Whistle the Cat and the Wild Chicken Gang

By Samuel St. James

A whimsical tale of the Lost Dove of The Ark of Noah.
And in this tale which comes into modern focus we find out what is going on with Noah as he hunts for the missing link, the Dove. And here in 2020 why is Noah still looking for the missing Dove? .... Whistle, the first cat created by God in the Garden of Edan, and the pet cat of Noah has been tracking down the only missing animal from the inventory of the great Ark built by Noah right before the famous worldwide flood as recorded in all nation’s history - some twelve thousand years ago. You grow to love Whistle the huge Tabby cat of Noah, who is befriended by OB.

Then there is Annabelle beautiful beyond a rainbow, but is she human, or an Artificial Intelligent Robot companion?
The books humorous incidents, full of Tongue in Cheek, and play on word parodies, unfolds as Whistle guides us wherein, we meet Noah, Enoch, Asiablue, Colonel Overbee, Ace the son of OB, Natural Foster ruthless leaders of the Wild Chicken Gang, Prof. Gulpingport, and Uncle Hideo, not a robot, but mysterious uncle of Annabelle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Jul 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781489736581

Samuel St. James

Samuel St. James has been writing short stories since his college days in the Seventies and early eighties. He worked for Royal Dutch Shell Corporation and Citibank Group simultaneously in sales of fuel and credit cards. He also owned two music stores in Southern California with his business partners and studied common law procedure from Professor George Gordon, Barristers Inn Law School, Boise Idaho. He is retired and resides in Honolulu, Hawaii, where he plays golf with his Hawaiian friend, Markham, takes walks with his wife Cherry, and enjoys the fresh Pacific Ocean breezes across the island of Oahu.

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Copyright © 2021 Samuel St. James.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-3659-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-3658-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021912711

LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 06/18/2021

Contents

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2:     Trapping a wild Cat Thang

Chapter 3:     On course to meet the Wild

Chapter 4:     Calli - Whistle and ID theft

Chapter 5:     Bad food or Shadow Government

Chapter 6:     The Breakfast Burritos Anyone?

Chapter 7:     Anyone for Noahbotta

Chapter 8:     The return of Benedict Gato the Trader Cat

Chapter 9:     Marriage made for a Car

Chapter 10:   The Truth and nothing but the Truth – So help us

Chapter 11:   The Pink Hawk Monster Truck

Chapter 12:   Nagoya city where robots have pets

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Chapter 1

A re we going to get whistle the cat ….is all I want to know Dad?

My son said as he was putting his golf clubs into the golf cart. I looked at his thick head of black hair, which was so thick when he combed it straight back from his forehead it made him look 4 inches taller. He had his mother’s thick Asian hair. He brushed his hand through his hair as he stared into my eyes, asking the question again but now with his eyes,

‘yes or no?’ Blink blink with his eyes.

My son’s eyes locked with mine, we hung our heads in shame. He knew what I was thinking. This cat Whistle, was a big, and I mean tough, Feral cat living in the wild at the golf course. Viciously killing snakes, gophers, jack rabbits, birds, and an occasional golfer to survive, and was covered with battle scars. He had never been neutered at all he was a full-blown Tom Cat.

I looked at my son,

Ok, well if we take him that means Diesel-Daisy might be beaten up or killed by Whistle the cat we bring home.

I know Dad, but there is something special about Whistle, I mean he only comes to us of all the people who are on the golf course. The minute we Whistle he shows up out of nowhere and lets us feed him cat food and we brush him. He is excessively big but seems like he would not bother to hurt Diesel.

I hated this part of fatherhood. What happens if I let us bring this Whistle the Feral tom cat home and he injures or kills Diesel-Daisy? Then how responsible do I look to my son? Worse yet, what about the mentally retarded Doberman-Poodle we have? Her name is Sunshine, and she is mentally retarded, sadly. In the encounter of her birth the father must have been a ravenous cold-blooded killer, and its mother an over-grown poodle and collie mix. Because …. Sunshine only weighed 20 to 30 pounds, and I am sure she should have been a huge dog, but, Whistle weighed more than that, and Sunshine is so dossal and, sadly I must say, confused, she hardly seems to know anything. We got her at the Humane Society, and she was so mixed up when we got her. The Society told us that her habit of constantly walking around in circles, either very fast or quite slow was just a temporary thing because she was frightened and nervous at being picked up as a homeless dog and brought in to the animal shelter. Well, I guess I could understand that as I mean if suddenly, I was picked up and thrown into an animal shelter like that, and told I was a homeless dog - that could have affected me too, so I bought the story, hook, lock, and sinker? Or, I think it is Hook, Line, and Sinker. Well, the Humane Society pulled one over on me.

But, well Sunshine, which the Society named her - did not fit. Cheyenne, or Happy, but not a Sunshine. Yes, Shy- Anne, would have been good. Happy even better, because she could be happy about pooping on her freshly washed and clean doggie blanket in her dog house. Talk about retarded If you call her, like at the park and people are around watching this beautiful little fluffy dog - here is what happens. She is off-leash, of course being a copy of Homer Simpson, why do I need a leash, I am not walking a leash, the dog needs a walk, a run, how can she do that tied on a leash? So, I call her name, Sunshine, Sunshine, and she comes running with her tongue lobbing in and out of her mouth, with a big smile on her face, and a happy run which looks like a baby fawn frolicking in a pasture. But, then this serine picture, well, it turns ugly fast, when everyone at the park sees this scene…. and then her run right past me, a foot away from me at full speed, as though she does not see me, and off into an unknown direction. The more I call her and the louder I call - trying to tell her she missed me, even though she only missed by one foot, the faster she keeps running in the wrong direction.

She is cute as she looks like a white, blond, tan colored cotton ball. But every dog lover I have met, which is quite a few, all shake their heads, and admit something is wrong with her. It is hard to admit that dogs, you know, ‘man’s best friend could be mentally ill or retarded. Just from the association with mankind well, that association of man and dog, could be affecting dogs. It’s an insane technological world, cell phones, walking GPS units, man’s best friend – is now being driven mentally ill by all of this technological gadgetry. How sad for mankind its toys are making its best friend" insane or retarded. Well, that is just my opinion as a retired accountant type, of course I was not a vegetarian or dog catcher, so I might be wrong.

But, Sunshine, well, she is mentally off, far off, and life is confusing for her, and facts speak for themselves. So, what happens if Sunshine gets eaten by Whistle, after Whistle Rips Diesel-Daisy apart, and is so out of control that Whistle, turns vicious and we do not have the Army Gorilla Corps, which took the place of the Navy Seals to help us? See how hard being a dad can be, decisions and more decisions. To bring Whistle home, or not to bring Whistle home and take our chances on the death and destruction that could occur, or not take this wonderful cat and let him die a slow death of starvation, what to do. Where was a boy scout leader when you needed one?

"Ok son, you know I want Whistle as bad as you do, and honestly the facts say a domesticated cat can live 15 or 20 years, but one that is feral, well can live maybe 5 years or so. And Whistle is so very intriguing that I know we both agree we need to take him and integrate him into our family, without the death of us all.

I can just see the newspaper headlines now. Family pet cat attacks and kills entire family and the families Pitbull too. I know we do not have a Pitbull, but with the sad state of modern media reporting, our Doberman-Poodle would get reported as classified secret non-discloser via the FOIA, so reported wrong as a pit-bull. You just cannot trust the media after 100 years now in America to get news right…. or worse yet, half truthful. America’s news media here in 2015, it is really not a news media it is a propaganda information’s out-put source. And because of it, Americans are so mixed up they really are in need of a man’s best friend", like a simple dog. In this case a wild feral cat.

I looked at my handsome son, whose name was Ace, well, not his real name, but his nickname, as he had been golfing only several years and had gotten two holes in one over that time period. Which when you do that in golf it is called an Ace. So, I call him Ace. And he gets even with me in calling be Obie, not like in Obi-Wan Kenobi, from Star Wars, but like, O.B., like in Out of Bounds with the golf ball, and that can be as much as two strokes against a serious golfer.

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Chapter 2

TRAPPING A WILD CAT THANG

A s I look back upon that day months ago, maybe we had over reacted about Whistle, we did trap him, and he had not put up a horrible fight, and ripped us apart, he only let out the most horrible sad forlorn sounds. As we shoved him unsuspectingly into that cage, a pale color of sadness covered the entire golf course, it was a sad two-toned color of true unhappiness, betrayal, broken promises, there was nothing politically correct about it. Well, we felt and looked like two big rats on a golf course driving a golf cart weaving around like big, dumb, drunk rats, as we tried to get to our SUV before the FBI, was called.

In the silence of the golf course was drastically changed with Whistle the trapped cat crying out for help. This inter-dispersed with horrible cat promises from him that he was going to eat us when he got out. First the howling and crying, loud and piercing, then the wailing of the cat, then the loud rap music – which we started playing to cover up the cat’s noise, and the golf cart weaving in and out as we took short-cuts the back way through innocent neighborhoods to get to the golf courses parking lot where we had parked our get-a-way car.

So now it has been three weeks to three months, maybe over a year, you know how it is said, time flies since we had betrayed whistle the cat and taken him home. With the wild chicken gang fast and furious behind us. He has not killed anyone, because he is watching TV day and night, night, and day, and seems oblivious as to the fact that he had been kidnapped or catnapped away from what we though were his beloved home, and only home, the golf course. But an interesting fact is that he could disappear, and we simply could not find him. So, we bought these infrared night goggles so we could see him in the house in the dark of night. But it seems who ever puts them on then immediately falls asleep and sees nothing. Maybe we did not read the fine print which stated that these glasses were a sleeping aid for sleepless nights. It’s a technological world now, sleeping glases.

And interesting fact that changes this story into a very interesting one is that at first, I thought I had lost my mind. Because Whistle the cat, speaks English and is able to talk with me. But, no one but me can hear him. He got even at me for taking him off the golf course, I thought at first. Because him and I would be talking, and then Ace or my wife would enter the room, and Whistle would keep talking, and I would keep saying, shsss, shsss, shut up Whistle. But he would not, and would smile at me and keep distracting me, while Ace or my wife would keep telling me to stop talking to myself, or talking to Whistle who could not understand a word I was saying, and was only a cat and could not speak English to humans. All this was happening while Whistle was talking and making fun of me - while all along mimicking their words to me.

Slowly Whistle and I became really great friends. Watching TV, and sitting there engaged in our long discussions about the house, his old life on the golf course. Which he informs me was For the Birds, and then he’d smiles when he says that, For the Birds. Evidently, he thinks it’s pretty funny, or an inside joke, which I am in on, which I am not.

Once I leave him there by his food, and wander into other parts of the house talking to myself, which I do a lot, well, there is no law against that yet, is there? Though I have heard that a group of prominent Congressmen in Washington, Senator’s, Dewey, Cheatem, and Howe, Republican and Democrat, which I call them combined, DemRepos, are also thinking about retiring soon and getting fake jobs as Congressional Lobbyist. And before they retire they are introducing a bill which would be placed under the Patriot Act, which essentially states people who talk to themselves are prone to be terrorist from other countries, or returning military veterans, who have lost their minds by killing other humans in foreign countries in the name of American freedom and Apple Pie.

I, and Whistle have recently found out that both Democrat and Republican Senators, and Congressmen belong to the same clubs, spa’s, golf country clubs, lying and debating teams, and Washington Brothels. I no longer call them Democrats and Republicans, I simply call them what they are, DemRepos.

Most of all the poor people in other parts of the world do not know that America is not free because of the Demrepos.

Yes, sir folks step right up and get some American freedom. Eat some of the American Liberty Pie, Varity Package of Freedom - which is yours if you have a social security number, an identification chip in your hand, a driver’s license, a permit from the Air Induction Act, (measures how much fresh American Air you breath for your height and weight), a permit to allow you to use a plastic fork in public, a IRS tax payer’s ID card, which shows you are Up-To-Date in the money you owe to the US Government, and to be really free you need a Certified medical card which holds harmless the US Government from anyone eating American Freedom Apple pie, who might die from too much freedom on a fork.

So, Whistle was not intriguing, or integrating, and/or both into our family. He actually did not pay any attention to the fact there was a Diesel-Daisy cat hanging around chasing flies, birds, bugs, and his tail, on Sunshine’s habitual trail, which Sunshine had made going around in circles on the outside of our home. No matter when or which window in our house you looked out, there was Whistle the tomcat sitting in the middle of the quiet scenic view out the window, watching the small cat, Diesel-Daisy someplace on our property chasing his tail or bees, butterflies, or Sunshine the dog going around the circle trail.

And, Diesel-Daisy had not seemed to really care about Whistle, or was so interested in being a silly young cat that now and then I would see them sitting about 4 feet apart looking out at stuff in the front yard as if in a trance.

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Chapter 3

ON COURSE TO MEET THE WILD

CHICKEN GANG

I decided to go back to the Golf Course where we had borrowed Whistle from, notice I said, Borrowed, because if I find something amiss in his past, like a criminal conviction, or time served, then I might return him without asking for my golf green fees returned for that day.

The West Lock Golf Course is a real golf course, just like this story, everything is honestly real, all the events have happened, the proof is in the pudding, only the names of the animals have been changed because dog and cat names such as, Honey, Sam, Ralph, Princess, Joe, Barney, Bubba, etc., do not sound good in a hard-hitting story. And then there is Protection from notoriety or popularity - and then being required to get permits, licenses, IRS numbers, social security number, you know the entire gambit of control factors, which then would make them not wild cats, chickens, nor animals. They would be domesticated citizens of the USA, land of the brave and home of the permitted and fee’d.

But, how free can one of those sweet-singing warblers who weigh .02 to .03 ounces be with a one-pound bird license tag around its neck? Everyone in America has to carry double or triple ID with photos showing you are an official id’ American. This because there is an alarming amount of supposed Terrorist lurking around every corner who hate America because it has so much freedom on a fork, good ole American Apple Pie freedom.

The front of West Lock was designed right out of the early to mid-1950’s, with brown shake tile roofing, open patio design with cement slab driveway in a half circle at the end of a huge parking lot. It has 18 holes of interesting jungle type foliage, banana trees, coconut trees, lakes with foreboding large fish, which seem to thrive in the dark watered lake, which feeds itself from Pearl Harbor and city run-off drains. Its dark and murky and scary during the day, and at night it must be terrifying.

The building and patio, once were very nice, but now run down, with a large room for a restaurant, which is not there anymore. The golf course is a throwback to another time in Hawaii. Where in the sixties, male and female golfers were known as hippies.

I walked into the office to see about renting a cart. All around were tables with sports magazines laid out upon them. In the Southwestern corner is the place where you pay. Nate was working there today. I decided to wake Nate up, as he was half asleep with his head resting on his hand and arm prop.

Hey Nate where is your photo from 1970 when you and your boss Bob were shooting in the 60’s out here?

Nate looked up from his nap, with his usual smile which was pleasing to the eye. He had a very easy-going personality to match his slow precise movements and easy smile.

Ha ha, those were the days, yeah, Bob the Boss, you know, keeps them photos in his office so he says that he can be remembered as the guy who preserved Hawaiian history and shot in the 60’s on this course. Of course, it was only nine holes back then……. he never tells them that.

Our laughter echoed off the plastered walls now faded from bright white to yellowish brown smug with dull photographs of all the old timers who were regulars in those bygone years.

Say, you know that guy who takes care of the feral cats and, I guess that gang of chickens over by the 15th hole par 3? I need to meet him as I picked up that cat, I told you about several months ago.

Nate paused from writing and scratched his chin.

You know there have been many people doing that over the last several years. But, you gotta ask Ted down below, you know he makes the rounds picking up the flags late each afternoon before we close. He would see that guy more than me for sure.

How is the cat doing, I never really saw him that much those Feral cats and I guess Chickens are very interesting. What a story the chickens are. All those guys can fly.

Hearing Nate say that reminded me that Ace and I had seen different chickens sitting up on the branches of the trees back there in that deserted section by the edge of Pearl Harbor.

Yeah, why do you keep them around? I looked closely at Nate. I mean they are rather loud and certainly not afraid of nothing back there.

Nate pushed his golf hat back from his tan forehead as he spoke.

Well you probably noticed we cannot trap them, just too smart. We’ve tried every trap made and known to mankind, woman kind, and every kind, and it seems they just laugh at it, and poop on it too.

We’d like to trap them but kind of given up on that. As you know they go up into the back yards of all those houses along the rim of the 15th, 16th and 17th, hole, and yell at the homeowners.

Terrorized the home owners, and we got out traps all over the place, so that back area was beginning to look like a militarized zone. Never got one of them chickens in any traps, but man, there were golfers getting beat up, hit by rocks, golf balls, tree branches, most of them got crapped on pretty bad too. There was a huge battle going on between the chickens and home owners. Any house with a swimming pool had to kiss the pool goodbye as it constantly filled up with chicken poop.

Whoa, really how long ago was this?

Nate scratched his tan balled head as he prepared to answer.

Must have been 2 or 3 years ago, just a year or so before you and Ace showed up everything quieted down. Now that I think of it, everything quieted down when the Tabby Cat showed up. Next thing the Chickens and that Tabby were always together. They moved way into the jungle back by the harbor inlet. Did not see them too much. But everyone said late at night you could hear them, squawking, and Meowing. Nate paused,

You know they say real life can be stranger than fiction, and with that cat and them chickens, it sure was. The home owners and even the HOA tried to get the FBI, and the CIA involved as they said they heard, voices, like there were humans back there with the chickens, as though the chickens, had a visitor or could actually talk. The HOA started a story that it was the Chinese backing the Chickens, and the Chinese were gonna attack Pearl Harbor again. They pushed that story until someone corrected the HOA that it had not been the Chinese who had first attacked Pearl Harbor, so how could they do it again. So absurd, once the home owners started talking about the chickens being part human and part chicken, and well, you know the police and CIA, FBI, all of them even the Mayor of Honolulu, well, they disappeared. Kind of left the home owners with no one to listen to