The question seemed to strike a chord within the callous cat’s cold heart. Mittens slowly relaxed her posture, and she resigned herself as she listened to the pitter patter reaching the threshold. “I would do exactly as you have, Salem,” she confessed. “And I did, many years ago, in fact. I even called Cricket back then, as you have today, though she was hardly older than a kitten at the time.” She lowered her tail in resignation and leapt back on the table.
“She also called a dog,” chirped Cricket from the ground, not pausing from cleaning herself.
Mittens heaved a heavy sigh but didn’t comment. She had been trying to forget the frightful foray ever since it happened.
The trio’s ears pricked up as three brief scratches came from the door, the agreed upon signal. Salem reached his paws up on the lever handle and pulled down, pushing the door into its frame just hard enough that when he pulled away, it swung back in the other direction as the latch was undone. As the door opened, it revealed two cats in matching tuxedo coats, a stocky Boston terrier, and, riding atop the terrier’s head, a guinea pig.
Cricket’s ears folded forward and her eyes narrowed as her predatory instinct kicked in. Both she and her stomach growled simultaneously at seeing a potential meal for the first time all day, and a plump, juicy meal at that.
Immediately, Boris came to the rodent’s defense. The Reginalds had spoken highly of Cricket, and he didn’t want to hurt his potential new friend, but he also couldn’t just sit there while she threatened his current friend. He bared his teeth and let loose a low growl of his own, matching hers but trying not to exacerbate the situation. He almost involuntarily barked but remembered Salem’s strict request to keep quiet while Sarah slept.
“See, this is what I’m talking about, Salem,” heckled Mittens from atop the table. “The dog has just entered your home, and now he’s threatening poor Cricket.”
“Oh, now it’s poor Cricket, huh?” Salem shot back. “Weren’t you just refusing to work with her?”
Sir Reginald Sr. stepped directly between Boris and the stray, cutting off her vision of the guinea pig. He held his head high and proclaimed, “Come now, Cricket. You’re not to eat Craig today! He’s here to help with the Hunt; therefore, he is protected by the Pact of Pets.”
Cricket’s heart sank as she tried to compose herself. She folded her ears down in apology and lowered her tail as well, but her stomach growled again, even louder this time, betraying her intentions.
“And that is exactly why, Salem. You can’t trust a stray,” Mittens continued from her perch. “You let them into your home, and they try to eat your allies.”
Salem shot a dirty look up toward the old puss and hissed, “Oh, pick a side and stick to it, Mittens. Or better yet: shut up entirely. It’s not Cricket’s fault she’s hungry.” Salem turned to the stray, cocking his head sympathetically. “You know, I have plenty of food in my bowl if you want some. I called you to the Hunt today, so it’s only fair to share since you won’t be able to catch your own food today.”
Cricket’s ears flattened in embarrassment as she flicked her tail in annoyance. “I’m fine. Really. I’ll just go hunting in the morning or something.” Despite her greatest efforts, Cricket’s stomach betrayed her a third time, rumbling once more with a slow, gurgling grumble.
“Look, I know you’ve got history with Reggie, so I’m not just gonna leave because I do trust you,” Craig proclaimed from atop his mount. “But I’d feel a hell of a lot better working with you if I didn’t look so much like a snack. No offense.”
Cricket weighed her options for a moment. On the one paw, she was a proud and independent cat, with no need for humans, and she liked that. She’d never stooped so low as to eat that disgusting, processed human food before, even going so far as to snub the occasional treat left out on the neighborhood porches. Lesser strays might take hand-outs, but Cricket was a fearless hunter who could always catch her own dinner.
On the other paw, she hadn’t eaten in almost two days. And with winter quickly approaching, fresh meals would become increasingly rare. Begrudgingly, she grumbled, “Well if it would make Craig feel more comfortable…”
“It really would,” he squeaked back.
“Then it’s settled,” Salem responded. “Mittens, be nice to Boris and Craig. And Cricket, follow me.”
Salem walked Cricket to the kitchen and showed her his special, blue food bowl that he’d gotten for his birthday last year. He explained that the bowl was very important to him because Sarah got it for him, and it was full of his favorite kind of food, the kind that Sarah brings home for him. Cricket didn’t think it looked particularly appetizing: a handful of brown pellets smelling vaguely of… yeast? She gave it a few tentative sniffs before Salem left the room, showing that she was skeptical of this human food, but once he left the kitchen, she hungrily shoved her face into the bowl.
Surprisingly good, she thought, as she proceeded to eat about half the bowl.
While Cricket was in the kitchen, Salem walked back into the living room and began preparations for the Invocation. He carefully laid out the two pieces of the ritual he was supplying: the item that Sarah held most dear, her cell phone (at least that was Salem’s guess, considering how much time she spent using it), and Salem’s most treasured gift from her, a small, stuffed rabbit with long, floppy ears. He arranged the pieces so that once the last item was placed, it would complete an equilateral triangle, as the Ancient Rites demanded.
Cricket would be supplying the last item for the ritual, a trophy from a previous Hunt. Apparently, a dead mouse or fly works in a pinch – as long as they were caught by the cat’s own claws – but a trophy from a true Greeble Hunt supposedly strengthened the spell. And Salem insisted on only the best for Sarah.
Once Cricket had finished eating, she returned to the living room and placed the final point of the triangle: a strange, hooked, black beak. Apparently, it was one of the mouths of a Greeble that she’d slain downtown with the help of a few alley cats.
Finally, by the stroke of midnight, they were ready to begin. The pets lined up as Salem addressed them, all except for Mittens, who stayed perched on the coffee table for the time being.