Lantern Sam and the Blue Streak Bandits by Michael D. Beil Page A

this chapter of my life, but I swore to tell the unvarnished truth, so here it is: bruised and bloodied, but with a belly full of roast chicken, I slept for fourteen hours straight on Walt’s boat. (After the
Susie G
incident, I had sworn off boats for life, but I think we can all agree that after surviving Tom the Tomcat, a demented rooster, and the Cleveland sewer system, I was entitled to a night in a warm, dry cabin.)
    Don’t get me wrong. I appreciated all that Walt had done for me, but I just wasn’t ready for a long-term commitment—especially with someone who lived on a boat—so I quietly limped away from the dock when he went off to buygroceries for the next leg of his voyage. Even though the odds of running into Marmalade and Tom were slim, I was taking no chances, so I headed due south, away from the city and away from the water. After traveling two days on paw, I caught a ride on a southbound freight train. As we passed by one dairy farm after another, I started craving fresh milk so badly that I jumped off at the first opportunity, a small town called Hiram.
    It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for; the scent of Jersey cows was like perfume to me, and I simply followed my nose until I found myself in a pasture with a whole herd. At milking time, I tagged along and then slipped into the barn unnoticed. My heart leapt when the first cat I saw was another calico. It meant that I would have a place to rest, and all the fresh milk I could drink. You see, calicoes are not like other cats; we live and die by a sacred code.
    Another calico must always be treated like family
, Mom told my siblings and me.
No matter the circumstances
.
    That’s when Mom recited “The Rhyme of the Ancient Calico,” a poem about a silent, broken-down cat who was turned away from barn after barn on a snowy January night. The next day, he was found dead in a snowdrift, where an older cat recognized him as Jedediah, a member of the Calicium, also known as the Council of Calicoes. The Calicium was made up of three elder calicoes, one for each of ourcolors. For many centuries, they met once a year under a half-moon and recited verses in the old language. With the death of Jedediah, however, a third of the secret was lost forever, as he had never passed his knowledge on to another. At first no one noticed anything different, but slowly the truth became clear. From every corner of the world, the news was the same, litter after litter, year after year: no male calicoes were born.
    And nothing can change that, calicoes believe, until the lost verses are rediscovered. In the meantime, we live by the Calico Code and treat all strangers like family, reciting verses from the epic poem “The Rhyme of the Ancient Calico” whenever we meet.
    I tiptoed across the floor of the barn and slowly approached the other calico. I touched my left front paw to my forehead and chest, and then spoke the opening lines of the sacred poem:
    “From lands unknown the gentle stranger hailed,
    Seeking shelter from winter’s frigid breath.”
    The other calico continued without missing a beat:
    “But at every door, love and kindness failed,
    And on he wandered, to a lonely death.”
    Then, as the code requires, we touched noses and introduced ourselves.
    “Sam, Linesville, Pennsylvania.”
    “Billie, Hiram, Ohio. Welcome to Twin Elms Farm, Sam. Sorry if I’m staring. You’re my first male calico. And if you don’t mind my saying, you look like somebody’s been using you for a scratching post.”
    “Tough night in the city,” I said.
    “Well, feel free to stay as long as you like. At the moment, there’s just me and Ginny—that’s her over by those calves—so there’s plenty of milk. Ginny’s deaf and mostly blind, so she probably won’t even notice you’re here.”
    “Anything I need to worry about? Roosters, for instance?”
    “No, nothing like that. Well, no, that’s not quite true. Can’t forget about