2 Charles the Beast

   Charles the cat was on the prowl. He had seen the mouse exit from the library of his master, and saw opportunity to make good on his ferocious demeanor. Ha! The silly thing had no chance against his silent, deadly approach. The cat waited patiently for the mouse to walk past the shelf on which he was perched, hidden partially behind an old, brass lamp.

   Once past, Charles silently dropped to the dusty, stone floor behind the mouse and quickly began his stalk. With tail twitching in anticipation, Charles matched the pace of the mouse, then would make a short burst of speed to shorten the distance between the two, then slowed to the mouse’s pace once again. All a part of the game for this stealthy huntsman. This went on for nearly the entire distance of the cold, dark hallway. Charles was almost upon the mouse. One more lunge and the mouse would be his! The cat’s legs tensed for the strike, his razor sharp claws ready to terrorize and destroy. He was Charles the Beast, king of Herald Manor, and his victory roars would echo up and down the stone halls for all to hear! Even old Damocles up in the tower would bow to his legendary cat prowess from this day forward!

   Even as Charles mused upon all of these lofty things and more, the mouse stopped and suddenly whirled around to face the feline terror face to face. The little mouse looked quite annoyed with the bristling, ball of furry destruction.The mouse let out an exasperated sigh and put his hands on his hips.

   “Charles, what exactly are you trying to do?” the mouse asked, trying to stifle a laugh.

Charles the cat, who had been suppressing his giggles during the hunt, now burst out in laughter.

   “Hey Vole,” Charles said between bouts that sounded more like he was coughing up a fur ball, than actual laughter. “You almost got it that time!”

   “Are you kidding me?” asked Vole with a laugh. “I heard your breathing when you were back on the shelf. You really ought to lose some weight you know, Charles. I’m surprised that the floor isn’t cracked from you crashing into it like you did! And what were you doing? Stalking or dropping bowling pins behind me? Not even close, fat cat. Not even c-l-o-s-e!”

    Vole then turned and started down the hallway once more, with Charles lumbering up beside him. They continued side by side down the hallway in silence. Vole was thinking of air currents and aerodynamics while Charles merely thought about a delicious looking sausage he had seen in the kitchen earlier that day. Some would find it preposterous to find a mouse and a cat walking together in leisurely fashion, but Charles was a very content, very plump cat. Vole had not been unkind when addressing Charles as “fat cat”, he had simply been stating the obvious. Charles was a very fat cat and resembled something like a black, furry beach ball with a tail. He preferred to think of himself as merely husky with a prodigious appetite, but, truth be told, he was simply fat.

   And this was to the advantage of those smaller beings that made Herald Manor their home. From the numerous families of mice and rats in the cellars, to the rabbits, squirrels and birds that lived in the gardens, all knew that Charles had no interest in any food that wasn’t specially prepared for him in the kitchens. By this time, the very thought of “fresh mouse tar-tar” revolted Charles to the point of nauseousness. But, at times, Charles did fancy himself as sneaky a cat as there ever was, even though his corpulence usually betrayed him long before he was able to do much in the sneaking department.

   The duo passed through an archway, that opened into the stairway to the cellars. Charles stopped, for the damp basement air gave him coughing fits.

“Did you hear about little Erin?” Charles asked. Erin being one of the baby rabbits that had been born under the garden shed earlier that spring.

   Vole stopped as well and answered Charles. “Yes, mum told me this morning. It’s a horrible thing to happen. I wish your human would go up there and put an end to him once and for all.”

    Vole was referring to Damocles, the murderous owl that lived in one of the manor’s uppermost attics. The grounds around the manor were safe in the daytime, but woe to any creature caught in the open as night fell. Once old Damocles caught you, there was no returning home.

    “How are her parents holding up?” Vole asked.

    “Not well, I’m afraid,” replied Charles. “They’re in quite a bit of shock. Most all of the garden families are there with them now. I don’t think they are going to stay. In fact, I’ve heard that many of the families are thinking of leaving for the forest.”

Vole shook his head in disgust and anger. “The vile fiend! I only hope dearest Erin scratched out his eyes before he......” He stopped short, not wanting to mention how the following scene would have played out in that black attic.

    Charles looked away, suddenly appearing to be very interested in a nondescript patch of cobweb attached to the wall. Vole could see, even in the shadowed hallway, the voluminous eyes of the cat tear over. Vole knew then that he loved this cat, and was grateful for his friendship. He had read once in one of the books of the library, a story about disobedience and punishment. Humans had fallen from a state of purity that had not been seen since. Now, Vole knew, they were mostly barbaric to each other and all life. They had been cursed, and their curse brought everything in that perfect place down with them.

   But Charles seemed to be an exception to this, if at least in part. Vole had often thought that if there had been a perfect place of peace that this book spoke of, Charles would have been right at home there. Both of the friends stood there for a few moments, both of their minds far away from where their forms stood silently in the gloom.

   At last, it was Charles that broke the silence. Vole still stared off into nothing, not being returned from his journeys quite yet. The mouse’s thoughts were still distant when Charles took an immense, calming breath and said, “Well, Vole, I’ll see you. Seems to be some sort of draft coming up the stairs....it’s...um...making my eyes water a little bit.”

   Vole came back to himself with a start, and noting his friend’s embarrassment, granted Charles mercy and said, “Yes, I wondered if that’s what was happening to you there, Charles. Why don’t you head over to the kitchen for a snack. That should perk you up a bit, I should think.”

   Charles regained his composure with that suggestion, and as he turned back down the hallway, used the tip of his tail to tap Vole playfully on the mouse’s shoulder.

   “Same time tomorrow?” Charles asked from over his shoulder, already moving hastily in the direction of the kitchen.

   “Of course, and better luck to you then!” Vole laughed back in answer.

   “Tomorrow’s the day, mouse. You’ll see! Wait, no you won’t see....or even hear me coming!” Charles challenged back, his voice growing fainter as his hunger grew louder, now doing an odd sort of cat-waddle-gallop down the hall.

    Vole watched his friend disappear around a corner and thought that he heard the cat shout something about “Charles the yeast?”

    The mouse smiled and shook his head at the wonderful cat’s hilarity, turned to the dark stairway and started down.

Author's Note

Please feel free to comment and/or critique. I'll take all the help I can get.