just follow the cat

part 11 - Billy Greene is a forever cat

somewhere

Somewhere on Earth, the world's horse race historians sharpened their quill pens and prepared to write down the name of Charon's Crossing as the winning horse in the ninth race on the day after the last day of the meet. Billy's name would go beside hers. They would also write down the winning time and all the other critical details that would continue ensure that the sun rises in the east, that it sets in the west, that all infants love their mothers (if only for a moment), and that the Scarlet Moon would conspire with ocean storms to produce tides that are more fearsome in September than at any other time of the year. Since no race had ever been run at this distance, they were also prepared to put a little star next to the entry for this race – a big, bright gold star because there was never any doubt that this would be a world record.

Somewhere among the rundown barns behind Pimlico's backstretch, Reverend Wilson was making his rounds. Since this was truly the last day of the meet, he was blessing those horses who would race another day and blessing (with extra fervor) those who were finishing their careers. He would bow to each and then quietly tell them that they had served man well before moving on to the next stall. When he got to Stall 28 in Barn 6, Reverend Wilson started to walk by because there was no horse in that stall. It was Charon's Crossing's home and she was still in the winner's circle waiting for the track photographer to create the 5 by 7 souvenir that enshrined her place in history. As the Reverend stood in front of Stall 27, he heard the sound of a cow lowing softly. He walked back to Stall 28 where he saw a young boy leaning over a pile of horse dung mooing like a cow. In the corner of the stall, he also saw a cot, some crumpled bedding, and a pile of mismatched clothing.

Reverend Wilson had always been a man of many rules. As he had said dozens of times before, "Rules create order and God needs an ordered universe to make His miracles." Unfortunately, this boy – this mooing child was apparently breaking one of the Reverend's cardinal rules: No one sleeps in the barns. No one. Never. It really didn't matter that this wasn't a rule established by the track, its owners, or the Maryland Racing Association. It was only Reverend Wilson's rule and he would enforce it. Or rather, he'd have someone else enforce it. The corollary to all of Reverend Wilson's rules was that someone else would do the hard part. He would simply tell them what to do like don't tell lies or steal or sleep around. Explaining the rules were always the easy part. Sticking to them was never quite as easy. But that wasn't Reverend's fault. Or his problem.

With this in mind, Reverend Wilson took a notebook from his pocket and scribbled down his instructions.

The boy must leave.

He must leave by nightfall.

Someone will come by to assure that he is gone.

At the bottom of the page, he signed his name. Then in parentheses, he added the words, "By authority of the Pimlico Racecourse and the Maryland Racing Association." Satisfied, he walked on to Stall 27 to bless the next horse. "You have served man well," he said. Then he cleared his throat to mask the sounds of the mooing from Stall 28.

Somewhere in the corner of that stall, the tiniest creatures living there were hard at work. The microbes who had hitched a ride from East Baltimore were busily devouring the dung tunnel that the mouse had built that morning. They worked with such efficiency that (in a matter of a few hours) they had already weakened the roof of the structure to such an extent that a single raindrop would collapse the entire formation. The Dog Boy helped some too. He poked a small hole in the roof of the tunnel, so he could watch the mouse. The mouse was alarmed at first, but then the boy mooed until the mouse fell asleep.

Somewhere on Pimlico's backstretch, Phillip Staffe was leading Charon's Crossing back to the barns. He walked on tip toes and hopped in the air after every few steps. "You did it, old girl! You really fucking did it." He slapped her back and tousled her mane. "I never. I mean I never in my life. You really did it." Then he slapped her on the back again and leaned over her huge body practically hugging her – or as much as it is possible to hug a beast that's almost ten times your size.