Ask The Animals And They Will Teach You

 

The rain lifted before dawn, leaving the cold and barren hill muddy and slick.  The sun was somewhere behind the low dark grey clouds, yet the air was crisp and washed clean.  Tom sat on the porch that ran around the small stone house and sipped his coffee.  He missed being able to work in his garden, something that would be a welcome distraction from the pain of his fractured skull.  The village doctor had pronounced him fit for limited duties, such as cleaning his house or short walks.  He was forbidden to smoke, and probably to drink as well but the doctor either forgot that admonition or knew a waste of time when he saw it.  Tom lit another cigarette off the old one and drew in down the acrid, delicious smoke.  The wind bit into his fur and he could feel the outline of his stitches in the cold air.  There were no birds this morning for the cat to watch, a disappointment but it was wintertime after all.  The news on the radio was bland and Tom wished he had a newspaper but that would have meant walking into town.  The one road down the hill was slick rain softened mush and if there was anything the cat hated it was getting mud on his feet and fur.  His good boots had no toes and his bad boots were falling apart and also had no toes.  Tom rose, stretched, walked to the back of the house for no reason he could think of, saw nothing, and went back to the front of the porch.  As he was covered in fur the wind didn't bother him except for where it blew against the unhealed scars across his face.  His head was swathed with a long bandage and his nose was swollen.  Tom threw the cigarette into the mud and went inside the cottage.  Hats that he never wore lined the small hallway and his boots were propped against the plaster plinth in the corner.  Where on earth did I get that?  He didn't remember buying it and the bust of Socrates, a human, that rested on it took up a lot of room.  He knew what a human was although he had never seen one.  Tom walked into the living room and then went over to the stove and poured himself another coffee.  The one radio station he could receive well was now playing a cheery voice talking about gardening.  Tom could just imagine the middle aged rabbit lady talking into the microphone with her eyes glistening as she went on about the best way to raise carrots and lettuce.  The cat didn't regard vegetables as food but he liked to grow a few to give to the neighbors.  Watermelons were especially appreciated in the summer and Tom was always proud of bringing in a crop as good as anyone else.  Crunchy sugar water he thought, but it was fun making people happy with them.
Tom stripped off his pants and shirt and began doing his exercises, a flabby cat gets no attention and he felt it was his obligation to enliven any scene.  He had just started Repelling The Monkey, whatever that was, when there was a knock on the door.  Tom put his old shorts on and went to the door and opened it.  'Mr. Catt'?  Two large dogs in overcoats stood without, one was holding up a badge.  'Yes', Tom answered, 'How may I help you, officers'?  Then, 'Won't you come in'?  The cops followed Tom into the main room and he poured out two mugs of coffee for them'.  Tom took their coats and laid them on the table as the two sat down in the worn wooden chairs around it.  'I'm Detective Rolf and this is Detective Grip. We need to ask you something.  Then the Doberman said, 'Do you remember anything that lion may have said to you before he ran off'?  Both dogs drank their coffee and stared at him.  Tom laughed.  'I barely remember anything about that.  I have heard the mother will pull through and I hope the twins will forget all about it.  No one should have to deal with such a thing and I hope you guys get the bastard.'  The bulldog was staring at Tom's bookcase while the Doberman reached into his pocket.  He pulled out a photo and handed it to Tom.  'Recognize this guy'?
The cat was looking at a picture of himself as he was working his garden, probably taken last summer.  How anyone had gotten close enough to snap that was beyond him, the hill had very little cover on it except for the small grove of yew at the bottom.  In the photo Tom had his shirt off and was using a hoe, he remembered the day when it must have been taken, and he was pleased he looked so good even without having to strike a pose.  He handed it back to the detective. 'What...'?  The black dog bent forward in his chair and spoke.  'We got that lion last night.  We have reason to believe that he was a foreigner of some kind.'  Tom started to ask but the cop interrupted him and said, 'Dead.  We got him near the train station and it wasn't quick.  Two of my men are in the hospital but the lion died hard.'  He fixed Tom with an oddly scarred up eye and said, 'I made sure of that'.  The policeman put the photo back in his coats and the two dogs looked at each other.  'Show him', Rolf told the bulldog.  Grip reached into his coat where it lay and took out a largish package wrapped in plastic, placed it on the table.  He peeled back the wrapping and there was the lion's hand, and even Tom knew that the hand had been removed with a shotgun blast. The uneven wrist bones were covered with dried blood but there was something,...strange about the hand.  'Look closer', the bulldog cop said, and Tom did.  Realization came to him all at once and he looked at the others and said, 'My God'.  Rolf leaned over and began peeling the fur off the hand, it came away like a glove because it was a glove, and under it was a smooth, hairless hand of a type Tom only knew from stories.
'The lion was a human in a costume.  I've never seen anything like this but we were as astonished as you are now.  Have you ever, Mr. Catt, seen an African animal in this town'?  Tom thought for a moment and replied, 'Paulie Panda is...'  Detective Rolf interrupted him, saying, 'African, Mr. Katt.  Please try and stay with us. Tom opened his mouth but couldn't find any words.  'Have you noticed that most the inhabitants here are common to North America?  Have you noticed' and the two detectives looked at each other, 'that this is an unnaturally quiet town, almost'... he added, 'almost like something out of a kid's storybook'?

https://misterscribbles.blogspot.com/2023/10/when-cops-left-tom-sat-at-table-and.html

 Picture from Richard Scarry's Busytown or some fucking thing.

Title from Job 12:7.