The Paladin

I am called by a name taken from a television show, from so long ago that the images didn’t even have colors. These old shows and movies are a passion of my human companion Mickey. She loves them and can name all the characters.

It took me several summers to understand what “television” was, and even longer to pick out the character I am supposed to represent. When I did, I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, and since my kind are incapable of either, I held my peace.

My namesake was an angry, bad tempered human who dressed in black and rode about on a black horse, meddling in the affairs of others.

I am of the Folk, and of the Clan of Cat, we who walk nine paths of life, upon the earth and under the sun. And yes, I am called “Paladin,” by the human family I guard.

Perhaps it was my color. I am a large black Manx, but I am neither angry nor bad tempered, merely intolerant of those who would harm my humans. And I seldom meddle.

I learned much later that “Paladin” is also a word which long ago meant “Great Warrior.” It was the title given to a knight who fought for the weak. “Very well,” I thought. “I can accept such a naming; the Spirit Above knows I have been given worse.”

I have been the companion of Michelle, or “Mickey,” as her kinsmen most often call her, since she found me scavenging in the alley one morning. I doubt I had seen more than ten weeks of my third Life-Walk, when she took me into the house and announced to all and sundry that she was keeping me.

Her parents had previously decreed that she could not have pets in the family residence, but her father soon relented. Human fathers usually do, with their pretty daughters of sixteen summers. Their mothers are a bit more difficult, but they generally follow suite, if left alone and given time.

“After all,” as Mickey said, “He’s just a little kitten. How much trouble could he cause?”

Whatever Mickey might have expected, I did not stay “little” very long, and soon became a large, robust representative of my kind. I could have told her that the Manx breed often do, but then, no one asked me. As to trouble, it is true that I have gotten into my share of it, in my day.

By the time Brian intruded into our existence, three summers later, I weighed a proud twenty-eight pounds, all of it hard muscle. In the prime of my life, I was strong and I was quick, and all the other toms of my Clan knew to avoid my territory.

My first days with Mickey were spent in great contentment, lying at her feet while she studied her lessons, or walking at her side in the park that lay near our home. Olympia, as our town was called, was a pleasant place for the Clan of Cat, with peaceful streets shaded by old trees.

I would have been happy to live in that place for the rest of my life, but it was not to be. Life with humans can be good, but it is always apt to change, usually without giving decent notice. My kind would rather have stability, but that is seldom found, upon the earth and under the sun.

Mickey is beautiful, and has always been so to my eyes, since the very first time I saw her. Anyone who believes she is not, and says so within my hearing, had best guard himself. Her long hair is of a red so bright that it rivals the rising sun, and her eyes are a sparkling cobalt blue, just made for laughing. I do not believe there was another human girl who could rival her in those days, in all of Olympia.

After the way of my kind with our human companions, I gave her a secret name: “Sunrise.” At first I believe I was only referring to her hair, but if truth be told, it describes her heart just as aptly.

By the time she had nineteen summers, her blooming young womanhood had made her more beautiful still, and the young human toms began to follow her about. That began the trouble, as it frequently does.

Mickey is my companion. Mine. That fact is not negotiable. The Spirit Above gave Mickey into my keeping, and nothing was going to come between us. I could never get the young human toms to accept that fact of life.

They tried to get me banished from the room whenever they visited her, clearly not liking the way I sat in her lap glaring menacingly at them. They were always taking her on outings, which pointedly did not include me.

Perhaps I was somewhat to blame; I had polished my “Big Black Threatening Presence” act to perfection by that time, and made it very clear that they were not in any way welcome on my territory.

I must admit at this point, that Brian was somewhat different. He always seemed to understand my place in Mickey’s life, and respected it. If my Mickey simply had to choose one from among that sorry crew, Brian was probably the best.

In the morning of the world, my kind were gifted with the ability to know the hearts of others. I had seen Brian’s
heart, and knew that he was a young man devoted to truth and honesty. That in itself was rare, in a young male member of his Clan.

He always had time to give me a smile and a scratch behind the ears, and once slipped me a bit of chicken salad under the table while they were eating. He nicknamed me “Pal,” and always used that short version of my name. Brian treated me with a certain respect, something I had received from none of the others.

The only major problem with Brian was that he was older, a young man of twenty-three summers. He had seen much more of life than Mickey. He had steady employment, as a “programmer,” a word that held no meaning at all for me. And he wanted to take my Mickey far away from Olympia.

Presumably, that meant away from me. There is another character from the old movies my Mickey loves, a tall, blocky man whose answer to nearly every question is “Not Hardly!”

That was my vehement reply to Brian, or anyone else for that matter, who intended to take my companion away: “Not hardly!” I girded myself for battle, figuratively speaking. Mickey was mine.

Even by that time, Brian had had enough of city life, and places where too many humans were crowded together. That was one fact of life he and I agreed on wholeheartedly. Another was, that it is usually better to act on one’s feelings, rather than endlessly talk about them.

He had, mostly with his own hands, built a small house on a bit of mountain land that he had inherited, in a place called “Idaho.”

I pricked my ears at that; it was far and away more ambition than I had seen from any of the other young human toms who cluttered Mickey’s trail. None of them had yet given any thought at all to what they meant to accomplish with their lives.

He excitedly showed Mickie many pictures of this house, and the forested country around it. He intended to make it his permanent home, he declared. He explained that he had a device he called “computer,” and that with it he could do all of his work at home, seldom having to leave his own land.

And then Brian did a very strange thing. He picked me up, scratched my ears, and set me in Mickie’s lap. Then he knelt on one knee before her, and asked her to become his mate for life, according to the customs of the Clan of Man, and live forever with him in Idaho.

She smiled and nodded, and began to cry. I prepared myself to go to war. Not hardly! That would definitely be after the fight.

But then Brian turned to me, and said “I can’t do this without you, Pal. Even if she’d part with you, I’d never ask her for that. I’d never do that to you, either. Will you come too? You’ll love Idaho, Pal. Those woods were just made for a tough character like you.”

“Well now,” I thought. That put matters in an entirely different light. I looked at Brian more approvingly. That tall blocky man from Mickie’s old movies had another saying, reserved for those who had gained his approval: “You’ll do, Brian,” I thought. “You’ll do!” It seemed we were bound for Idaho.

There followed a time of great upheaval and confusion, from which I quickly resolved to stay clear. Among my kind, becoming mated for life is a matter of mutual consent. What vows are required before the Spirit Above are made with the heart, not mere words.

This is emphatically not the case with the Clan of Man. A specific day must be set and announced, and a great many Official Things must be accomplished before that time. Clothing must be chosen, and special foods prepared.

As The Day approaches, there is a crescendo of last minute rushing about, and something is always wrong, or on the verge of collapse. Nothing is ever simple.

I hid under the bed in a mixture of disgust and amusement, and began to look forward to Idaho, where there must surely be peace and quiet. “Let’s get moving, people,” I thought. As Mickey’s favorite character would have said, “We’re burning daylight. It’s time to get this outfit on the trail.”

At last all was in readiness, and for a wonder, there were no crashing disasters. I watched from beside Mickey’s mother, as the two young humans said all the Necessary Words, and the thing was finally accomplished, to cheers from everyone present.

The move to Brian’s mountain home was made in his red pickup truck, filled to overflowing with Mickey’s belongings, and there were even more in a trailer hitched behind it.

I had seen that my bedding, brush, and dishes were packed; beyond that I needed nothing.

One of the great insanities of humankind is their frantic obsession with belongings, but that is how they have always been, since the morning of the world. One who walks with a human companion soon learns to tolerate her foibles. It was time, and long past time in my opinion, to be on our way.

Our journey was long, boring, and for me, fraught with motion sickness. The Clan of Cat are able to move with quite respectable velocity on just our four paws; I have never believed improvement by means of mechanical contrivance was necessary.

But humans live wider lives, and much further apart. I suppose their vehicles are more of their necessary madness, unpleasant but tolerable, and all journeys eventually do end.

Brian’s mountain home was everything he’d promised. Just as in the pictures he’d shown, a small, well-built log cottage was surrounded by tall evergreens, with a chuckling stream of icy water flowing nearby.

What the pictures could not show was the astonishing purity of the air: thin, crisp, and invigorating. There were none of the fetid city stinks I had been so accustomed to. The scent of pine, fir, and hemlock was pervasive, but I caught traces of animal life too, Clans definitely not Cat or Man that would soon need attention, I thought.

Mickey and Brian went directly into the cottage, intent on their own “homecoming ritual.” I definitely wanted no part of that. Humans are strange creatures, but one learns eventually to ignore their worst inanities.

While they were so occupied, I thoroughly scouted the area around the house, setting up and marking a suitable perimeter for my new territory. Some of the signs of other life I encountered were Clans completely strange to me, both four legged and winged. Those of the Birds were entirely different from the ones I’d known in Olympia. There would be much for me to learn in Idaho.

Boundaries established, I quenched my thirst from the brook and moved into our new home. That was simple for me. Mickey and Brian would need several days at least, to deal with the mountain of belongings she had brought, but I had no such encumbrances.

I merely looked in every room except theirs, which was still shut, and chose a suitable resting place for myself. A spot by the fireplace would do nicely, where the morning sunlight from a window would fall upon a soft rug.

I will say this in favor of the young man who had so disrupted our lives: Brian loved my Mickey as much as I did, and was utterly devoted to her. If I’d had the ability to use human speech, I would have revealed to him her secret name, “Sunrise.”

One item, with which he gifted her, was already in the house, and did not have to be unloaded: There was a television so large that it covered most of one wall, with a huge red ribbon and bow draped across it. Beneath the television was a bookshelf with several hundred movies in it, all which seemed to have horses and men with large western hats on their covers.

I saw that Mickey was happy with Brian, in our new home. After the way of my kind with our beloved companions, that was good enough for me. I began to think of Brian as my friend, and in my heart I named him “Speaks Truly,” for his determination to do exactly that upon every occasion.

Every moment that Brian did not work at his “computer,” he spent with Mickey. They took long walks together every day, on which I frequently accompanied them.

I am a feline who lives by routine, and I quickly established one here. My morning began with a tour of my territory’s boundaries, after which I dined, and then took my first nap of the day. At that time on clear days, the sun was perfectly positioned to fall on my chosen spot by the fireplace, and I could not waste such an opportunity.

When I awoke, I faced a choice: I could either join Mickey and Brian for their midday meal, or go to the brook to watch the various Clans of the Fishes, as they swam beneath the crystal water. Brian had called some of these “trout,” and declared them very good eating.

After that I would lie at Mickey’s feet as she read for a while, or watched one of the old movies she loved. Then it was evening, and Brian would put away his computer to spend the remaining hours of the day with his mate.

It was a good life, and I was content, both for myself and for my young companion. It was a life worth defending.

Toward the end of our second week in Idaho, I met a fellow member of the Clan of Cat, while checking my perimeter. He was large and rather surly, and called himself “Lynx.”

I thought I might be able to take him on in a fair fight, but was in no hurry to try it; he outweighed me, and was formidably armed with long claws and needle teeth. Lynx had no designs on my territory however, but had come with a warning.

“Beware the Wolverine,” he told me. “Beware, Paladin of the clan of Cat. Her heart is full of rage. Your marks have cut off a part of her territory. She will seek to kill your humans! Among all the Clans of the Folk, the Wolverines are the most savage. Beware, Paladin!”

His amber eyes glared into mine for a moment, and then Lynx was gone. I quickly sniffed his footprint and marked his scent in my mind. Not exactly a friend, but perhaps an ally of sorts.

What was a “Wolverine?” Kill my humans? Perhaps I should cut my rounds short, today. I turned in my tracks and ran quickly back along the old game trail to Brian’s house.

Lynx’s warning had been timely indeed; Wolverine was there before me. Imagine something like a cross between a badger and a bobcat, with the temperament of a freshly awakened bear. That was Wolverine. Her heavy scent washed over me even before I reached the clearing, and I heard her snarl. Waves of pure hate came from her.

I sized up Wolverine as I made up my mind what to do. I weighed nearly thirty pounds in those days, and none of it was fat. The she-monster tipped the scales at forty, at the very least. With her short legs, I thought I might be a bit quicker. I would need to be smarter too, and very careful.

Brian had apparently tried to come out, but she had him backed up against the door now. I could see Mickey crying through the tall window beside the steps. Brian was shouting something to her, hopefully to stay inside and bar the door behind him.

I knew that Brian’s guns were locked in his truck, clearly why he had risked coming outside with Wolverine there. Mickey didn’t like having them in the house, and they had compromised on leaving them locked in the truck’s toolbox.

The situation laid out thus: Mickey was safe for the moment, but Brian was going to need a few seconds of time and some kind of diversion, to get to his weapons. I could certainly provide that.

“Very well,” I thought. “Stand ready, Brian!”

I announced my presence with my high, wavering war-cry, unique to my Clan and my kind, and if that had failed to make my intentions clear, followed it with a harsh hiss.

When Wolverine looked away from Brian to snarl her threats at me, I charged. She had huge, massive jaws that outclassed mine several times over, but I was much quicker, and they snapped shut on empty air, as I struck her shoulder with all my weight. She staggered, and I raked her face with the long claws of my Manx breed. I knew I had drawn blood; I could smell it.

Then I was past, twisting in mid-air and landing a dozen feet away, facing her for another charge. I drew blood again with my second strike, but she had my measure now, and sliced my shoulder badly with her own claws as I leaped away.

At that moment, Brian’s gun blasted in his hand, and I saw fur fly from Wolverine’s humped back. She screamed her outrage and leapt away into the woods, wounded, but not badly enough to put her down.

I fell where I stood, finished for one day. I knew Wolverine’s claw strike had raked the bones of my shoulder, and I was bleeding badly.

Then my Mickey was out of the house and had me in her arms, tears streaming down her beautiful face. “Oh Paladin, why did you do it?” she cried.

That, I thought was a question which came with its own answer. I had won the fight, in any case. What I needed now was for her to somehow staunch my bleeding. Brian gave Mickey some rags from the back of the truck, and she began trying to do exactly that.

She ran for the truck, got into the passenger side carrying me, and yelled, “Drive, Brian! We have to get Paladin into town to Doctor Warner!”

It was a long and bumpy ride down the mountain, and Doctor Warner, the local veterinarian, had surely worked for the Spanish Inquisition at some time in his past.

However, as Brian had said, I am a tough character, and I survived the Doctor’s ministrations as I had those of Wolverine. My humans made much of me, telling each other over and over how I had “saved everyone.”

I saw no particular heroism in what I’d done; I was as the Spirit Above had made me, nothing more nor less. I could have told them that, had anyone asked.

Mickey and Brian were unhurt, which had been the point of the whole confrontation, from my perspective. Within a week, I was back at the house with my humans, and in another I was once again making the rounds of my perimeter, perhaps a bit more slowly than before, but I was making them.

We had come to Idaho in spring; the summer was long and glorious, full of all the things that are dear to the Clans of Cat and Man. I even contrived to catch one of the trout from the brook. Brian was right: they were excellent eating.

The word was passed among all the different Clans of the mountain that Paladin’s territory was to be respected. No threats to my family would be tolerated. I was here to stay.

Wolverine was seen no more that year. I knew she was not vanquished, but perhaps she had been taught that my territorial marks meant what they said, and would leave my family alone now.

My Mickey was happy too, and I had formed a strong friendship with Brian. We had fought the monster together, to protect someone we both loved. Battle-friends have a bond between them, one that nothing on earth can sever.

The changing leaves of the aspens and hemlocks splashed the mountain with riotous color as autumn came, then showered down to cover the earth as winter deepened. Snow fell, and made my rounds slower but easier, as the tracks of other Clans were clear for all to see.

I spent much time in my place by the fire with my humans, and life was very good indeed. Life was as the Spirit Above had intended it to be, in the mountain home of Mickey, Brian, and Paladin. I was content.

As spring melted the snow and began to awaken the grass, something I had long expected, happened: my Mickey began to show all the signs of impending motherhood. She gave off that happy glow that all expectant mothers do, unmistakable to the eyes of Cat. I rejoiced, in my heart.

On a clear, bright day in early summer, my battle-friend Brian drove his mate down the mountain, leaving me to watch the property. We had a friendly neighbor who lived perhaps a mile away, and this human had agreed to set out my food and help me guard our territory.

I knew full well what all these things meant, and waited patiently. After two days’ time, my family returned, as I knew they would, and now there were three of them. In my Mickey’s arms was a tiny bundle: a single human cub, a baby.

When we had all gone indoors, Mickey sat on the couch and invited me to join her. “Paladin, this is James,” she said softly, with a smile. I gazed at the tiny human infant in her arms, and took his scent. I marked it well in my mind; he was mine to guard now, one of my family, one of those I loved more than life itself.

Blood of my beloved companion Mickey, and blood of my battle-friend Brian: this child was mine.

“I pledge myself to you, James,” I said in my heart. “I am Paladin, warrior of the Clan of Cat, and I will walk at your side. While I live, no harm will come to you, little human. This I swear upon the honor of my Clan and my kind.”

There followed a time when life was as wonderful as was ever given those of the Folk to live, upon the earth and under the sun. Little Jamie, as they began to call him, grew at a tremendous rate, Mickey and Brian came to love each other even more, if that were possible, and the mountain knew peace.

I encountered my ally Lynx several times more over the course of the next three summers, but he could not tell me where Wolverine had gone, or whether she meant to return. I decided not to borrow trouble. If Wolverine would respect a truce, then so would I.

The other Folk of the mountain were, for the most part, peaceable. Bobcat, if ill-mannered, only wanted his own territory left alone. Eagle made it clear that if no member of the Clan of Cat intruded on her high aerie, she would confine herself to other prey. The others among the Birds posed no threat at all. Lynx told tales of Bear, but none of them held territory on this mountain, and I was happy to have it so.

For three summers more did peace reign on the mountain, before Wolverine and her hate returned. In the spring, I heard my humans begin to repeat rumors of attacks: assaults on homes and livestock, right up to the edges of the small town below us.

“Wolverine will come,” Lynx told me one day. “Her heart is black, and one day she will come.”

I knew Brian was hearing similar warnings from his human friends, for after a long, earnest talk with Mickey, he moved his weapons into the house. “That should have been done long ago,” I thought to myself. The guns were put into a large iron safe, to keep them from Jamie’s inquisitive little hands.

I fervently hoped that Brian could get to them quickly enough, should danger threaten.

I had eight summers now, and was no longer young. I had put on some weight, too. Neither was Wolverine as young as she once was, I told myself. If I was a bit slower now, then so must she be as well.

For most of the summer an uneasy peace prevailed, as we prepared ourselves for what we knew was coming.

It happened during a crisp night during the autumn. I should have been awake and vigilant, but I was sleeping a bit too deeply in my warm place by the fire. Two things happened in quick succession: I heard Lynx give his unearthly screech of warning from the edge of the forest, and then glass broke at the front of the room, tinkling to the tiled floor.

Wolverine! She had broken through the glass beside the door, and was in the house!

I came fully awake and stood to arms, as her rank, heavy scent filled the room. I heard her grunting breath, and located her precisely in the near darkness. She was approaching the door to Jaimie’s room!

I voiced my war-cry, the high, wavering battle call of the Clan of Cat. “I am Paladin!” I screamed. “You stand on my territory! Look to your hide, Monster!”

“Come ahead then, small one,” she grated. “Come and feel my claws once more!”

I charged then, striking her from the right, shoulder against shoulder, and raked her face with my unsheathed claws as she went down. Then I was past, as she quickly regained her feet and pivoted, shrieking to meet my second attack.

I used the energy of my first charge to power a scrambling run up the log wall, and from there I leapt full into her face with the claws of all my four paws. She screamed her rage as I took one of her eyes. She retaliated with her jaws, but she was not quick enough. They snapped shut mostly on my fur, and just a bit of hide along my spine.

I had hurt Wolverine far worse than she had hurt me, but the fight was not over. I heard alarmed voices now from Mickey and Brian’s room, and there was light at last.

My third charge was slower; I was tiring quickly, showing my age. I twisted back and struck from the right once more, just as she came for me with jaws gaping. My claws drew blood from Wolverine’s face again, but missed her remaining eye.

I was too winded to run up the wall as I had before, and just turned back to brawl with her, tooth against tooth and claw against claw.

I knew I could never last in such a fight, but it had to be done. Wolverine could not enter the room where I now heard the boy Jamie crying for his mother. Not even if it cost my life, could she be allowed to reach Jamie.

I raked my long claws through her other eye with a lucky strike, but my strength was gone. The jaws of Wolverine caught me, and closed heavily on my shoulder and neck. My bones splintered and cracked, sinew and muscle tore, and my blood spattered the floor. I was done, fought out.

Five times, Brian’s gun bellowed in my ears, and the terrible pressure of Wolverine’s jaws ceased. I fell to the floor, as her now lifeless body crashed down on me. Her rabid hate flickered, and went out.

Then my Mickey was there, heaving Wolverine off me and taking me in her arms. She screamed as she saw my wounds.

“Brian, help me! Paladin is dying! We have to get him into town!”

“He’d never make it, Sweetheart. We’d only hurt him more,” said her husband, my battle-friend Brian. “Pal gave everything he had for us this time, Mickey. He never let that thing get into the baby’s room. Just hold him, and let him know you’re with him.

“I’m going to get Jaimie quieted down a bit. He’s as terrified as we are. Then I’ll be with you, and we’ll both stay with Paladin until it’s over.”

My Mickey cried as if her world had ended, there with my broken body in her arms. “Your life is just beginning,” I wanted to tell her. “You have your little one, and my battle-friend, to care for, and all the long years of your Walk are before you.”

But of course I couldn’t use human speech, and she just cried harder. “It’s all right, beloved companion,” I thought, as my sight dimmed and my life ebbed away, in her arms.

“I am the Paladin. I am your knight. I was born for this. And never forget, that my Clan and my kind Walk nine times, upon the earth and under the sun.

“I will return to you. This I swear upon my love for you. Check every new litter of kittens you see, sweet Mickey, my Sunrise. Never give up. Look into every tiny pair of bright eyes. One day, it will be me gazing up at you.”

And then darkness claimed me.

END