The Treaty
I was in the last hour of my shift when the call came over the radio. "Hey Sam, we got a 10-17 about rats, the address is XXXXXX in Hampden, you near there?"
"Yeah, I'm right at the RoFo on Keswick, be there in 5."
A few turns and I was there. "Hey, Dispatch, I'm 10-23 at XXXXX, ringing the doorbell now."
"10-4"
The old man slammed the ancient phone down shook. He gathered himself and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.
"Now, officer....?"
"Harrison," I said.
"Officer Harrison, can I offer you some tea?" He pointed to the kitchen.
"Well sir, I would prefer to make it myself. I have my own blend." In my kit I keep a nice smooth tasting black tea with fennel seeds, clove, mint and ginger.
"Do you have enough to make me a cuppa?" His voice had a child like innocence.
"I do, but I only got the one strainer..."
"Oh, I have a few of my own, here, come on."
Unlike the living room, the kitchen was clean, pristine, almost Spartan.
"You can't keep art in here, you see, grease and all that. I subscribe to the French school of cooking. Fat and butter." He opened a cabinet "This one is my favorites if you have your tea..." there was some subtle noise and he handed me this little robot looking thing.
"You can keep that, in fact. Too modern for me." he snorted. His diffuser was an owl.
"Now, are you familiar with rats?" he asked as though I'd just moved to Baltimore from Mars.
"Yes...."
"Very noble creatures, truth be told. Very clean, very industrious. But.... they bear a grudge like an Irishman."
The cat, Sergeant Major, meowed.
"That is agreeing sound..." the old man said.
"You...understand...him?" I asked, thinking I may have bit off more than I could chew visiting him alone. Then again, if he knew enough to call the shift sergeant, he was familiar enough to understand procedure. Maybe I was being hazed.
"As much as any human can. Cats meow to communicate with humans, not each other. The use smells and body language. A conversation between two felines takes maybe seconds. But..." he sipped his tea. "I was telling you about rats."
"Yeah... what about them?" I asked.
"Well, you know, the war started a long time ago. Between the rats and the cats. The rats brought the black plague. The cats sought them out and killed them to protect themselves and humans. Many casualities. You know that story. Bodies piled high. Awful, awful business. But the rats? Well... they wanted revenge."
"So they... did what?" I asked.
"Propaganda. Their first propaganda campaign, really. Cats are evil, tools of witches, that sort of thing."
"How... do rats... make propaganda?" I asked.
"Well, not propaganda as we quite understand it. The rats, you see, would have spies everywhere. They would wait to see who saw the most cats during the course of a day, and give them mushrooms of the psilocybe cyanescens, psilocybe fimetaria, psilocybe semilanceata and gymnopilus junonius families to make them think they had an evil spell put upon them. All the facts would line up and who would the blame?"
"The cats..." I said.
"Indeed. There were purges, of course. They didn't stop there, next it was women, even some men. Many, many cats fled Europe entirely. Some opted to come to the new world, and for awhile, they were safe again. Then came the age of sail, and so on, then came America and that entails. The rats didn't want to go back the Europe, having arrived with the British and the Cats didn't want America to loose. So an accord of sorts was struck."
"What does this have to do with the noise complaint?" I finally asked.
"Well, officer, Hampden, indeed all of Baltimore is cat territory. The rats will make noise; but I assure you, they have no home here."
"Well, this has been fascinating..." I said. "Thank you for the tea."
"You are very welcome officer. Come by anytime."
"Yeah, I'm right at the RoFo on Keswick, be there in 5."
A few turns and I was there. "Hey, Dispatch, I'm 10-23 at XXXXX, ringing the doorbell now."
"10-4"
There was very little noise inside the house, which was a bad sign consider A cat came up next to me and sat on its haunches.
The door opened. The old man didn't even look at me, instead, he addressed the cat.
"Sergeant Major, Good morning... I...oh... hello officer. How may I be of assistance?"
"Good morning, sir, we got a complaint about rats at this address..."
I have never heard such a hearty laugh. It was like this musical cackle that was like a pop song or something. Started quiet and then escalated and then faded away.
"Now, seriously officer...Clemens..." he said wiping a tear away as he regarded my name tag. "How can I help you?"
"I am serious...it was a complaint about rats."
"Are you new?" He said, still smiling from a joke I didn't get.
"I mean to this district, yeah, but... I've be a police officer for four years." I said.
"And no one briefed you?" He said, now sounded exasperated. "At all. Not your shift sergeant or anyone?"
"No sir.. but it sounds like you deal with police a lot and..."
"Take your hand off your bloody weapon, officer." He growled in this deep guttural voice that sounded like it was coming from a man at least four times his size. "You need to be briefed, and I guess I have to do it, but first, I need to call your shift sergeant...."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by that, you don't.."
"No, no, no, I beg your pardon. Your shift sergeant failed you and I'm going to tell him off, come in, sit down."
"Okay..." I said. Maybe he had Alzheimer's or something. No harm in indulging the guy, I figured. Quiet night.
He strode over to an old rotary phone, and dialed - literally now that I think about it - a number.
Out of respect to my shift sergeant, I'm not going to repeat what the old man said, but he definitely put a boot in his ass in the most British way possible.
The door opened. The old man didn't even look at me, instead, he addressed the cat.
"Sergeant Major, Good morning... I...oh... hello officer. How may I be of assistance?"
"Good morning, sir, we got a complaint about rats at this address..."
I have never heard such a hearty laugh. It was like this musical cackle that was like a pop song or something. Started quiet and then escalated and then faded away.
"Now, seriously officer...Clemens..." he said wiping a tear away as he regarded my name tag. "How can I help you?"
"I am serious...it was a complaint about rats."
"Are you new?" He said, still smiling from a joke I didn't get.
"I mean to this district, yeah, but... I've be a police officer for four years." I said.
"And no one briefed you?" He said, now sounded exasperated. "At all. Not your shift sergeant or anyone?"
"No sir.. but it sounds like you deal with police a lot and..."
"Take your hand off your bloody weapon, officer." He growled in this deep guttural voice that sounded like it was coming from a man at least four times his size. "You need to be briefed, and I guess I have to do it, but first, I need to call your shift sergeant...."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by that, you don't.."
"No, no, no, I beg your pardon. Your shift sergeant failed you and I'm going to tell him off, come in, sit down."
"Okay..." I said. Maybe he had Alzheimer's or something. No harm in indulging the guy, I figured. Quiet night.
He strode over to an old rotary phone, and dialed - literally now that I think about it - a number.
Out of respect to my shift sergeant, I'm not going to repeat what the old man said, but he definitely put a boot in his ass in the most British way possible.
While he laying into the shift sergeant, I looked around his place. It was like an antique shop, but was surprisingly free of dust. There was a of military type stuff. Lot of old pictures of soldiers, too. Some of them were old and yellow, but there some that looked as recent as Vietnam.
There was a cat or two in every picture.
"And you are in violation of the treaty! You know ALL officers in your district are to be briefed! I have your signature on the treaty! You did read it didn't you? Well, Sergeant, do please act like it in the future. Good day!"
There was a cat or two in every picture.
"And you are in violation of the treaty! You know ALL officers in your district are to be briefed! I have your signature on the treaty! You did read it didn't you? Well, Sergeant, do please act like it in the future. Good day!"
The old man slammed the ancient phone down shook. He gathered himself and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.
"Now, officer....?"
"Harrison," I said.
"Officer Harrison, can I offer you some tea?" He pointed to the kitchen.
"Well sir, I would prefer to make it myself. I have my own blend." In my kit I keep a nice smooth tasting black tea with fennel seeds, clove, mint and ginger.
"Do you have enough to make me a cuppa?" His voice had a child like innocence.
"I do, but I only got the one strainer..."
"Oh, I have a few of my own, here, come on."
Unlike the living room, the kitchen was clean, pristine, almost Spartan.
"You can't keep art in here, you see, grease and all that. I subscribe to the French school of cooking. Fat and butter." He opened a cabinet "This one is my favorites if you have your tea..." there was some subtle noise and he handed me this little robot looking thing.
"You can keep that, in fact. Too modern for me." he snorted. His diffuser was an owl.
"Now, are you familiar with rats?" he asked as though I'd just moved to Baltimore from Mars.
"Yes...."
"Very noble creatures, truth be told. Very clean, very industrious. But.... they bear a grudge like an Irishman."
The cat, Sergeant Major, meowed.
"That is agreeing sound..." the old man said.
"You...understand...him?" I asked, thinking I may have bit off more than I could chew visiting him alone. Then again, if he knew enough to call the shift sergeant, he was familiar enough to understand procedure. Maybe I was being hazed.
"As much as any human can. Cats meow to communicate with humans, not each other. The use smells and body language. A conversation between two felines takes maybe seconds. But..." he sipped his tea. "I was telling you about rats."
"Yeah... what about them?" I asked.
"Well, you know, the war started a long time ago. Between the rats and the cats. The rats brought the black plague. The cats sought them out and killed them to protect themselves and humans. Many casualities. You know that story. Bodies piled high. Awful, awful business. But the rats? Well... they wanted revenge."
"So they... did what?" I asked.
"Propaganda. Their first propaganda campaign, really. Cats are evil, tools of witches, that sort of thing."
"How... do rats... make propaganda?" I asked.
"Well, not propaganda as we quite understand it. The rats, you see, would have spies everywhere. They would wait to see who saw the most cats during the course of a day, and give them mushrooms of the psilocybe cyanescens, psilocybe fimetaria, psilocybe semilanceata and gymnopilus junonius families to make them think they had an evil spell put upon them. All the facts would line up and who would the blame?"
"The cats..." I said.
"Indeed. There were purges, of course. They didn't stop there, next it was women, even some men. Many, many cats fled Europe entirely. Some opted to come to the new world, and for awhile, they were safe again. Then came the age of sail, and so on, then came America and that entails. The rats didn't want to go back the Europe, having arrived with the British and the Cats didn't want America to loose. So an accord of sorts was struck."
"What does this have to do with the noise complaint?" I finally asked.
"Well, officer, Hampden, indeed all of Baltimore is cat territory. The rats will make noise; but I assure you, they have no home here."
"Well, this has been fascinating..." I said. "Thank you for the tea."
"You are very welcome officer. Come by anytime."
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