Sneaky Pie for President (15 page)

They hurried back upstairs, the thunder deafening as
their human grabbed a powerful flashlight from a kitchen drawer. Down the hall they trotted, Pewter bringing up the rear.

Pulling a stepladder out of the hall closet, the C.O. set it up under a trapdoor, climbed up, and lifted the heavy door, propping it open.

She shined the light around before descending again. Hurrying into the kitchen, she pulled out a bucket from under the sink, returned, and climbed up again with bucket and flashlight. The cats were already in the attic, as were many bats hanging upside down.

“Cats,” one of the bats warned the others.

“Don’t worry. We’re here to fix the leak,” Pewter thoughtfully said.

“You won’t fix it tonight.” A second bat swung a little upside down as he watched the human hoist herself up onto the attic floor.

“The bucket should catch the worst of it,” said Sneaky. “Tomorrow she’ll get up on the roof, unless it’s too wet.”

The C.O. beheld all the bats. “Too much rain for you all, too,” as she walked over to the drip, constant and strong now.

Sneaky looked up where the flashlight beam revealed a tear. “The wind did it. Tore a little piece of the tin roof right off.”

The human said nothing, positioned the bucket, and shivered a bit. The temperature had dropped.

“Will she kill us later?” another bat asked the cats. “Now that she’s seen us?”

“No,” Sneaky assured them. “She likes you all. You, Barn Swallows, Tree Swallows, and Purple Martins eat so many insects. You’re safe.”

“How unusual.” The second bat stopped swinging. “Most humans fear us.”

“She knows better,” Pewter called up.

“Interesting,” the first bat remarked. “People think we’ll tangle in their hair or give them rabies.”

“Makes me so mad,” the second bat complained. “We don’t have any more rabies than possums or raccoons, but we get blamed for everything.”

“Humans are afraid of the dark. You all fly in ziggy ways. You’re night creatures. It’s the way they’re made,” Sneaky sagely noted. “Listen. I want to change the subject. I am going to run for president, and I’m hoping you will help me.”

Not one bat said a word. They just hung there.

Pewter nudged Sneaky. “Maybe they don’t know what president is.”

“We know,” the third bat responded. “What a terrible job.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” said Sneaky, “but it will take a
nonhuman to solve the really big problems: food, water, depleting the soil. That kind of stuff. The humans have lost their way. They talk about the environment, but they don’t really live in it, you know what I mean?” Sneaky was getting revved up again.

“I believe that,” said Bat Number Three. “Do you see how bright their cities are at night? We don’t even fly into Crozet, there’s so much light. We’ve heard there are enormous cities, millions of people, and those places are lit up all night.”

“It’s true,” said Pewter. “The energy consumed is wasteful. It’s one thing if the electricity comes from Niagara Falls, but most electricity does not.” Pewter didn’t like electricity one bit.

“Why do they do this? Live in light like that? Doesn’t that disturb their sleep?” The first bat just couldn’t understand this.

“Like I said, they’re afraid of the dark,” Sneaky repeated.

“They’re afraid of one another.” Pewter accurately identified the problem. “Who could blame them?”

“Ah,” all the bats said in unison and swung a bit as another mighty clap of thunder rattled the windows, winds buffeting the attic.

“Do this for me,” said Sneaky. “I will represent you as best I can. I don’t know how much money you save humans by eating insects, but I’m sure this insect eradication is immensely
valuable. I don’t think they’ve ever calculated it.” Sneaky looked up at them, all of their beady eyes raptly attentive. “Night creatures and day creatures live different lives on different schedules. Will you discuss my campaign with raccoons, all the owls, possum, Whip-poor-wills? Talk to all the night animals? I need everyone’s support.”

“We will,” the first bat promised.

“Kitty cats, come on.” The C.O. was backing down the ladder. She couldn’t care less that their conversation wasn’t yet ended, but they dutifully followed.

The two cats walked to the opening. Pewter looked down as the human reached the floor and put down the flashlight. “I am not backing down a ladder.”

Seeing two cats looking down at her, the C.O. got the drift. She climbed back up, lifted Pewter onto her shoulder, climbed down. Sneaky had turned around to back down the ladder just as the house’s power shut off with a
crack
.

“Damn, damn, double damn,” the human cursed.

The tiger cat reached the ground. The human picked up the flashlight, climbed back up. Then, putting the flashlight in the pocket of her frayed robe, she slid the attic cover closed with difficulty.

“Good night, bats,” she called, as she lowered the wooden cover.

“ ’Night,” they called back.

Woodpeckers for More Bugs, Less Chemicals

The sun just cleared the horizon as Sneaky Pie, Tucker, Tally, and the C.O. loaded up the ATV with a chain saw, a chain, and heavy limb clippers.

As the four-wheel machine, built for farm chores and hunting, puttered to life, the C.O. slipped on heavy gloves, shifted out of neutral, into first, let out the clutch, and slowly rolled down the road between the barns as little rivulets ran below. Sneaky observed while riding in the front basket.

The dogs raced behind. They didn’t have far to run, because at the bottom of the hill, between two paddocks, a pine tree had fallen across the gouged-out driveway. Beyond that, the animals could see that the culvert under the little earthen bridge was jammed full of debris, water subsiding so it no longer rolled over the road.

“Bet the big bridge has branches and logs sticking all the way to the other end of that culvert,” Tucker surmised.

“That’s why she brought the chain.” Sneaky Pie moved to the backseat as the human pulled out the chain saw.

“This little thing can’t pull a tree trunk,” Tally noted, sniffing the ATV.

“Can pull out branches.” Tucker peered into the muddy waters racing under the small culvert, getting backed up on the upside bank. “That will get more water through the culvert, and some debris might get pushed out. We’ll see what it is when we get down there. Who knows what’s in the road?”

“We’ve got a mile and a half of dirt road.” Sneaky was good at calculating distances. “Lot of wind. Lot of water. The sun should help, but a little wind would, too. Not that it should blow as bad as last night, but anything to help dry up this mess.”

The C.O. started up the chain saw, pulling the cord. She began cutting through the tree trunk at an angle and up. One couldn’t falter in concentration for a second, which was one reason to cut up, not down. She had explained all of this to Sneaky, who usually enjoyed her human creature’s lectures on various topics, though now and again, when Mother was properly riled up, Sneaky actually wished she’d keep her opinions to herself. Sometimes the
chain saw, heavier once the task is completed, fools the person using it and drops farther down than he realized, cutting through a thigh, usually. If one slices upward and at an angle, a nasty injury is often avoided. Being far out in the country, state roads possibly blocked, a chain-saw accident in these conditions would probably mean the human would bleed to death before help could arrive, plus the ambulance crew would have to clear the farm road to get in. Country humans knew these things. People moving to rural areas for the beauty often did not. With amusement, Sneaky had observed the C.O. trying to help newcomers, but so many of them, successful and important in the cities from which they’d fled, disregarded her friendly advice. Mother was what was known as a redneck. The result of ignoring her proffered counsel was overturned tractors, burned-out clutches in trucks, and new tires at too frequent intervals.

These days she kept her mouth shut, welcomed people, stayed friendly but offered not one word, of course. The animals, on the other hand, never kept their traps shut, lording their superior knowledge over the pampered pooches from the city.

The sound of the chain saw changed as it bit into the living tree trunk, the smell of its wood so different from that of a dead tree. It was a pleasant scent, but the chain saw’s
grating roar was irksome, so the three animals decided to walk over to the Rockfish River and its formerly quiet pool. After last night’s storm, the river was raging.

Tucker had heard tell of the rockfish. “Think he’s down there in all that swirl?”

“I don’t know,” said Tally. “Bet he’s sheltered under a rock overhang or tree roots where lots of bank has washed away.” Tally thought of how a fish could hide from roiling waters.

“That rockfish is scrappy. He’ll survive,” called the Downy Woodpecker, not so high up in a walnut tree near the bank.

“Guess he will,” Tucker replied. “We all learn what we need to know.”

“Most of us do,” the Downy Woodpecker agreed, “though the ones who don’t learn never live to tell the tale. Where’s that fat gray cat?”

Sneaky laughed. “Pewter recognized her duty in time to avoid it.”

“Maybe that’s why she’s fat.” The sunlight caught the bright red part of the Downy Woodpecker’s head.

They all laughed.

“Seen any of the cowbirds lately?” Sneaky asked.

“Out and about,” replied the colorful winged creature. “They like to sit on the backs of Great Bess and Addie. They gossip around the clock, those birds.”

“Have you thought any more about supporting my bid for president?” Sneaky asked.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” replied the bird, a bit formally. “You’ve got my vote, but I don’t think you’ll get block support from us birds. It’s too controversial. Supporting a feline must be an individual choice for every bird. There’s too much history of cats killing songbirds. And of course the cowbirds hate your guts. The raptors will support you, but you all think more alike than different. They do what you do but from the air. The strategies are the same.” Clearly, the Downy Woodpecker had given all this a lot of thought.

Sneaky was grateful. “Thank you for telling me this. I appreciate your support.”

Tally called up to the bird. “Don’t you believe Sneaky should have a Jack Russell for her running mate?”

The woodpecker’s answer was forcefully delivered: “No.”

“Tally, give it up,” Tucker advised.

The lovely bird let out its distinctive call before saying “While I admire your motives and applaud your efforts, I still don’t think you can accomplish very much.”

“Might I know why you’d say such a thing?” Sneaky inquired. She thought it good policy to listen to her critics. Dialogue often yielded unexpected benefits.

“Well,” the woodpecker started, “even if you win, you
have to work with what humans call vested interests. They are powerful, motivated by money or, in some cases, laziness. They will fight you tooth and nail. How can you buy them off?”

“I can’t,” the cat honestly replied. “I can only hope that enough sheer animal power allied with the humans will overwhelm them, and they have to work for the common good.”