“Good girl,” Katz whispered. “Good girl.”
Courage slithered back up the step and behind the door, desperate not to make a sound. Once he was in the kitchen, he bolted for the back door and ran out into the middle of the prairie. He looked around, shaking all over, and when he was sure there was no one nearby, he pulled his paws out of his mouth and unleashed the scream he’d been holding back.
Spiders! Icky, yucky, creepy-crawly, man-eating spiders! Dog-eating spiders! Katz was probably covered in their gross drool and traces of their webs all the time! Courage was never going to let the cat put Courage in his lap again!
Oh, crap.
Oh, crap, his blanket! Katz must have knitted that blanket himself and it was probably had all sorts of bits of spiderweb and bones and goo in it and Courage had been sleeping on it for weeks and---EUGH!
He was going to have to hide it somewhere and claim he’d lost it. There was no way he was ever sleeping on that thing ever again!
He walked back to the house, still quivering, and slipped back into the kitchen. He’d throw out the blanket and try to go back to bed, and no one would ever know.
The kitchen light clicked on and he yelped, eyes stinging.
“Whoa there,” laughed the Cajun Fox. “Just down here for a little midnight snack. No need to get all jumpy.”
Courage was panting for air, trying to keep his heart from beating out of his rib cage.
“You hungry, pup? Or you, Red?”
Courage’s head jerked to see Katz in the doorway of the basement, the cat’s own hand over his chest. Katz glanced at Courage, dropped his hand, and glared at him.
“I got a new recipe I’m just dying to try. Come on and sit down at the table and I’ll whip it right up,” the Cajun Fox said. He waved a print out of a recipe in the air. “That computer of yours knows how to cough up the good stuff.”
Courage whined quietly but trudged over to the table. Katz put the kettle on for tea and sat at the table, eyes boring into Courage’s face. He tried to stare back and began grinding his teeth.
“Something wrong, dear boy?” Katz asked.
Courage shook his head.
Katz leaned closer. “Blink,” he murmured. “I’ll know you’re lying whether you do or not.”
Courage mewled and quailed in the chair.
“Don’t you two get started,” the Cajun Fox said from the stove. He’d managed to throw half the contents of the refrigerator into a soup pot already. “You’ll wake up the whole house with that nonsense and then everybody’ll want a bite.”
Katz narrowed his eyes at the fox and gave Courage one last look before getting up to arrange the tea things. Courage sat in his seat and shook, wondering when the other shoe was going to drop.
At last, the Cajun Fox brought over a bowl of something steaming and fluorescent red. “There y’are. Try it first and then I’ll tell ya what it is.”
Courage whined and picked up his spoon, scooping out a bite of the concoction. He pushed it into his mouth with a grimace.
“Well? Whaddaya say? Should I add it to my repertoire?”
It was hot. It was horribly hot, burning, and beneath the spice it tasted like rotten deer meat and moldy onions. Courage’s eyes were watering and his tongue was trying to leap out of his head through his nose.
It was delicious. He gave the fox a thumbs-up.
“All right!” the Cajun Fox grinned. “What about you, red pepper? You brave enough to try a little home cooking?”
“Certainly brave enough,” Katz replied. He poured a thin ribbon of white cream into his cup of tea and stirred it slowly. “But insufficiently suicidal.”
“It’s so good, it’ll make your tongue slap your eyes out.”
“Indeed.”
“Go on. Give it a bite! I might start to get insulted if you don’t try my cooking at least once,” grinned the fox, idly tossing his meat cleaver in the air. “After all, I know a body can’t just live on tea and cigarettes.”
Katz lifted one eyebrow. “If I do this, can I have your assurance that you will drop the subject in the future?”
“Sure, ginger puff. I can guarantee ya anything you like.”
Katz sighed and picked up a spoon, dipping the tip of it into the stew. The liquid began to eat away at the metal bowl and Katz gave the Cajun Fox a long, dry look.
“‘S a little hot, so don’t burn yourself,” the fox smirked.
Katz pushed the spoon between his lips and pulled it out, clean. He placed the spoon on the table, swallowed, and cleared his throat. “May I be frank?”
“I do insist upon it.”
Katz nodded. “I consider myself to be a man of the world. I’ve traveled a bit and had the opportunity to try many different cuisines. But if I really seriously consider my history, I think I can say with confidence,” he paused to take a sip of tea, “that that was literally the most disgusting thing that has ever passed my lips.”
The only warning was the flash of the cleaver as the Cajun Fox leapt across the table and attacked.
Courage screamed loud enough to wake everyone and between the Queen of the Black Puddle and Theodore they were able to pry them apart before they hurt each other too badly.
Although he did know firsthand that Fred had shaved his signature into Katz’s chest.
Yikes.
***
“You’ve been very elusive, dear boy,” Katz growled, looming over him. Courage moaned and clutched the computer chair. “I don’t particularly appreciate it.”
Two days after Courage saw him with the spiders, Katz finally caught him in the attic. The door was locked and while Courage was reasonably convinced that he could scream and get everybody to come running, they wouldn’t be fast enough to get to him before Katz killed him.
“I think we need to have a little chat about what you saw in the basement,” Katz breathed.
“IS THIS ABOUT YOUR RECENT SEARCH ABOUT MAKING FRIENDS AND INFLUENCING PEOPLE? SHOULD I BE SEEING THIS?” the Computer asked.
Katz reached out and switched the monitor off.
“OH, REAL NICE,” said the speakers.
“I want you to know that you are not to talk about what I keep in the basement,” Katz said.
“How long have they been down there?” Courage whined.
“Four months,” Katz replied. Courage gagged and Katz glowered at him. “And as you can see, they have not harmed anyone in this house.”
“That’s kind of specific! They’ve been harming other people, huh?”
Katz stared at him like he was a rare and precious variety of peculiarly stupid butterfly. Upon reflection, Courage had to admit that that wasn’t particularly unwarranted.
“So what’s wrong with that shy one? How come you didn’t let Fred just get eaten?” Courage asked, switching tactics.
Katz’s mouth twisted for a few seconds. “She can’t hunt. She was laying her eggs,” he admitted at last.
Courage tried to digest that. “WHAT!” he screeched.
Katz squeezed his mouth shut, holding his cheeks so that his lips pooched out. “Will you be silent!” the cat hissed. “They’ll think I’m murdering you and I’d rather not deal with the headache when I won’t even get to enjoy the experience!”
Courage whined.
“This is not the catastrophe you want to claim it is. I can’t keep an eye on all those spiderlings for long,” Katz went on. “As soon as they’re mature enough to hunt, I’m going to take them and put them in some of my motels and clubs, where they’ll be able to fend for themselves. But they’ve got to stay here, for now. And if anyone finds out about them,” he added, leaning down deep into Courage’s space, “they will never find so much as the smear of your remains.”
Courage moaned and Katz released his face. “Ugh, but why? I hate spiders!”
“I feel differently,” Katz said coldly, “although I’m sure your opinion is shared by most of the household. The spiders that lived here before were pretty handily wiped out between that idiotic duck, his mallet, and the foot’s tendency to stomp vulnerable things flat. That is not going to happen to my pets, am I perfectly clear?”
Courage whimpered. “Ooooh. Fine. I won’t tell anyone. But if they come up here and start trying to spin webs--!”
“They will not,” Katz said. He crossed his arms. “I will rely upon your discretion, dear boy. And if you breathe a word of this…”
“I won’t, I won’t,” Courage groused. He sighed. He hated keeping secrets! Especially creepy ones! It almost never ended well. “What’s up with the doilies, anyway?” he asked.
For the first time, Katz looked embarrassed. “Ah. Well. When almost everything in your day-to-day existence involves spinning in some context or another, you tend to be a little tense around creatures that don’t do anything of the sort.” He plucked at a nonexistent bit of lint on his shirtsleeve. “They find it easier to relax around me if I am spinning some kind of web, too.”
Courage took a second to think about that. “You do it so they’ll cuddle up to you?” he asked, wincing. “And you want that?”
Katz scowled and snarled. “How absurd. Of course not.”
Bullshit, Courage thought.
“Oh, all right,” he said. “Well. Do you want to threaten me about anything else or can I go back to what I was doing?”
Katz lifted his eyebrows and looked down his nose at Courage. “Don’t talk back, boy. It’s rude.”
“Sorry,” Courage said, a little sarcastically.
Katz nodded once and left the room.
“TEMPER, TEMPER,” said the Computer.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Courage grumbled.
***
He woke up, bones rattling with the sobs that had chased him out of his dreams.
He missed her so much. She was everything to him and now she was gone and there wasn’t a second of the day that he didn’t feel how much he missed her.
He was hiccuping by the time Katz rolled over in bed and grabbed him. The cat sat upright and hauled Courage up with him, holding him in his lap.
Courage sobbed and shook, unable to stop, as Katz slowly petted his fur. After a few minutes of steady stroking, the cat sighed and Courage jumped as something warm and raspy brushed his ear.
“I know, dear boy,” Katz breathed. “I know.”
Katz glanced down at him in the dark and brushed his tongue across the back of Courage’s ear. Katz scratched gently at the base of his tail and Courage felt himself growing still with confused embarrassment. It felt really nice, but it was Katz, and also spiders, and Muriel, and…
He was so tired.
“It’s all right,” Katz murmured, licking the top of Courage’s head. “Calm down, now. It’s too late at night for this. You need to sleep.”
Courage moaned quietly, the sound trailing off an in “eep” as Katz rolled Courage beneath him. Courage stared up at him and his eerie slitted eyes as the cat leaned down close to him and lightly licked his forehead.
Katz closed his eyes and put his head on the pillow, one arm slung over Courage’s body. He pulled Courage close, curling around him and sighing quietly.
They lay still for a few moments.
“It just bloody figures that it would take treating you like a kitten to make you settle down,” Katz rumbled.
Courage rolled his eyes and sighed, listening. Katz vibrated against him. “Are you purring?”
Katz tightened his grip. “Balderdash.” His tail flicked up and curled around Courage.
Courage fell asleep with a smile.