Pets in a Pickle by Malcolm D Welshman Read Free Book Online

that contraption of yours you can still catch him.’ He waved at my cat catcher.
    ‘Well … yes … I can … but it might have been easier if he’d been a bit sleepy.’ I put down my equipment; as the panes were misted up I gingerly slid open the greenhouse door a fraction and peeped in. The cat was nowhere to be seen. I made the mistake of asking, ‘You sure he’s in there?’
    ‘Good grief, laddie, of course he is. I was the one who trapped him. Saw him go in with my own eyes.’ The Major’s caterpillar eyebrows met and wiggled. ‘No doubt he’s in there just waiting to pounce.’ He emphasised the word ‘pounce’ with such gruffness that I jumped – something he was quick to notice. ‘Not scared are you?’
    ‘No … no … not at all,’ I lied, shaking my head, my innards already turning to jelly at the prospect ahead.
    ‘Good. Wouldn’t like to think you were a namby-pamby.’
    ‘But as Leo didn’t take the tablets, we may well have quite a fight on our hands.’ My hands, actually, I thought miserably. ‘And if he starts to dash around, you may find a lot of your plants get damaged.’
    The Major seemed unperturbed. ‘Can’t be helped. Leo’s got a large gash on his back. It needs attention.’ The Major stepped forward and thrust his face in mine. ‘And you’re going to give it. Right?’
    I felt like jumping to attention with a smart salute. Instead, I nodded and reached down for the cat catcher. This consisted of a hollow metal tube threaded with a strong loop of cord which, if one was lucky – there, that word again – one could lasso over a cat’s head and pull tight to restrain the animal. Well, that was the theory. I had yet to put it into practice.
    The Major gave a derisive snort. ‘Don’t hold out much hope for that contraption.’
    ‘It’s all we have.’
    ‘You should dart him.’ The Major levelled two fingers like the barrel of a pistol at me. ‘Bang. Over he goes. No problem.’
    I bit my tongue, fighting back the urge to remind Major Fitzherbert that Leo was not a lion but a feral cat of ordinary proportions – at least I assumed that to be the case, as I had yet to set eyes on the wretched creature. Besides which, I wasn’t a good shot. My pub darts prowess – or lack of it – was proof of that. So even if we did have a dart gun, it would still have been a hit-or-miss affair. More miss than hit, with me more likely to anaesthetise a potted palm rather than Leo.
    Clutching the cat catcher in one hand, I slipped into the greenhouse to be immediately assailed by a wall of hot, humid air. I felt the sweat sprout from my upper lip while my armpits dripped.
    There was a sharp rap on the glass, and the blurred face of the Major loomed beyond the condensation. ‘Seen him yet?’ he demanded.
    ‘No. Not so far.’ I slowly crunched down the central path, nervously glancing from left to right. The towering mass of greenery surrounding me was so dense it could have hidden a posse of pussies. The dark green leaves of a giant philodendron rustled. I paused and then tiptoed forward. A flash of black slipped behind a palm. With the pole starting to slide through my greasy fingers, I stopped again and was just wiping my palms on my trousers when Leo padded into view framed in a shaft of sunlight. He was a magnificent tom, broad headed with scarred, twisted ears. He stopped when he saw me. Large green eyes, the pupils mere slits, stared at me, oozing defiance. With a loud, rattling hiss, he arched his back. The ‘Puss … pu-u-uss …’ I was about to utter faded on my lips. I could see the wound Major Fitzherbert had been concerned about – a jagged lump of skin torn from the cat’s right shoulder blade. As I took a step closer, Leo melted behind a clump of bamboo.
    ‘Blast you,’ I muttered as I continued to move forward, advancing on the bamboo, the cat catcher held out in front of me. Suddenly, a loud snarl rent the air. There was a flash of black. I ducked as Leo