Bandit the Attack Cat

By Howard W. Gabriel III

One morning as I was loading my car for work, suddenly, out of nowhere, a large pit bull appeared at my feet. It seemed friendly enough, so I asked, “Where do you live?”

Then the dog put its nose upward. “The cat!” I shouted as Bandit, my blue eyed Himalayan, is usually under my car before I start it.

As the dog sniffed, it headed towards the front of the car. Bandit started making strange loud sounds intended to scare the pit bull away.

I grabbed the dog’s choke chain collar and tried to steer it away. This didn’t work well as the dog did not like being choked. One time the collar came off! I was able to put it back on the dog’s neck. Another time one of my fingers got tangled in the choke chain collar. Anyhow, I kept taking the dog from the front of the car to the back of the car. This went on and on forever… Finally, I held the dog with one hand and opened the garage door with the other. As I pulled the dog away from the car, I yelled for the cat to run into the garage.

There was no sign of Bandit moving from underneath the car. The dog dragged me toward the car and I pulled it back. Sometimes there was a growl. On and on this continued. There was no one around to help. I finally started to yell the cat’s name—insisting that she help out. I shouted, “Bandit, you must help me.”

Then it happened. Bandit crawled from beneath the left front tire fender and was looking at us with her hair straight up. Her four legs were somehow bowed.

She had a twisted face and looked like a bulldog. Then she began heading toward the dog like some kind of lurid robot. Her two left legs went up high at the same time. When they came down the right ones went up together. She was telling the dog in her way that it was “High Noon!” Slowly she marched to the dog. I was spellbound.

Finally I spoke, “Bandit, that’s not what I meant by help. Go to the garage.”
She stopped and stood her ground for a few minutes as I continued to plead with her while I struggled with the dog. She then backed up ever so slowly with her strange two legged piston motion.

Whew! It was over. I wasn’t sure where she had gone, but the dog had a change of mind and trotted down the street, perhaps in search of more adventure.

I will always remember that morning event.

A New Home for Shivers

Howard W. Gabriel III

Illustrated by David House

On one dreary, rainy, windy day two children struggled down a driveway, carrying a large hamster cage.

"Be careful where you are stepping!" yelled the girl to the boy.

"Keep the cage covered!" the boy snapped to his sister.

Despite their quarrel, the did manage to stuff the cage into the back seat of the family car.

Yet, as they returned to the house, a charming little creature was dwarfed among the yard's high, green grass.

"What has happened to me?" pondered Shivers, the family's pet hamster.

How could he know that the children's uneven movements had jarred a lid off his cage? He had tumbled out into the cold wet grass, and immediately awoke from his usually peaceful daytime sleep.

Now Shivers began running, in panic, but in the wrong direction! Rather than going towards the family's house he reached the sidewalk. As he paused to examine this strange new space, his keen sense of smell told him someone new was nearby--someone he did not know.

Quickly, to avoid being squashed by a bicycling newspaper girl, the hamster leaped off the sidewalk curb and fell to the unknown below.

"Eeeeeeee!" squealed Shivers. "I am falling into rushing gutter water and I can not swim."

Closing his eyes to prepare for hitting the water, he suddenly hit something solid and everything began to spin.

Annoyed by having something land on his back, Horace poked his head out of his shell for a good look.

As Shivers began to slide off, he grabbed Horace's long neck. The two of them struggled with each other in the water, all the while floating rapidly down the gutter in the swift current.

All of a sudden the water went straight down the drainage hole while the struggling, bewildered pair shot right past the hole. Horace landed upside down on his back, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't seem to get back on his feet.

"I will help you," Shivers told him and he promptly wedged his flexible body between the turtle and the curb.

That did it!

The turtle flopped over and landed back on his feet.

Putting on his large rimmed glasses, Horace said sternly, "I do thank you, but I would not have needed any help at all if you had not jumped on my back and scared me so much! Furthermore, a stormy, rainy day is no time for a hamster to be outside. You should go home!"

"But I am lost and do not know how to return home," sobbed Shivers.

"Then I, Horace Turtle, shall find your house for you," replied the turtle.

However, when they reached the house that Shivers recognized as home they found it empty.

"Your family has moved and left without you," Horace told poor Shivers, and he added "You must now find another home on your own!"

Having no more time for this small fry, Horace left to play in his favorite sandbox, and Shivers, who had nowhere else to go, followed Horace from a distance, crying all the way.

As he climbed into the sandbox, Horace knocked a large sandpail over, and it landed right on top of him, trapping him inside.

"Ugh!" grunted Horace. "I am really in trouble this time."

Thinking Horace had gone into the pail on purpose to seek shelter from the rain, Shivers climbed on top of the pail. Determined more than ever to be with the only friend he now had in the world, he chewed and chewed until he finally made a hole big enough for him to squeeze inside.

"How did you get in here?" wondered Horace out loud.

Before Shivers could reply, Horace spotted the tiny hole and asked, "Can you make it big enough for me?"

After Shivers had chewed for a long time the hole was big enough for the much larger Horace to crawl through. He was free again. This time the turtle was very grateful.

Proudly he announced to Shivers, "It was not your fault that I was stuck in that pail, but you helped me none the less. You are indeed a good friend. I shall take you to live at my house!"

When they finally reached Horace's house, the sun was coming out once more and Shivers spotted two familiar figures. The two children playing at the house next door to Horace's were his children! They ones he had lost way back at the car!

His family had moved next door to Horace's house!

I really am home after all!" said the happy Shivers.

A River Adventure
By Howard W. Gabriel III

I must have been about 14 at the time. My dad and I were a couple of happy fellows, about to spend the morning of his first vacation day floating down the Alexander Valley River on rubber rats. Just the two of us!
We had paid attention to careful planning. My grandmother let us out of her car at 7:55 a.m. and five minutes later we were in the morning water. Dad recalled from his childhood days that from this particular starting point it was about 8 miles to the town of Santa Rosa. My grandmother was to pick us up at the outskirts of town a 1:00 p.m., even though we knew we would be there by noon.
After an hour or so my dad discovered that our little supply bag had somehow unhooked—lost was our suntan lotion. Oh well, the temperature never got more than 75-80 degrees that time of the year. Yet, as the river’s forested sides came and left the hotter it seemed. It made 100+ that day.
After 3 hours or so Dad and I asked some folks how far from town we were and what time it was. We were getting so hungry—our sandwich bag which was wrapped in waterproof material had become soggy. Anyhow, the people spoke from high above the river. “Eight miles!” We were astounded. Had we simply traveled in circles? The scenery did seem to repeat itself.
We then decided to hurry our paces, but it was at this point that the current seemed to have disappeared. We raced one another for what seemed to be hours. Legs and arms weighed too much so we had to stop now and then.
My dad was red; he had not worn anything but a small bathing suit. I had worn a t-shirt and long cut-offs.
I think the only way we kept going (whatever happened to the rushing current?) was by getting mad at each other.
At 5:00 p.m. we made it to the right spot. My grandmother was in a panic. She was about to call the police.
The river had actually stretched and curved 24 miles—16 more than via the road.
Dad suffered second and third degree burns all over his body. He went through dozens of layers of skin, day after day. I can still see my father as he was the remainder of his vacation lumbering along streets, in and out of doors, up and down steps—stiff arms and legs like a scarecrow in a farmer’s field.