Jack of the Shadowed Eye: A Jack of Tabbyshire Story

By Harold W. Cheney Jr.

Jack has succeeded, in his Mission Into The Wilderness, to bring the message of the Great Cat, the Mother of all cats, to the Free Cats of the Northern Hills. He now returns to The Great Manor to find his Grandfather, Lord Wallingford, on his deathbed. Lord Wallingford makes his Testament.
Oh Jack, I am so happy that you have done so much to bring Her message to the Free Cats of the Hills. But but oh Jack! There are so many forlorn cats out therethere, beyond our Shires of the Cats. Cats who are doomed to lives of pettage or worse. Benighted cats! Cats bereft of knowledge of the Great Cat. Oh, how I now wish that I had done more while I was able. Lord Wallingford fell back, exhausted by the growing excitement and remorse that he had given voice to.
A resolve had begun to fill Jacks heart. Grandfather. I shall take your vision as my own! I swear to you that I shall make it my goal to bring the message of the Great Cat to all cats, wherever they may dwell and in whatsoever condition they may live!
And thus begins his next undertaking, recounted here in Jack Of The Shadowed Eye. Aiding him will be his friends and companions, new and old. Opposing him will be. Well, read on and see.
Still a cat of commanding presence, Jack is older andhe hopeswiser. He will need all of the skill and good fortune that he can muster to his cause if he is to succeed. He must do no less than win the support of his Most Gracious Sovereign, Her Majesty the Queen, if he is to fulfill his Grandfathers Testament.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450286435

Harold W. Cheney Jr.

Harold (Hal) Cheney continues to be inspired by the tabby cat, Jack, who was born in his garage of a stray mother who wandered in one day. Although Hal (and Jack) live in east-central Illinois their spirits roam freely about the fields and forests of Tabbyshire.

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Copyright © 2011 Harold W. Cheney, Jr.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4502-8642-8 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-4502-8643-5 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011900108

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 1/27/10

This book is dedicated to my younger son, Harold III. It was Harold who developed an early version of the Tabby Havens song (as the morale booster anthem of the Campaigning Troopers). The tune derives, of course, from the song associated with the Cadets of the United States Military Academy (USMA) at West Point—Benny Havens.

Harold was born in the Military Hospital at West Point. I was stationed at the Military Academy at the time as an Enlisted Man in the Regular Army. It was while stationed at the USMA that I was later appointed a Warrant Officer.

Contents

Preface

PART ONE

TABBYSHIRE AND A TESTAMENT

Chapter 1 — A Sad Homecoming

Chapter 2 — At the Bedside

Chapter 3 — The Vigil

Chapter 4 — Last Rites For His Lordship

Chapter 5 — The Council of Tabbyshire

Chapter 6 — A Visit With His Grandmama

Chapter 7 — A Talk with Aunt Teena

Chapter 8 — Muffy Explains

Chapter 9 — Jack Seeks Insights From Tootoo

Chapter 10 — Zampellascrittos,

Chapter 11 — Master Blinky

Chapter 12 — The Wise Old Cat

Chapter 13 — A Shadow For Jack

Chapter 14 — Strange Indeed

AN INTERMEZZO

Just a Kitten’s Fable?

PART TWO

EASTSHIRE AND THE LAUNCH

Chapter 1 — What Is That World Out There Like?

Chapter 2 — Janice’s Good Fortune

Chapter 3 — Janice and Bumsby

Chapter 4 — Must We Wear These?

Chapter 5 — The First Night Over There

Chapter 6 — A Plan For The Show

Chapter 7 — Janice Visits A Cat Shelter

Chapter 8 — Janice Meets a Learned Cat

Chapter 9 — Tootoo and the Promise of a Reunion

Chapter 10 — At The Cat Show

Chapter 11 — We Continue At The Cat Show

Chapter 12 — Conclusion Of The Cat Show

Chapter 13 — Jack Talks To The Cats

Chapter 14 — Advocates for the Great Cat

Chapter 15 — For Whom We Wait

Chapter 16 — More Of For Whom We Wait

Chapter 17 — Janice, Muffy, And The Shadowed Eye

A SECOND INTERMEZZO

The Royal Western Wildlife Preserve

PART THREE

CHASES, ESCAPES, AND EVASIONS

Chapter 1 — The Conflict

Chapter 2 — The Schemers Plot

Chapter 3 — Out Into The Shire

Chapter 4 — Jack And Feral Cats

Chapter 5 — The Bucket Brigade Begins

Chapter 6 — A Clue from Tootoo

Chapter 7 — Captain Thom Meets a Strange Cat

Chapter 8 — Help With The Riddle

Chapter 9 — Tootoo and Bumsby

Chapter 10 — Smuggley And The Queen

Chapter 11 — Chases

Chapter 12 — Traps And Escapes

Chapter 13 — An Escape from Spyder

Chapter 14 — Muffy On A Mission

Chapter 15 — Muffy Talks To Aunt Teena

Chapter 16 — Grandpa?

A THIRD INTERMEZZO

Tales To Be Told

PART FOUR

ON TO THE PALACE

Chapter 1 — Gusty Has An Idea

Chapter 2 — A Captured Jewel

Chapter 3 — While Jack Moves On

Chapter 4 — The Old Sarge Can Help

Chapter 5 — On To The Palace

Chapter 6 — Janice Is Invited

Chapter 7 — A Revelation For Janice

Chapter 8 — Into the Palace Grounds

Chapter 9 — Her Royal Highness

Chapter 10 — Resolution Of The Riddle

Chapter 11 — Meeting The Queen

Chapter 12 — Sackmeer

Chapter 13 — Her Majesty, The Queen

Chapter 14 — The Queen’s Christmas Party

Chapter 15 — The Great Migration Begins

Chapter The Last — A New Day in an Old Place

An Epilogue (and Prologue)

Preface

I little thought, when I began to write the story of Jack of Tabbyshire, that there would follow a second book, and then this—a third tale. Book writing does not come easy to me. As I say, over and over, I am a storyteller. I enjoy developing a few characters and their struggles into an evening’s telling. Setting these stories into a coherent chronicle is, for me, hard work—my struggle.

The author John Buchan (1st Baron Tweedsmuir), in his mystery novel, The Three Hostages, has a character in the story—an author, Tom Greenslade—describe how a (mystery) novel is written. In effect the author writes inductively and forces the reader to read deductively. The author takes a number of seemingly unrelated complications and develops a plot that brings them together. The author knows what he has created and, therefore, what now relates them—the reader does not. There you have his essence of such a story. By developing the complications of my tale as I go along, I know that I am going about this all the wrong way, but it is my way.

This third tale of Jack has taken over three years to develop—tie those complications together—and complete.

For those who come upon this Tabbyshire tale without having read the earlier two, I would earnestly suggest that they read them before beginning this tale. If this is not possible let me add a few thoughts here.

These are not—in my design—children’s stories. You might say that they are childish stories—written by an old man. I have ever as my inspiration my little Jack—the kitten born, with but one good eye, in our garage some six-plus years ago to a sweet mother cat who had wandered onto our land for the birthing.

In my tales Jack assumes the noble role that seems to me to befit him.

And so there is this world of Tabbyshire, which continuously reveals itself to me and into which I am fortunate to be allowed to explore.

The first of my tales began with these words:

Of all the Shires in this fair land, not a single one is at the one time both as beautiful and as unknown as the District of Tabbyshire in the Duchy of Pussydom. It is probable that the obscurity of this Duchy and Shire results from a strange fact. Namely, almost all of the populace are cats—cats and kittens. A few humans live there, but for the most part they are of a rather low class and are found in the more remote and border regions of the Shire.

This is a tale of one of the cats of Tabbyshire, specifically, Jack of Tabbyshire.

The first book recounted Jack’s birth, early exile, and those adventures that eventually returned Jack to his rightful place as the heir to, and Regent of, Lord Wallingford of the Great Manor in Tabbyshire. The second book carried the saga of Jack further with his venture into the wilderness of the Northern Hills of the Duchy where he carried the message of the Mother of all Cats, The Great Cat, to the Wild Cats who dwelt there.

Now we come to this third tale. What of those cats who yet live in pettage—or worse—beyond the boundaries of the Duchy of Pussydom? Events turn Jack’s attention in that direction and therein lies this tale of Jack of The Shadowed Eye.

Harold W. Cheney, Jr., 2010

PART ONE

TABBYSHIRE AND A TESTAMENT

Chapter 1 — A Sad Homecoming

Day was drawing to a close as the long column of Campaigning Troopers approached the Great Manor of Tabbyshire. At the head of the column the Viscount Jack of Tabbyshire rode, not in triumph, but more as with quiet satisfaction. The campaign in the Northern Hills had been concluded. Long Claw was driven far from the Shires of the Cats, alone and abandoned by his former followers. Tranquility and domesticity were fast spreading among the Free Cats of the Hills. All throughout the Northern Hills the name and the fame of Jack of Tabbyshire were being established and revered. The march of these past days had been arduous. The Troopers and their ponies moved slowly. Seeing how their spirits seemed so low, Jack called to the Colour Sergeant, Colour! The Troops need some cheer. Lead them in song!

Right you are, M’Lord! Come on me Kits! Sing along! At this the Troopers lifted their eyes from the road and began:

Come fill your saucers, Troopers, and stand up in a row,

To singing sentimentally, we’re going for to go,

In the Troop there is sobriety, promotion’s very slow,

So we’ll sing our reminiscences of Tabby Havens, oh!

Oh, Tabby Havens, oh! Oh, Tabby Havens, oh!

So we’ll sing our reminiscences of Tabby Havens, oh!

Jack smiled and joined in with the chorus. He had heard this tune many times at the Troop Dinings-in. He had not been aware that it was as popular with the Troopers as it was with their Officers. He took comfort in the recognition of the camaraderie that bound his Officers, Sergeants, and Other Ranks into that one Troop. The Troop….

Good to see those familiar towers…. Tootoo spoke to Jack, interrupting these thoughts, as the spires of the Great Manor first became discernable through the encircling woods. Good to be home again.

A sight that will never cease to thrill me. How I look forward to seeing my Mother, Aunt Teena, and—of course—His Lordship and Grandmama. In his excitement Jack used his familiar address for Lady Wallingford, his Grandmother. Come; let us hurry on—Captain! Take charge of the Troop and see to their needs!

At your command, M’Lord.

Jack and Tootoo galloped forward along the finely graveled road. As they rounded the final bend before the Great Manor they were brought to a sudden stop. Sir Samuel, Commander of the Campaigning Troop, sat on his pony blocking the roadway. Immediately to his rear a coach was drawn to the side of the road. Jack saw, in an instant, the Ducal Crest on the door of the cab.

Sir Samuel… Jack began. He stopped as the door to the coach was opened by a Pawcat and the Duke of Pussydom alighted.

Your Grace….

Jack’s natural presumption was that the Duke and Sir Samuel were here for some congratulatory purpose. He thought this, not from any feeling of pride, or that it was deserved, but for the want of any better explanation.

My dear Jack… the Duke began, as he approached Jack and Tootoo. Jack quickly dismounted and rushed forward to pay homage to His Grace, the Duke.

Your Grace….

Oh, Jack…!

Jack could now see, even in the dwindling light of evening that both Sir Samuel and His Grace were in tears.

Your Grace, what is wrong?

Your Grandfather, Lord Wallingford….

Grandfather! What is it? Sir Samuel, what is wrong?

I must tell you that His Lordship is ill—very ill. He is abed as we speak here, and the Healers hold little hope for his recovery. Come quickly, M’Lord. He waits for you, but only the Great Cat knows for how long he will be able to wait….

His Grace beckoned Jack to join him in his coach. When he had done so, the coach moved off at a brisk pace towards the Great Manor. Sir Samuel and Tootoo followed close behind. Jack slumped deep into the cushioned seat. He looked at His Grace and started to speak, but found that he could not speak beyond uttering a low, primitive, and pitiful meow.

His Grace leant close to Jack and laid his paw gently on his shoulder. Be brave, my Jack. Be brave and—at your Grandfather’s side—show only your cheerful self. Jack shook his head from side to side, wondering how he could possibly fulfill the Duke’s injunction.

I do not know how… Jack started to respond.

Put first yourself in the paws of our Mother, the Great Cat, and then all things are possible.

Jack immediately felt shame. Of course, Your Grace. After all that we have gone through in the Northern Hills in Her name, I—above all others—should know that.

The carriage of His Grace pulled up at the main entrance of the Great Manor. Blinky, Steward of the Great Manor, sprinted quickly out to the carriage and opened the door.

M’Lord, please, if you will… to His Lordship’s suite…!

His Grace gestured for Jack to ignore protocol and leave as quickly as he could. As Jack hurried into the Great Manor, Blinky assisted His Grace, the Duke, from his carriage and up into the Great Manor.

Chapter 2 — At the Bedside

Jack was quickly at the sad bedside of his Grandfather, Lord Wallingford. My Lord, I am so sorry that I have not been here at your side when I could…. With labored effort Lord Wallingford waved his forepaw to silence Jack. When he spoke it was slowly and with many pauses. My Jack, you have been doing just what I would have you do. I am just pleased that you are here now and that your tasks are so well accomplished.

With that, Lord Wallingford turned his eyes to the other occupants of the room: Lady Wallingford, Lady Teena, Lady Patsy, and other attendants. Please leave me to be alone with my Grandson. The others silently moved into an adjoining alcove. Lord Wallingford turned his eyes to Jack.

Jack. My Jack. My dear Jack. Listen while I make to you my Testament.

Oh, My Lord, please rest….

When this day is over I will have plenty of time to rest. Now, I must use this time to speak. Jack, before you were brought to me I lived a truly shallow and empty life. Yes, it is so and I know it to be so. You have transformed me. How glibly did I once invoke the name of our Mother, the Great Cat, without any feeling of the awe and love that she should inspire. Now I have the evidence, in your success, of her beneficence. You must believe me that it is with true joy in my heart that I look forward to resting my cheek on her bosom. With that, Lord Wallingford fell into a spell of silence.

Jack leant closer and laid his paw on his Grandfather’s cheek. Our Mother will receive your loving touch with the same pleasure that I receive as I touch your cheek. Jack choked on silent sobs as his Grandfather struggled to raise his own paw to touch that of Jack’s as it lay on his Lordship’s cheek.

Moments of silence passed. Moments in which a silent communion passed between the two. Then Lord Wallingford resumed. "You know, I remembered your telling of your meeting with that wise old Mother in her hut by the swamp. I had her sought for and asked her to come and counsel me. We have met often while you campaigned in the Northern Hills. It is from her—and through her—that I have been reborn as a kitten of the Great Cat.

Oh Jack, I am so happy that you have done so much to bring Her message to the Free Cats of the Hills. But… but… oh Jack! There are so many forlorn cats out there—there, beyond our Shires of the Cats. Cats who are doomed to lives of pettage… or worse. Benighted cats! Cats bereft of knowledge of the Great Cat. Oh, how I now wish that I had done more while I was able…. Lord Wallingford fell back, exhausted by the growing excitement and remorse that he had given voice to.

A resolve had begun to fill Jack’s heart. Grandfather. I shall take your vision as my own! I swear to you that I shall make it my goal to bring the message of the Great Cat to all cats, wherever they may dwell and in whatsoever condition they may live!

I could wish for no more. Jack, please ask Blinky to attend to me. And you… your Troopers must have need of you. Please attend to them. They are so…. Lord Wallingford shook his head slowly from side to side, unable to give further voice to his thoughts.

Jack drew himself up from his Grandfather’s bedside and went to fetch the Steward Blinky. As he left the room he paused by his Grandmother, Aunt Teena, and his Mother in turn. As he passed each, they touched their cheeks to his with gentle pressure. Jack responded to each caress. Lady Patsy stopped and looked long into the eyes of her kitten. Come to my cottage when you are able….

At the soonest possible, Mother.

Lord Wallingford called for his Steward. Blinky hastened to the bedside. M’Lord….

Blinky. Lord Wallingford labored to speak. "Blinky, remember I have spoke in the past of The Riddle?"

Yes, M’Lord.

I must talk to my Grandson Jack of it tomorrow. But, if I… if I am unable… if I can not, you must tell the young Master (Lord Wallingford’s mind was wandering now, and he seemed to think he spoke of his lost son, Jefferson)… tell the young Master…. And here Lord Wallingford lapsed into unconsciousness.

Blinky stood for a while—uncertain as to what to do. Then he went to the door and summoned the Healers to the bedside. As they entered and moved past him, Blinky searched his memory: What had His Lordship meant when he spoke of—a riddle? Try as he might, Blinky could recall only the most vague of memories of distant musings by His Lordship about some riddle—or such.

Meanwhile, heeding his Grandfather’s wish, Jack went to the barracks, where