Timber Howligan Secret Agent Cat

By HJ Frederick

Timber Howligan wants nothing more than to follow in the pawsteps of his espionage hero, the Great Nim, and be a real secret agent cat. When he finds a suspicious room of caged animals at the local barn, he vows to help.

Then he discovers the spy cat program is in his town…without him! Now more than ever he needs the CIA’s help—but every attempt to prove himself ends in disaster.

Worse, these animals may be at the heart of an international smuggling operation. Can Timber save them before it's too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lionheart Press
• Release date: Jun 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9780996424691

HJ Frederick

Timber Howligan Secret Agent Cat is HJ Frederick’s first novel. She is a former pediatric anesthesiologist who lives in Durham, NC with her family and pets, none of whom are secret agents that she knows of. Proceeds from this book will be donated to Alley Cat Allies, an organization devoted to improving the lives of feral cats and shelter animals everywhere. To learn more about her, visit her web site, www.hjfrederick.com.  Follow Timber’s latest adventures at www.timberhowligan.com.

Book preview

Timber Howligan Secret Agent Cat

HJ Frederick

Published by Lionheart Press, 2015.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

TIMBER HOWLIGAN SECRET AGENT CAT

First edition. June 12, 2015.

Copyright © 2015 HJ Frederick.

ISBN: 978-0996424684

Written by HJ Frederick

Illustrated by Wendy H. Wilkins

Cover design by Kemp Ward

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

PROLOGUE | In which there is a phone call

CHAPTER ONE | In which we meet Timber Howligan

CHAPTER TWO | In which cats move into position

CHAPTER THREE | In which cats advance

CHAPTER FOUR | In which cats retreat

CHAPTER FIVE | In which Timber makes a move

CHAPTER SIX | In which there is bacon

CHAPTER SEVEN | In which there is a betrayal

CHAPTER EIGHT | In which Lester is found

CHAPTER NINE | In which the enemy says something interesting

CHAPTER TEN | In which there is a clue

CHAPTER ELEVEN | In which an offer is made

CHAPTER TWELVE | In which an infiltration is planned

CHAPTER THIRTEEN | In which we meet a library mouse

CHAPTER FOURTEEN | In which someone slips up

CHAPTER FIFTEEN | In which Timber asks for help

CHAPTER SIXTEEN | In which there is an interruption

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | In which there is a threat

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | In which Lester is missing

CHAPTER NINETEEN | In which there is more sneezing

CHAPTER TWENTY | In which there is more bacon

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | In which there are no guns

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | In which all the spy gear is used

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | In which there are problems

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR | In which there are more problems

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE | In which things are moving up

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX | In which there is Cleo

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN | In which there is a retrieval

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT | In which someone goes to the vet

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE | In which there is a surprise

CHAPTER THIRTY | In which there is lack of trust

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE | In which there is a gun

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO | In which Timber has a plan

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE | In which Timber improvises

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR | In which things come together

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE | In which much is revealed

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX | In which there is an escape

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN | In which there is a tree. Again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT | In which cats discover spies

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE | In which spies discover cats

CHAPTER FORTY | In which cats go down

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE | In which cats are in a...jam

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO | In which there is the promise of warm milk

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE | In which cats briefly debrief

About the Author

To all those who have ever rescued a stray, helped an animal in need, or tried to make the world a better place.

—Timber

PROLOGUE

In which there is a phone call

How does a secret agent cat build from the Feed me now! meow into a complex vocabulary allowing cat-human communication? The Cat Language Training Program (CLTP).

The CLTP was rigorous and time-consuming. Only those with an innate gift for understanding cats were selected to be Covert Animal Handlers. Of these, one remains...

—From The Manual of Feline Espionage (Declassified), by Nimitz Fitzlionheart, Secret Agent Cat (retired)

Horgan Holloway slipped into his office and shut the door. Even with the butcher shop’s advanced filtration system, the whole room still smelled like meat.

This did not stop him from enjoying his sausage biscuits. The first two went down like cotton candy. As he picked up the third, his cell phone rang from somewhere on his desk. He startled and dropped the whole buttery sandwich in his giant Let’s Have a Steak-Out mug of coffee.

Finally, he found the phone under a pile of dry cleaning receipts. Incoming number blocked, of course.

Hello! he barked.

Good morning, Agent FuzzFace.

Good morning, Agent WideMouth. They weren’t being rude; the code names were supposedly randomly assigned.

How’s the shop?

With Horgan’s next sip of coffee, a large chunk of biscuit came with it. Itsh good, he said. Not a lot of vegetarians around here.

When WideMouth transferred him to Buffalo, Horgan thought his career as a spy was over. But the undercover assignment had turned out to be a dream come true for a man with a love of bacon...and cats.

As if his boss were reading his mind, WideMouth asked, And Lester and Pfizz? How are those fuzzballs?

Brilliant. We just got back from a training session in Montreal. How about yours? WideMouth had been working on the preliminary language lessons with his cat, Persia, for months.

WideMouth grunted. She’d rather stay in her tower all day. I’m awfully jealous you have a budget for this.

I don’t, remember? I subsidize my salary by grinding sausage. Horgan had pleaded with the CIA for years to let him restart the feline espionage program. When they finally agreed, it was on the condition he fund it himself.

He reported to WideMouth, a career bureaucrat, because he had to report to someone. But no one in the world had more experience than Horgan as a Covert Animal Handler.

They spent a few more minutes on the usual pleasantries, then WideMouth finally got to the point: a new assignment.

I know we’ve had you on simple border watch forever, but there’s scuttlebutt things are heating up in Russian prints.

The counterfeiting business? We buried them years ago!

Just rumors, FuzzFace. Be on the lookout for suspicious activity. And new talent. You may need it soon.

Horgan hung up and stared at the phone. He’d been hopeful Persia could join him. It shouldn’t have taken this long for her to master the simple Cat Language Training Program. His own feline agents had breezed through it in weeks.

They were meant for this life, though. He’d found them last spring, while he was making a delivery to a local farm. A Saint Bernard had chased them up the maple tree in the front yard. Lester darted up and down, taunting the dog and tiring her out. Pfizz’s karate prowess made short work of her nose. They could have just waited for the dog to leave. Instead, they won a victory for barn cats everywhere.

Using his Cat language skills, Horgan recruited them on the spot.

And now it seemed he had another opening.

CHAPTER ONE

In which we meet Timber Howligan

Cat of Mystery and Adventure—A feline of unusual sensitivity, known for his or her bravery, self-reliance, and problem-solving skills.

—From The Manual of Feline Espionage (Declassified), by Nimitz Fitzlionheart, Secret Agent Cat (retired)

A formidable silver-and-gray tabby crouched shivering across from a small farm. He focused his surveillance on the smallest barn, which was old and, until recently, uninhabited. Red paint peeled off its walls in long, curling strips. Dirty white trim outlined tall, streaked windows. And the crack at the bottom of its sagging doors was just big enough for a large cat’s head.

The full moon reflecting off the snow-covered meadow offered more than enough light for him to see what he needed:

Everything he’d planned for falling apart.

First, the dog door on the farmhouse porch, which was open. The dog, as Timber Howligan knew well, could be a problem.

Second, the parking lot, already full of cars. He’d planned to sneak into the barn before all the people arrived; specifically, the dark-haired man who hated cats. But getting the last rubber bands on his slingshot had been...hard. Long hair and duct tape did not mix.

Finally, Lester and Pfizz. Most barn cats went straight for the bowl of warm milk as soon as the red-haired woman left it outside the barn doors. Tonight, these two headed straight for Timber.

It was almost like they knew he was hiding from them.

There you are, Timber! Under the spruce tree again? Lester wiggled under the snow-covered branches and huddled next to Timber’s side. Timber wrapped his flowing tail around his scrawny best friend, partly for warmth, mostly for disguise. Lester was black with white patches. Or white with black patches; it was hard to say. In the darkness, Lester stood out like a bowl of marshmallows, which reminded Timber he hadn’t eaten dinner.

Pfizz growled and plopped down beside Lester. You owe me a bowl of milk, Fatso.

I’m not fat, I’m—oh never mind. The argument was as old as their acquaintance. Pfizz was Lester’s other best friend. His black coat blended in with the shadows like crows at midnight, but Timber still wasn’t happy to see him.

Why were they here? Timber had a mission—the mission of a lifetime. He was about to rescue the animals trapped in the old barn. For days the red-haired woman and the dark-haired man had been bringing them in cardboard boxes to the back room.

He’d gotten one glimpse of cages before the door was slammed in his face. With his ear pressed to it, he’d heard the red-haired woman say, Don’t worry, I’ll get them past customs, a suspiciously sneaky phrase. The dark-haired man had replied, What do we do if things don’t work out—eat them? Turn them into coats?

These animals were in danger. Timber would save them. Just like the Great Nim.

The Manual of Feline Espionage, the Great Nim’s encyclopedia of spy cat knowledge, promised adventure, intrigue, heroism. Timber had read the library’s copy twice, and taken notes in his journal.

Could Lester and Pfizz say that?

So, what are you guys up to tonight? Timber asked, hoping Lester and Pfizz weren’t looking for another escapade. They’d been helpful—kind of—during the Great Gopher Gang-up. But for tonight’s mission, Timber wanted to work alone.

He’d brought a slingshot, a grappling hook, a lock-picking set, and a grenade launcher, just in case. The grenade launcher may have been overkill—but with the toilet paper roll handle, it was lightweight, durable, and could launch a rock at least three feet.

It took a lot to make up for a cat’s lack of thumbs. Hopefully he had everything he needed to open the door, unlock the cages, and rescue the animals.

Whatever they were. He hadn’t exactly been able to lay eyes on them yet. What if he went through all this...and found himself with a pack of wolves?

His plan, he admitted, had some flaws. The last thing he needed was Lester and Pfizz tagging along pointing them out.

We’re hanging out with you, Lester said. He poked at Timber’s weapons bag. What’s the mission tonight?

A secret one.

Lester’s eyes widened. Even better!

Pfizz scowled. I’m bored. I’m going to see if there’s any milk left. He started scooting under the branches.

Timber should have let him go. He wanted him to go. But the taunt was out of his mouth before he could help himself. Too bad—I’m about to bust a smuggling operation.

Pfizz’s ears swiveled up. He and Lester shared a look.

Really? Lester said.

Squirrel scat. Not really, Timber dodged. It’s just a bunch of cages. And animals. You know—caged animals on a farm. Nothing suspicious.

Pfizz lifted the edge of Timber’s bag and snorted. But you packed a grenade launcher, oh Fluffy One.

It’s just reconnaissance. Quick in and out. Didn’t want to bother you.

Lester stared at Timber. You were planning an adventure without me? His question was swallowed by a howl of the wind. When it faded, the silence felt heavy and sad.

Timber’s whiskers drooped. Just last week, Lester’s cunning and quick tongue had freed Timber’s tail, which was frozen to a Dumpster by sticky pink adhesive, narrowly avoiding Death by Bubble Gum. And Lester always put in a good word for Timber with the rest of the barn cats, not that it did much good, especially with Pfizz.

Timber couldn’t remember a single adventure he hadn’t shared with Lester. Lester had found the gophers right away; it was Pfizz who had fired the grappling hook into the hornets’ nest.

But tonight was serious—real lives (whatever they were) were at stake. Would Lester be able to help? Or would he just be in the way?

No, Timber couldn’t shut out his best friend. Even though it meant they would be stuck with Pfizz.

So Timber told them about the cages, the animals, and the conversation he’d overheard.

Turning them into coats does sound extreme, Lester said, perking up. I agree, this is definitely suspicious. We’re in.

Speak for yourself, Pfizz said.

Lester poked Pfizz in the belly, which was round and squishy. Pfizz never missed dinner.

We’re on the lookout, remember? Lester asked the round black cat. Who was still scowling.

Timber had no idea what Lester and Pfizz would be on the lookout for. Lester denied that cats had natural espionage abilities. Every time Timber tried to show him The Manual of Feline Espionage, Lester insisted Timber was being ridiculous, there were no secret agent cats.

Yet for a non-believer, Lester latched on to intrigue like a burr to belly fur.

Pfizz sighed and turned to Timber. Fine. We’ll help, since you insist.

Um...thanks. Timber couldn’t remember when he had insisted. But Chapter Four of The Manual said that allies were a good thing. They could offer back-up, support, or assistance.

Or they could watch him make a mess of things. His stomach felt like a wall of thorns had sprouted, maybe a giant topiary hedgehog. Could he still do this?

What would the Great Nim do?

The Great Nim, world’s greatest spy cat, had infiltrated the Russian canine militia and risked all nine lives to save a dozen Icelandic huskies from the dog-sledding black market. But Timber wasn’t a secret agent cat—couldn’t be a secret agent cat, because according to The Manual of Feline Espionage, the CIA program no longer existed.

If Timber couldn’t be a spy cat like his hero, the Great Nim, he’d settle for just being a hero. It might not be saving the world, or even a small nation’s team of champion code-breaking dogs.

But even with Lester and Pfizz tagging along, he had to try.

CHAPTER TWO

In which cats move into position

Cats of Mystery and Adventure are strong, brave, independent, and trustworthy. They leave no task undone, no quest unfinished. This makes it particularly hard for them to accept help.

—Nimitz Fitzlionheart

The wind shivered through the trees in fits and gusts. Creatures of darkness stalked the sky and the meadow. And evening was slipping through Timber’s paws like butter on a radiator.

He secured three acorns in the waistband of his underwear slingshot, pulled back with his paw, and let loose a volley of projectiles guaranteed to startle away lurking owls or prowling coyotes.

All clear.

Follow me, Timber hissed.

He tiptoed across the yard and hid behind the well house, hoping he had sounded more confident than he felt. Lester and Pfizz slid into place behind him.

Halfway. Only ten or twelve leaps to go.

Where are we going? Lester asked.

We have to get to the back room of the old barn.

Which would be difficult, now that it was full of people. Through the window Timber saw half a dozen of them sitting around a small table, playing cards. Inevitably, some would try to pick up the cats and pet them. Some would force-feed them hot sauce or chicken wings, just to be funny.

It never was.

Poker night was his least favorite night of the week. The barn had been empty until the summer, when construction crews renovated the front half and paved the parking lot. With its room of tables and chairs and big empty kitchen, the barn looked like a restaurant that never opened. Hoping for gourmet food scraps, Timber had been sniffing around when he first stumbled on the strange cardboard boxes.

Tonight was when the dark-haired man said he’d bring more animals. If ever the back room were going to be open while the dark-haired man was distracted, it would be now.

And then what? Pfizz nosed the weapons bag. Is that when you use the grenade launcher?

Hopefully not.

"Then why do you