All Cats Are Legends
Every cat has a story...listen...
A Ghost Walks the Chessie Track
The Chessie engine blasted around the curve clinging to the silver track that lay between a solid rock face and a sheer drop into the darkness below, its golden headlight grappling with the thick fog that surrounded the track and made the landscape around the rails a featureless white nothingness. The train was riding through a desolate stretch of mountain terrain somewhere in eastern West Virginia.
On board in berth lower nine Nip slipped a tiny paw under the curtain, quickly followed by her small head as she stared into the opaque whiteness that clung to the outside of the window. What a terrible night, she mewed. Her brother Tuck pushed up beside her. He could feel her trembling behind her fur and he rubbed his whiskers in a comforting way against her shoulder. But tomorrow well be pointing our way through Virginia and in the Piedmont the sun will be shining, he tried to assure her.
It must be awful, so cold and damp, in that box car where those two bos we saw are riding, she said with her mew full of concern and sympathy.
Yeah, Tuck agreed. I guess everyones not so lucky to have some of their family working on the railroad.
Chessie opened one green eye and fixed it fully upon her children. Now, kits, she said. Its time to settle down for bed.
Peake stretched out his front legs and then his back legs fully until he nearly filled the whole luggage hammock. It would be nice to have some quiet around here so an Old Man could get some sleep.
Tuck dipped his head under the blanket, then flipped around and put his head on the pillow next to Chessie and Nip did the same. Soon lower nine was quietly peaceful except for Peakes occasional snores. Nip was just drifting off to sleep when suddenly there was a grinding jerk and a most terrible jolt as abruptly the train came to a sudden halt, the emergency brakes having been applied. Chessie slipped from the berth and landed on the carpet while the kittens tumbled with two soft plops atop her. Peake managed to hang on by fixing all his sharp claws into the rope material of the hammock, Every one all right? he asked.
Chessie untangled herself from the sheets and blanket. What on earth was that?
The passenger in the upper berth rolled over with a loud grunt and a moan and went right back to sleep which was of no help at all. Peake scrambled from the hammock and headed for the door. Something caused the train to be stopped, he said, Ill go find out whats going on.
Chessie looked at him with warm adoration. Thats my big, brave man, she purred. The kits eye were wide with admiration as well.
Out in the corridor other passengers were milling about, besieging the conductor with questions, but no one knew anything more then the fact that the train had indeed been stopped abruptly. Peake stepped from the passenger car and began to walk up the track toward the engine. As he passed the boxcar he saw the door was slightly ajar. Two dirty faces with huge protruding eyes peeked out the crack, along with the mud colored muzzle of an old dog. Then he heard a soft thud on the ground and the scrambling of four paws behind him. He turned and saw as slender form, undoubtedly that of a she-cat with a ragged dirty coat and well notched ears hurrying to catch up to him.
Hey you! she called, Wait for me. I want to find out whats going on so I can tell my bos. Im Allie Rose, by the way.
How appropriate! Peake, at your service, he replied in a courtly manner. Her voice was rough and rasping, not the soft refined voice of his mate. When she caught him up, they walked toward the engine together. Beyond the bright gleam of the head light piercing the darkness they could see a figure walking down the track toward them. In one hand a red lantern swung, the universal signal signifying danger ahead, that could be anything from a washout on the tracks, a bridge out, a stalled train, anything. But there something strange about the lantern bearer. The closer he came to the cats, the figure itself seemed to be carved out of the mist, white and almost featureless, only the swaying lantern and a grotesquely curled stick the figure had withdrawn from beneath his jacket appeared real.
A haint! Allie Rose murmured.
A what? Peake asked. He thought shed been listening too long to the bos trying to outdo each other with the scariest stories.
Okay, a ghost, if you like, she replied. A ghost that cant rest, that keeps returning to the place where it died. Searching for something it lost or the person responsible ~or something! Her rough fur was on end and her low voice was scaling up to a screech. The figure seemingly taking no notice of the cats, sat the lantern in the middle of the track and climbed up into the cab of the engine.
A revenant. Thats what Ive heard them called. Peakes warm tongue swiped a few strokes over the rough fur on her shoulder. Shh.easy now he whispered. come on, lets go.
Go where? Allie Roses mew was quavery.
To find out what he wants! Peak said.
The two cats slipped silently up the steps behind the white figure. The atmosphere inside the cabin was as cold with fear as the outside air. The engineers hand was still frozen on the brake handle, his face almost as deathly pale as the ghost. The firemans shovel shook in his hands but still be brought it up with a powerful swing that whipped right through the white figure. The ghost lifted his crooked stick toward the fireman, a ghastly laugh coming from his mouth. There was a flash, a bolt of red lightening, and where the fireman had stood , a whist of gray smoke was disappearing as the shovel chattered to the metal floor. The cats bunched together against a hard wall, pretending they were invisible. This is Engine 607, the Devils own engine. So the Devils own fire. His laughter sounded like chains being dragged over gravel. Then he turned to the conductor and his laughter was swallowed by silence. Nearly two years now I been walking this rail, wanting to find this engine with this driver. All this time ~ all this time I was looking for you, Gabe Rose! He moved his stick in front of the engineers face, whose eyes were blank with fear, the stick before him shaking with ghostly rage.
Now its time for him to pay. You see, I was just another lonely old 'bo, tramping the roads, looking for work. The ghost seemed to be trying to explain himself to his unseen witnesses. Then one day I was with a friend who said in the next town he was told there was a white fence with a kind hearted woman sign, a good spirited person whod be willing to give a 'bo a hand out or a good meal. He was right too. She fed us up good and sat and talked to us like we was guests, real people, not some loathsome beasts with some disgusting disease you could catch. Ill never forget her face, her beautiful eyes and golden hair, her white dress just like an angels gown. You could fair see the sparks flashing in the air between us. I guess her brother mustve seen em too when he come home from work. He was real quick to fix up a rucksack for us with bread and cheese, some old clothes of his, threw in a half a bottle of whiskey, and a little money on top of that. Yeah, he was real generous, wanting to get us out of the door double quick. She walked with me down to the gate where her sign was, and I told her if this railroad job I was gonna try for worked out, Id be back right soon to court her proper and soon wed have a home of our own. I reckon this rat, this snake here, he pointed the stick in the engineers face again, he must have slunk up like a low down dog behind the bushes and listened in.
The next day like I told my angel I signed on the railroad. I was made a brakey and I had to walk the tops of cars looking for a hot box or a smoking wheel, brakes being so important in good repair on these mountain runs. And the engine was 607 and this piece of slime was the driver. Not even one day past, he caused the engine to jolt and the cars jerk and I was thrown between two cars and run over. The sound that came from his throat was now like the growl of a ferocious animal. I reckon he felt right proud of himself, saving his sister from marrying a no-good 'bo. I bet he felt good telling her Id been killed. But it didnt work out right when they found her in the river drowned, cause she couldnt live without me. It was like hed killed her with his own hands, thats what he done. But I couldnt go with her because my hate and the need for revenge made me stay to hunt him down and make him pay. Two murders on his soul! And the time has come and the payments due! His hand reached out for the engineers throat.
Peaks own throat was rumbling with sorrow but his lips drew back in a wicked hiss. Without an engineer, wholl drive the train? Well be stuck here forever. My mate and kits are on board.
The ghost looked away from his target for a moment, appearing not the least surprised to hear a talking cat. Ive walked this track so long, I know every inch. I could ride you into Clifton Forge and you could pick up another engineer. His hand shot out and grabbed the engineers forearm like a vise, as he prepared to try and scramble out the opposite window.
Peake thought of the miles of twisting track ahead, the mountain face on one side and the sheer drop on the other, with an inexperienced hand on the throttle. Its no good, he growled, his claws unsheathing and the muscles in his back legs bunching up.
Beside him, Allie Rose spoke, her voice low, no longer rough and rasping but now soft and melodious. Peake looked at her and saw she had changed. No longer scrawny, ragged, and dirty, her coat was smooth and so white it fairly glowed.
No, Johnny, dont! she said. No more killing, especially not by you, my love. Im here now. Your Allies here. She leapt into his arms, touching a white paw to his face as he dropped the stick and caught her. I had to find you, so I rode with the bos as a cat and listened to all their stories of ghosts and haunted tracks so I might know where youd be. Now Im here and we can go away together and leave my brothers punishment to God and the devil to decide.
The white figure turned his back to the engineer and the stick and shovel lying on the floor, and to Peak. As he stepped down from Engine 607, Peake saw he no longer carried a white cat in his arms but a beautiful young woman with long golden hair and wearing a white dress. They walked up the track and disappeared into the fog, never to be seen again on that stretch of mountain railroad.
Well, now, Engineer, Peake said, I believe youve been given a short reprieve to drive us into Clifton Forge and turn yourself in to the railroad authorities. Or the devil will walk your tracks forever.
When Peake returned to berth lower nine, damp and chilled, Chessie leaped up immediately and began to tongue his fur and press her own body against his to warm him. So what happened? she asked.
The engineer thought he saw something on the tracks, so some of us walked ahead a ways but there wasnt anything there. Guess staring into the fog for so long makes you imagine things.
Nothing at all? Chessie questioned with a doubtful tone.
Well, just a red lantern. Some idiots idea of a joke, I guess. He scrambled up into his hammock and curved his tail over his nose. Now I hope theres nothing else to keep an Old Man from getting some sleep tonight.
Chessie knew that there was more, a lot more, to the story but some things couldnt be told in front of their children, so she would have to wait. She settled into her usual position and as she slipped into sleep, she was thinking how lucky she was that they were working for the railroad, that they had such beautiful kittens, and how wonderful it was to have such a grand Old Man as Peake.
Susan M. Dern
(Pencil sketch by Diane L. Dern)
November 2007
This story is dedicated to the C&O Historical Society as a way of saying thanks for keeping Chessies and Peakes memory alive for all of the railroad fans.
Thanks to Tony Reevy for his book, Ghost Train! which served as an inspiration.
Also in loving memory of my grandparents who told us stories of The Great Depression and life aboard the railroad.
The Meeting
The Meeting
A Chessie and Peake Story
Part One: The Station Cat
The kittens were born behind the old trash barrel among the bushes that flowered behind the train station on the old Chessie line. The youngest of the litter was so small, the mother cat wondered if she could raise him. So she intentionally did not give him a name until she was sure he would live. Instead she called him Kitten.
As the weeks passed, Kitten lived and thrived, playing with his sisters and brothers under their motherfs watchful eye. His mother took them all down the track a little way to the depot and taught them how to hunt the plump mice that nested under the building. And they were always getting hand-outs from the people who know they were there. From the people who scurried in and out of the busy station, they heard that times were hard, that people had little money, little food, no jobs, little of everything. But in spite of this, the people seemed to have a generous spirit and were always willing to share.
Then one morning when Kitten and his litter mates were weaned and four months old, they woke to find their mother gone. And she never came back. They were on their own in the world. After waiting a week in their old nest in vain for her return, the brothers and sisters began to wander inside the train station. And each one was taken away by some farm person who knew a good potential mouser when he saw it. But Kitten was shy and afraid to go very far from the nest. So he stayed, catching mice and eating hand-outs, and was called by those who saw him "the station cat".
He might have stayed forever. But one day as he lay sunning himself as far down the platform as he could get from the bustle of the crowds of people arriving and departing, greeting loved ones or saying goodbye, a long train came into the station. When the train stopped, the middle one of the sleeping cars was directly across from where he was lying. And peering down at him from one of the gleaming windows, he saw a small face of gray, black, and tan. There was a kitten on that train! As they stayed motionless staring at each other while people boarded and got off, and luggage was loaded and unloaded, Kitten began to think. "I could ride on a train like that kitten." Then a even brighter thought came to him. "I could ride on that train with that kitten! I'll never be lonely again." But before he could move from his sunning spot, the train lurched forward and began sliding down the silver tracks. The kitten in the window raised a small striped paw in farewell and he slowly raised a snowy white paw. Then the train rumbled out of sight around a curve and she was gone.
The next day, drawn by his sense of loss and loneliness, Kitten began to walk down the gleaming tracks, away from his birth nest and the train station, the only home hefd ever known, following the train with the kitten. The station cat was gone forever
The Meeting
A Chessie and Peake Story
Part Two: The Journey
The track seemed golden in the sun and silver in the moonlight and it seemed to go on forever. Kitten hunted mice, birds, and rabbits, and there was always a hand-out ready at a house along the track if he hung around and put on his big eyed starving stray kitty act, which he had perfected. He slept in trees or in a clump of bushes, unable to rest peacefully, one eye always slitted for danger, like a pack of stray dogs. He learned to feel the vibration in the track or the ties which meant a train was coming, and he quickly leaped to the side of the rails and carefully observed each sleeping car that thundered past. But he never saw that gray, tan, and black face again. Where had she gone? So many times he wished he were back at his station, but something inside him wouldnft let him give up. He would walk the track to its very end, down all the spurs, to find the kitten and be a railroad cat like her.
And as the days grew shorter and cooler, a strange thing happened. His body lengthened, his head grew larger, his legs grew longer. He was no longer just a mottled little kitten but had developed a fine set of stripes, a white chest and white peak up his face, and four white paws. He saw all this in a puddle of rainwater when he stopped for a drink. And people stopped calling him "kitten" or even just "cat". Now he was called "Tomcat", sometimes even "handsome Tomcat", which made him glow with pride. But he was no closer to find the train with the kitten than ever.
He avoided towns and carefully skirted around them whenever possible. Because in the towns they had these loud moving things much shorter than a train engine which ran on a dirt path instead of a track and hurried around wildly in all directions. The people called them "automobiles", and Tomcat was convinced that they were evil and that several he had encountered had tried to run him over for no reason. Besides that was where the rough-scrabble gangs of feral cats lived, who saw him as a threat to their meager good supply in trash cans and compost heaps. They did'n want another new cat in their town so they would chase after him and tried to beat him up.
As it got colder he might stay in a barn or a house with people for several days at a time, playing up his poor kitty act. Very seldom did anyone throw something at him or try to sweep him away with a broom.
But there was another way to get hand-outs as well. Near almost every train yard, there would be a hobo camp, full of homeless men who had no jobs and spent their days riding the empty box cars from place to place, looking for work. The wooden box cars were ferociously hot in the summer, but the 'bos would open the car door to get a breeze. Whenever a box car passed a 'bo camp with open doors and several men hanging out inside, some one would jump off or jump on, and there would be whooping and hollering, and insults shouted back and forth. But in winter, it was different. The box car were freezing cold and sometimes desperate 'bos would light fires inside the cars and the car would catch fire and burn right down to their metal wheels which could melt right onto the track. Sometimes the fire would leap from one box car to another, and a whole line of cars and their contents be consumed right in the train yard. That was why the yard master would hire yard bulls, big muscular men with thug personalities to walk the train yards with large fierce dogs, looking for any sheltering 'bos waiting to hitch a ride.
If a 'bo was caught, he'd be severely beaten with the heavy sticks the bulls carried and mauled by the dogs, then tossed out of the yards with dire warnings of what would happen if they were caught coming back. When the bulls were on the prowl, even Tomcat would hunker down in the shadows, his paws tucked down beneath him, his head down to hide the white on his face and chest. Some those dogs looked big enough to swallow him.
But there were good time in the 'bo camps too. When Tomcat would slip in at night, there would be a warm fire burning and the 'bos would be cooking a stew or roasting some chickens cached from someone's barn yard. They let him lick the bowls or the pot and gnaw the bones. Then sometimes when there was a bottle of cheap wine or a jar of 'shine to be passed around, the 'bos would begin to sing. One of the songs Tomcat liked best was about a man he figured must be the hero of all the 'bos, a man called "Railroad Bill".
"Railroad Bill
Railroad Bill
He never worked
And he never will
Gonna ride with
Railroad Bill"
There followed several more verses detailing Bill's exploits as a lady's man, a bank robber, and gunslinger, then back to the chorus. Tomcat liked the chorus so much when they sang it again, he added his own pipes to the singing in a raucous howl. This always made the 'bos laugh and sometimes got him an extra treat. But it seemed sad to Tomcat how some of the 'bos wanted to ride the rails all the rest of their lives. He, too, wanted to ride on a train but on the inside, where it was warm in winter and cool in summer, with the kitten at his side, a feline companion for life, so he would never be lonely again.
The one day his journey almost came to an end.
The Meeting
A Chessie and Peake Story
Part Three: The Children
One afternoon when a light snow had covered the ground, Tomcat leapt onto the porch of a house not far from the track. Two little girls were snowballing each other in front of the house to the musical accompliment of their high sweet laughter. Their winter coats had been carefully mended and patched, but they were quickly getting too short for the girls' growing arms and legs. Their hats and mitten, made from many different colors of yarn, looked fairly new. He went immediately into his act, howling piteously. Little girls were usually a soft touch and an easy path to a good meal. "Help me! Help! I'm a starving ca-a-a-at!" he wailed. The girls, as he expected, quickly dropped their snowballs to run to him.
The picked him up and held him between them, warming him, their mittened hands patting him all over, scratching beneath his chin, behind his ears, between his shoulders. He'd never felt anything so good and even he was surprised at the great rumbling purrs that came from his breast and chest.
Suddenly the door of the house opened and a tall thin weary-looking man stood there, most likely the father of the little girls.
"Look, Daddy," one of the children said, "a kitty!"
"That is no kitty, girls," the father said. "It's a half grown tomcat."
"I don't think he has a home," the older girl said. "Can we keep him, Daddy? Please!"
"We'd take good care of him. We don't have a kitty of our own," the smaller girl said. "Pleeeese!"
The man shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, girls. You know how it is these days. We can't keep pets. We don't have enough food or money to have an animal that doesn['t work on the farm. Let him go now and come inside. Mom has the stove going so you can start your homework."
Although the girls' shoulders slumped with sad disappointment, they obediently set him down gently and went into the house. Tomcat had expected them to plead much more on his behalf. Then the door was slammed in his face. What?! No meal? No hand-out?! Things must really be rough for that family. Tomcat was outraged. Work on the farm, huh? He'd show them. A dirt path ran past the house to a barn in the distance. That was the ticket! He took off down the path to the barn, leaping over patches of ice and snow.
A short time later he came walking back to the house dragging the biggest, fattest mouse he could find in the barn. It must have been the grandfather of all the other mice he saw there. Dropping his trophy on the porch, he began to claw and bang loudly against the door, howling with all his vocal might. A little girl's face appeared at the front window. "Daddy," he heard her call from behind the glass. "The big kitty is back again."
The tall man opened the front door again with a scowl on his face and a pan of water in his hand. Tomcat held up the big mouse dangling from this teeth down in front of his forelegs, staring at the man with a defiant green-eyed stare that seemed to say, "I'm no free-loader. I can work on a farm too." The man's scowl vanished and a happy smile broke out on his lined, weary face. He so wanted to give his little girls something. They were so good, never complaining about all the things the family didn't have, all the things they wanted that he couldn't afford to give them, a fact that hurt him down deep in his soul.
"Well now," he said, "that's more like it! We can always use another good mouser in the barn that can feed himself too. Come on in, tomcat."
The little girls gave squeals of happiness and hugged the man's long legs. "Oh, thank you, Daddy! We love you," they chorused, and for a moment the man felt like the king of the world, all because of a stray tomcat.
Tomcat walked into a small living room. The girls had been writing strange looking figures on pads of cheap yellow colored lined paper with thick yellow pencils and toting them up like he had seen the ticket seller in the train station do. A tattered school book lay between them where they sat on a warm rug before a fat round woodstove standing on its square of tiles. Tomcat sat beside them before the warm stove and was surprised to feel and hear those loud purrs coming from his throat again.
At dinner time as the family sat around a big table at the end of the living room before the kitchen door; the kitchen wood stove, a great black gleaming shiny thing added its own warmth like a 'bos' campfire. Tomcat had a bowl of milk. From the amount of milk he figured they at least had a cow. But the small plate beside the bowl held only a few tiny scraps of tough meat. "I should have kept the mouse," he thought sadly. At least there were lots of them in the barn so he wouldn't go hungry. He only hoped he wasn't eating meat that belonged to the little girls who had promised over and over to take care of "Big Tomcat". Their little legs handing down under the table reminded him of the branches of a small tree, like a dogwood. Then the man cut off a long strip of fat from his own meat and held it down where Tomcat could take it gently in his teeth from the man's hand. "If you're going to work the barn with the other cats, you need to keep up your strength." But the man was so thin himself! At this act of kindness the purring started again, making everyone laugh.
After dinner the family pulled chair in front of the woodstove and listened to music and jokes on their radio, and the voice of a man they called FDR or The President. Tomcat had heard this voice before on the small radio in the train station office. It was a pleasant voice, but very different from the soft melodious drawls of the people around him. Still his words which made the family smile and nod with approval were only for people, not cats, and they couldn't help him find the train with the kitten, so he climbed up into the lap of an older woman the girls called "Grandma". She sat in a rocking chair beside a pile of sweaters that had ugly stains or large tears or were worn through at the elbows. She was carefully unraveling the wool yarn from the sweaters into fat balls that were placed in a basket on the other side of the rocker to be made with the long white needles that were sticking into one of the balls into something else. Now he knew where the girls' hats and mittens came from. He longed to pull one of the balls out of the basket and begin to bat it all over the room, like a great big kitten, but he was afraid that might be thought of as rude so he carefully kneaded a spot on the sweater that was disappearing beneath him into a ball, and curled up in the old woman's lap for a catnap. Every now and then she'd stop pulling the yarn from the sweater and stroke his soft fur. Tomcat hadn't been this content since he'd been in the nest with his mother and brothers and sisters.
Fortunately the family didn't follow the old adage of "bring in the dog, put out the cat" so he spent his first night on the farm in, sharing the space under the kitchen stove in the company of an large drooling black dog who stayed in the back yard during the day and in the house at night "for protection". His muzzle was white and he looked too old to protect even a chicken from a hungry 'bo but he was kind and liked cats. He licked Tomcat all over and drooled in his fur so Tomcat had to spend half the night washing the awful smell of dog breath off himself. But now he had an animal friend as well, even if it wasn't the kitten.
Then one day he saw Dog in action and he developed a new feeling of respect for him despite his age. A man dressed in a suit came to the farm and pounded on the front door. Tomcat knew he was bad because he arrived in one of those "automobiles" that liked to run over cats. Grandma was taking a nap and the man was in the barn so there was only Mama and Tomcat to answer the rude banging on the door. As soon as she opened the door, he began yelling at her. He wanted to take the family's truck to pay on something he called a "bill". Mama asked him to lower his voice so he wouldn't disturb Grandma's nap but he paid no attention, beginning to yell even louder. Besides being disrespectful to Mama, he began to insult the man, calling him no good, lazy, and a thief. He yelled that if he couldn't take the truck, the man would be put in jail. Mama tried to tell him they had no money to pay the bill now, that Grandma needed her medicine and the little girls had to eat. She said that when spring came and the farmer's market in town reopened, she could sell eggs and pay him some money. That sounded reasonable to Tomcat but not to the man. He called her a liar and said she wouldn't do it. He wanted to take the truck now. His face was red and his voice sounded as mean as a yard bull, and Dog came around the corner of the house, a deep angry growling coming from his mouth. He walked straight toward the bad man who backed up toward the gate. But Dog kept on coming, his growling getting even louder. The man raised his fist to hit at Dog and Tomcat had had enough. He was out the door and leaping up he wrapped his legs around the man's fist, digging in with his claws and biting with his fangs. The man yelled with pain and tried to shake him off but Tomcat held on with all his might. Dog got behind the man and bit his rear, tearing his pants and letting the world see his long johns beneath. Then he threw his big body into the man's legs, causing him to land badly on the ground on his backside. This brought his face into Tomcat's reach and he clawed viciously, letting blood splatter his white shirt and his overcoat from the jagged red tracks Tomcat had left on his cheeks and forehead. "Enough! Enough!" he man yelled. He scrambled to his feet and hurried out the gate to his automobile , shouting that when he came back, he bring a policeman with him. "Fine," Mama cried after him, "and instead of a little nip on your fat butt, you'll get a load of buckshot."
Even after the automobile had disappeared down the road, Mama clung to the door, shaking and crying. Dog and Tomcat rubbed around her, each trying to say in their own way that everything was all right, that he man wouldn't dare come back and face the two of them again. Tomcat went around the rest of the day with his white chest puffed out, proud of what a great pair of noble fighters he and Dog were.
It was a hard winter in the valley where the farm was, and Tomcat was glad he was still in the house instead of outside trying to leap through snow drifts higher than his head. It had happened this way: he was resting under the kitchen stove one afternoon after a long morning in the barn. He always lined up the prey he caught just inside the barn door so the man could see how hard he was working. He always caught more than the other barn cats so that before the man put on his barn gloves and came with his wheel barrow to take the mice away to the garbage pit, he could select two of the biggest for himself, one for lunch and one to eat before he went into the house so he could get through the night on his bowl of milk and plate of sparse scraps. Mama was sitting at the kitchen table with a pile of cloth pieces cut from clothes simply mended and patched too many time to be used again. She was looking through these rags to find two pieces she could use to patch the holes worn in the elbows of the man's shirt and fretting that the cloth around the holes might be too thin to hold the patches. "Nip and tuck, tomcat," she told him, "nip and tuck. That's what we do to get by." Suddenly a large mouse shot out from a cabinet and streaked across the floor heading for a crack beside the back stairs. "Eeeeeck! A mouse!" she screamed. Tomcat was up and on it in a flash, bringing the mouse down with one white paw. Tomcat guessed from the way he was praised so lavishly that his days in the barn were over. And he was right.
Now after patrolling the house from top to bottom, he sat in the sill of the front window, watching over the snow and ice-covered ground and waiting for the trains to go by. But still there was no kitten.
Finally a warm wind blew in from the south, melting the ice and snow and carrying with it a faint scent of sun warmed earth and growing things. Winter was over.
And the warm wind brought strange feelings to Tomcat. It made his legs and whiskers twitch and his paw itch. He felt like he should be doing something, going somewhere, though he didn't know where. The feelings made him turn and twist in his sleep until finally Dog asked, "What's wrong with you? It's way too early to have fleas, still you might as Grandma. She has a good home remedy she can douse you with, gets rid of them right away."
Tomcat knew Dog only wanted to help, but how could he tell Dog what was wrong when he didn't know himself. He felt so restless and kept rolling from side to side, so that in order not to disturb Dog's sleeping more, he slipped out from under the stove and went into the living room. The stove in there had been lit earlier in the evening since someone had predicted at least one more snow before spring officially arrived. Tomcat crawled under the stove and tried to sleep but still felt out of sorts. Suddenly it came to him what was wrong, what he needed to think about. "Why can't I stay here forever and be a farm cat? I'll never find that train anyway. These people are good and kind and they really like me. The children love me. Why should I spend the rest of my nine lives chasing a train I'll never catch?" He had nearly made up his mind that life on the farm was his future and was drifting off into sleep when he heard it. The whistle of the late night train as it neared the crossing where the road passed over the track. The whistle was high, long, and heart rending, full of loneliness and desperation, seeming to echo all the hurt and pain and loss in the country, in the whole world. The sound hit Tomcat like falling into a snow drift or a deep icy puddle. He pushed from under the stove and leapt to the sill of the front window. The train rushed past, the sleeping cars all darkened so he couldn't have seen the kitten anyway. But that didn't matter any more. Because suddenly it was all clear to him. He couldn't stay! He couldn't be a farm cat the rest of his nine lives! He'd been born behind a train station. He belonged on a train, with or without the kitten. The whistle sounded again farther down the track and an answering wail began to build in Tomcat's chest. He choked it down before it tore from his mouth and his heart and awakened the whole household.
Jumping down from the sill, he tore in a flash up the front stairs and into the children's room. They lay curled together under colorful quilts. He leapt up on the bed, smelling clean linens and the sweet scent of freshly washed clean little girls and big bars of white Octogan soap. He gave each one a whisker kiss so soft it did not disturb their sleep and began to whisper softly, "I know you love me. And I love you, but I have to go. I belong in another life and I must find it. Don't ever forget your Tomcat because I'll never forget you." He gave them a last whisker kiss then hopped off the bed, ran across the floor to the door and down the back stairs before the painful heart broken mewing could begin and he could change his mind.
In the kitchen Dog was waiting. "Did you find out what was wrong?"
"Yes," Tomcat said sadly. He stepped up to Dog and touched his pink nose to Dog's large wet licorice colored one. "You've been a good friend to me but I can't stay. I'm on a mission to find the life where I belong and I have to go." He touched Dogfs nose again. "Take care of the family for me, Dog. Especially the little girls." He turned away and leaped up into the sink beside the water pump. The kitchen window above was opened several inches now, so Dog could hear any "disturbance" in the yard beyond, like a 'bo with a sack in the chicken house or the mean man sneaking back to take away the truck. If anyone tried to get in that way, since Dog slept out of sight under the stove, they would get a very unwelcome surprise. "Goodbye," Tomcat called down.
"I'll do the very best I can," Doug promised. "Goodbye and good luck, Tomcat. I hope you find what you're looking for."
Tomcat flattened his shoulders and his body and began to squeeze his way inch by inch through the window. Once through, he jumped to the ground and ran around the house to the front yard. He thought he heard a low mournful howl behind him but he didn't stop. He pushed through the fence where a board was broken and streaked across the road and down the embankment to the track. When dawn came, the tabby cat was far away, following the two lines of rails to the west. Tomcat never returned to the farm again.
The Meeting
A Chessie and Peake Story
Part Four: A Gang of Tuffs
The track went to a place so high that Tomcat would see on one side of the rails a blue valley so far below that he could look down on clouds beneath his paws. One look convinced him to stay on the other side of the track. He wasn't a bird. The rails went into curves so wide and steep they seemed to embrace the small town on the near side of the tracks. Tomcat was not surprised to find a 'bo camp in the narrow ravine outside of the town, sheltered from the wind. The steepness of the curve forced the trains to slow down nearly to a crawl and if there were box cars, the 'bos could scrabble up the hill out of the ravine and leap onto the trains at well.
In the early morning chill, 'bos were still lying around asleep beside dying camp fires, wrapped in blanket rolls or under thick old overcoats, their heads pillowed on sacks that contained all their worldly possessions. Some of the fires had been poked up already and the 'bos that had begun to stir were reheating coffee grounds in their tin pots. Someonefs voice lifted up in a sweet Irish tenor:
"Look homeward angel
Tell me what you see
Do the folks I used to know
Remember me?"
And Tomcat's heart was broken again, crushed by the loss of his mother and nest mates, the train, the kitten, the family he had loved and left. How could this happen to a good tomcat who had never done anyone harm?
"Look homeward angel
Find my lady fair
Does she dream about the love
We used to share?
Look home angel
Spread your wing open wide
Fly ahead to see
What the future holds
For her and me."
A vicious hiss sounded behind him. Oh no! He had passed too close to the town and feral cats were pouring out of alleys and empty buildings. Their cruel moth-eaten leader, Tigerwings, a yellow and black cat nearly double Tomcat's size, was flanked by his best fighters. Electric Blue, a wild Siamese, and Sidewinder, a solid gold battle scarred veteran. "Look at this fellows," Tigerwings sneered, "a little kitty cat sneaking into our town!" Tomcat was not in the mood for insults this morning. A fire seemed to rage inside him. "Don't come a step closer," he warned, "unless you want to be looking for the rest of your snub ears!"
"Hey, gang, he's threatening us!" the tiger striped cat said. "Guess he wants us to escort him out of town."
"Hissss!" came from the tuffs on either side of him, mixed with deep rumbling growls.
" Hey, Peak-face!" A voice called from behind the assembled gang. Tomcat looked and saw the strangest sight: two identical gold and white cats with long straight noses, small thick ears, long shaggy fur, and huge bodies.
"Tigerwings is a loud mouth and getting too big for his striped suit," the second cat said. "We've been looking forward to giving him a good trashing." The two cats had the strangest accents. Peak-face had even heard. "I don't need any help with this lot of losers," he said. "But thanks anyway. And if you're looking for a fight," he shrugged, "be my guest."
"You're welcome," the two replied, diving into the pile of bullies. Peak-face laid about him on all side with eighteen sharp ones and a ripping set of strong jaws. He was so fast and strong, the leaders couldn't touch him. The two big cats rolled through the gang like bowling balls knocking out ten pins and soon the tuffs were running off howling down alleys and into building in all directions.
The howls finally ceased and faded away and in the silence that followed, as he and the shaggy cats stood alone by the track, he heard it! The long whistle of a train slowing down with great screeching brakes to make the curve. And it was the train! As the engine came into sight, he recognized the words "The George Washington" written on the engines side in cursive. The kitten! He just knew she was there. His shattered world flew back together. His destiny was about to be fulfilled.
A Chessie and Peake Story
Part Five: The Train
"Whew," one of the gold and white cats said. "Nothing like a good fight to set you for the morning."
"Care to join us for some breakfast?" the other cat said, inclining his head toward the 'bo camp.
"Sorry," Peakface said. "I think my train just came in. But thanks again." He had just spied beyond the mail car three boxcars being hauled to the next big train yard. And there in the middle one were a few obligatory 'bos hanging out the door and shouting out insults to the 'bo camp.
"'Morning, you lazy 'bos. Get off yer butts and join us! We're goin' to Californy!"
Peakface scorched his way up the hill and leapt. He was joined by a 'bo, who nearly missed the boxcar and fell back down the hill before his arms were grabbed and he was hauled in by the 'bos on the train. It was good to have the agility and grace of a cat. The 'bo heartily thanked the other "gentlemen" in the car when he got his breath back, then sat down heavily on the vibrating floor of the clanking boxcar and stretched out his legs. When he did, Peakface saw beside them the ashes of one of their deadly fires on the boxcar's floor. He gave a mewling yelp. Now he wanted to get out a lot quicker than he had gotten in. "Looky there," one the them said. "A cat. Wonder if he's good to eat?"
"Nah," another voice spoke. "Had a piece o' cat in France when I was there during the Great War. Tough and stringy. Didn't taste nothing like chicken. Worse than those awful frogs' legs."
"Still," the first man who spoke said, "this is an American cat. Might be better." He advanced toward Peakface, speaking softly, "Here kitty, kitty, kitty." Once more Peakface was laying about himself with claws and fangs, he didn't even need the shaggy coated cats to help him. Soon all the 'bos were at one end of the car and he was at the other.
"Hey, fellas," the man on the floor said, having ignored the exciting fight. "This train really go all the way out west?"
"Nah," he was told, "only to someplace in the Midwest. Then we have to switch lines. Santa Fe, Great Western, one of those."
"Californy," the man on the floor said dreamily. He must have had a better night's sleep than the rest of the men for he began to talk expansively. "Soon as I get there, I'm going to pick a few pockets and take it all to the nearest racetrack and put it on that horse I heard about on the radio that's tearing up all the tracks out there. Yeah. Seabiscuit. That's the one. Say he always wins not only because he's faster than all the others but smarter too. Then I'll be a rich man. Maybe buy my own race horse!" He reached into his pocket of this heavy jacket and Peak-face saw the reason for his expansion. He unscrewed the top of a small glass bottle and tilted it to his lips, then screwed the cap back on and shoved it away. Not offering the other men a pull after they might have just saved his life was the ultimate insult. And back on the farm, breakfast probably wasn't over! He might be a rich man some day but he was an awful 'bo right now.
As long as the 'bos stayed on their end of the car, Peakface felt he could sit down and tuck his paws beneath him. After way too much time, the train, with whistle blowing and bell clanging, began to slow and pulled to a stop at a station. He slipped out the door of the double-deadly boxcar whose door had been wedged open slightly, no doubt so the smoke of last night's fire could clear out, and began to climb to the roof, his claws sinking deep into the wood. Once on top, he leapt to the next boxcar and scurried across it to leap to the next car. Then he ran ahead to the roofs of the passenger cars, but there didn't seem to be an opening anywhere. He had to find a way to get into the train before it started moving again. At last at the front of the dining car he found several open vents which emitted smoke and the warm cooking smells of the late breakfast. He poked his head into one of them. The whole vent seemed rimmed with some kind of greasy substance; his paws began to slip and he fell with a thud into a small compact kitchen filled with busy men with dark skins. The were working so hard and there was so much noise from frying and the banging of pots, pans, and dishes that none of them even noticed a large tomcat dropping into their midst. He had landed beside the shining black shoes of a dark skinned man carefully measuring out a cup of white lard from the large tin in which it was kept. Another man stood before a grill top that was lined with frying eggs next to a counter top with a line of waiting white plates. He cheerfully singing, gKeep your sunny side up.h Peakface scurried unnoticed in and out all the pairs of shoes and lapped up with a few quick bites the fried egg that fell from the sky and landed in front of him. And when the door to the dining car opened and another black man entered pushing a cart filled with dirty dishes, he squeezed out through the door.
The Meeting
A Chessie and Peake Story
Part Six: The Dining Car
Peakface stood hesitantly in the door of the dining car and looked around nervously. As far as he could see, two lines of white covered tables stretched, separated by an aisle. He made up his mind and slipped under the long white table covering that fell to the floor. Once underneath, he stuck his face, nose and peak out, and began to look for the kitten. For once his white markings were not a liability but a good camouflage. The covered tables were filled with the train's passengers: couples, families with children, businessmen who thought they were important, old people, all of them lucky, in Peakface's opinion, to be riding a train. They were part of his world now, him and the kitten.
At the side of most of the tables stood a smartly uniformed black man, either serving dishes from a cart or putting used dishes into a cart and whipping out another snow white table cloth, or cheerfully handing out menus, and describing the special dishes for the late morning breakfast or early lunch, their sharply creased pants carefully covered by a stiff white apron. Peakface was enthralled and although his white markings on his face and chest could not be seen, he forgot about his sinuous black and brown tail. It was currently brushing a slender ankle sheathed in silk, extending into a shiny strapped patent leather shoe. And suddenly there was "Eeeeeeeek!!!"... a long extended shriek that immediately stopped all the noises in the dining car and caused Peakface to snap his head and chest back under the table and lie flat, cowering. A female voice was saying, "It was a mouse! I know it! It just brushed against my leg! A mouse! Eeeeek!!"
"Now, ma'am," came the slow, deep reassuring drawl of the black waiter. "That cannot be. There's never been a mouse on the George Washington, not in all my time, or my daddy's time, or my granddaddy's time. And if there were, we got our very own kitten could catch 'em right away. That's right, she catch 'em right away."
"How can she catch them if she's always asleep?" the lady's male companion asked, laughing.
"Well, suh," the waiter replied, "I do believe she catch 'em in her sleep. That's right, she catch 'em in her sleep."
The couple started chuckling and the mouse (Peakface) was thankfully forgotten.
He sidled carefully around the male companion's chair and slipped under the table cloth dragging it out over him until he reached the next table and slid under another cloth. He dove from one table to the next, hearing the babble of conversation, the crash and clatter of plates, dishes, glass and silverware, always painfully mindful of his tail around all the legs and feet under the tables. He didn't want to hear "Eeeeeeck!!" again!
The kitten was not there. He had envisioned her with a pure white napkin around her little gray-brown neck, seated at her own private table and dining on her grits and bacon served from a platter with a curved silver covering, accompanied by happily smiling, bowing black men, who were there to pamper her every whim. But it was not to be! Where was she?!
Then it struck him. Of course! She would have her own private berth where she could dine in solitude and palatial splendor. He would have to look on. When the back door of the car opened to admit more passengers, chattering noisily and eagerly anticipating their meal, Peakface slipped out and was on his way.
The Meeting
A Chessie and Peake Story
Part Seven: The Kitten
Peakface slipped unseen down the aisle until he came to a compartment that had not yet been changed. Then he blinked his green eyes in wonderment and disbelief. There right before his eyes he saw her. She was lying asleep beneath a snow white blanket, her head on a white pillow. It was her! The kitten!! Peakface could hardly believe it. He had found her at last!
He could scarcely take it in. Directly across from him stood two ceramic bowls, emblazoned with the kitten's picture, one empty, one half filled with water. The smell of bacon and eggs still lingered around the empty bowl. So Peakeface had been right. She had been dining in private. As he stood there, immobilized by his wonder, her eyes came open.
"Hello," the kitten said. "So it's you."
"It's me," Peakface admitted. "I've gotten here at last."
The kitten sat up, the blanket sliding down off her shoulders. "You're certainly a handsome cat. What's your name?"
"Uh, er, Kitten. No, Tomcat," he stammered.
Her head cocked to one side, and the better to observe him. "Kitten and Tomcat aren't names. They're descriptions. And insults. Come on, try again."
"'Er, Peake-face," he said, remembering the two Nordic cats.
"Peake-face," she repeated. "It suits you. I think I'll call you just Peake."
Peake reach his paws up to the white blanket and prepared to jump up beside her when suddenly, "Eeeeeeeeeck!" she cried. "Your paws are filthy! You'll ruin my blanket and sheets!"
Peake sat back down on the floor again. She didn't know how far he'd come. Then suddenly a tall black man stepped into the cubicle. "Miss Chessie," he said. "I hears you. What's the matter?" Seeing Peake on the floor he bent down for a closer look. "Lord-a-mussy!" he exclaimed. "It's an old tom cat. Has this fellow been bothering you, Miss Chessie? Let me put him off the train for you."
"No, Sam," Chessie said quickly. "This is my friend, Peake. But I do believe he needs a wash."
"You sure got that right, Miss Chessie," Sam said as he reached a hand under Peake's chest and took him up into her arms. "Looks like he been hanging out at every 'bo camp in all creation."
Then with Peake in his arms, he began to walk back down the long train corridor.
A Chessie and Peake Story
Part Eight: Sam
Sam took Peake to a little room at the end of the train car that was smaller than a cubicle and set him in a sink. Peake, still stunned at actually finding the kitten after so long, stayed quiet and didn't squirm or object even when warm water began cascading down his back. Sam began washing all the dirt from his fur, rinsing him off with water poured from a small waxed cup with Chessie's picture on it. When he was clean, Sam draped a towel over him and began to rub him dry. Peake shrugged off the towel, shook himself, and began to lick the fur on his chest back into place.
There came a sharp rapping on the wooden door and a sharp voice. "Sam! What the devil are you doing in there, you black monkey?" The voice came from a short man in a blue uniform with gold trim, the material stretched tight across his portly form.
Sam turned around, blocking the man's view of the sink and Peake with his broad body. He held out the little paper cup. "I've been running up and down the corridor all morning. I've got so thirsty, I had to get myself a drink."
The short man, whose blue cap had, "Conductor", printed on it, shook his graying head. "That's the white folks' bathroom, Sam. You know that. The nigger one's at the other end. You remember that next time."
Sam nodded. "I remember, suh." He turned back to Peake. "Not too good for Miss Chessie's ole tom cat, though," he chuckled to himself.
He lifted the still slightly damp Peake out of the sink and carried him to put him back on the floor in front of Chessie. "Here's your old tom cat back, ma'am." he announced.
"Much better," Chessie purred. Her green eyes shone with approval at Peake's now clean fur and gleaming paws as white as her blanket and pillow. "Much better."
Just then the Conductor's voice was heard again. "Aye, Sam!" he called. "What the devil are you up to now?"
He pushed in to stand beside Sam. His small eyes bulged at the sight of Peake on the floor. "That's a tom cat!" he announced unnecessarily. "What the hell's he doing in here? Throw him off the train!"
Sam glanced at Chessie. "I can't do that, suh," he decided. "It's Miss Chessie's new friend. I do believe our young lady dun made up her mind." He seemed to take courage with his decision. "Yes, suh. I do believe she dun made up her mind."
The Meeting
A Chessie and Peake Story
Part Nine: Chessie's Old Man
The train rolled on across the country. After the Conductor and Sam finally left, Peake built up the courage to leap up onto the berth beside Chessie. He began to lick the delicate shell pink insides of her soft gray-brown ears. She didn't seem to mind.
"Now that you're here," she said. "You can be my best friend forever."
Peake began to purr uproariously. He felt a happiness he had never felt before. His dream was going to come true! He was going to be a railroad cat! He would never be a homeless stray again. And with this kitten by his side, he would never have to be lonely again. "By the way," Chessie added, "how did you get her anyway?"
"I traveled so far to find you," Peake said softly.
Chessie half closed her eyes and looked at him. "Tell me about it," she said. So ever after, it was Chessie and Peake forever.
The End.
Susan M. Dern
"Chessie" and "Peake" are copywriten by the C&O/CSX Railroad