Story (c) Alden MacManx

Old Mr. Fang woke to the ringing of the telephone by his bed. He looked blearily at the clock- 1 a.m. With a low growl, he answered it. "Yeah, hello." he growled.

"Uncle Mike?" came a ladies voice over the phone. "It’s Maureen. It’s started. Can you tell Poppy in the morning? I don’t want to wake him now…" she said.

Mike’s eyes snapped open. "Of course I will, Maureen. Is Ned ready to take you to the hospital?"

"As soon as I hang up. I’ll have Ned call you, or Poppy, as soon as we know, okay?"

"Okay, kiddo. You run along now." Mike said, using far gentler tones than he had started with.

"Okay, Uncle Mike. I’ll be fine! Bye!" she said, then hung up. Mike hung his phone up.

"Maureen ready to have her baby?" yawned Mike’s wife of many years from her place beside him.

"Yes, she is, love. They’re heading for the hospital now. Go back to sleep. I’ll tell Terry in the morning. No sense in getting him excited for nothing." He said as he rolled over in bed and tried to get back to sleep.

But, sleep eluded the old Polish Doberman. Instead, his thoughts turned back, thinking of his long friendship with Terrence O’Toole.

They had met back in 1919, when Mikhail Fangnanski got off a ship in Big City. He had fled Poland to find opportunities in the U.S. Big City is where many fursons headed to, where they could thrive away from the humans. Terrence O’Toole had arrived a year before, the cat having fled Ireland after losing first his father and older brothers in the Great War, then his mother shortly after.

They were an odd pair, the big dog and the pudgy tabby cat, but they soon struck up a friendship that endured. They drifted into one of the mobs that flourished, Terry’s organized mind working the books, and Mikhail’s skills in brawling and investigation making him a top enforcer. They always stayed close, because each trusted the other with their lives. In a decade, they had lost track of how many times each had saved the other.

Terry soon rose to take over a mob. During Prohibition, not only did they run liquor, they also ran the biggest inflation racket on the West Coast. Terry ran the organization, and Mikhail handled distribution.

Terry always invested the profits wisely, soon becoming a big wheel in Big City real estate, as well as becoming a highly skilled accountant. One thing Terry always did was to look after his crew like they were family. Mikhail was like a brother to him, and under Terry’s guidance, the dog became moderately wealthy.

Terry soon met and married Maeve O’Donnell, a nice, quiet Irish tabby who supported her husband well. Maeve and Mike became friends as well. Soon, Terry had two children, both girls. Mike remembered a conversation he had with Terry one night, sitting in the speakeasy hidden under the small diner that was a convenient front for their booze and gas-running operations.

"Ye know what I wish fer more than anythin’ else, Mickey?" Terry asked as he sipped from a glass of Tullamore Dew, his favorite libation.

"What’s that, Terry?" Mike asked in return, contemplating his glass of vodka.

Terry sighed deeply. "No matter how much oi love me wife and darters, I want a son. I want a little boy I can raise to be a chip off the old block." he said, taking a sip.

Mike sighed. Much as he adored Terry’s kids, he had no intention of settling down and marrying at the time, although he did enjoy being called ‘Uncle Mike’ by Terry’s girls. "Never give up hope, Terry. Someday, you will have a son."

"I pray to God every night that I will. I’ll never neglect me little girls, but, so help me, I want a son…"

Terry was indeed a fine father to his daughters, a loving husband to his wife, and a stern, but fair, boss to work for. Not only did he run the mob in Big City profitably, he also ran it in such a way that nobody outside the mob knew he was running it. Only those inside knew. He had the police and G-men in fits, trying to find who was running all the speakeasies and inflation parlors in town.

That all came to a screeching halt in 1928, when an informer managed to get into the mob and blew the whistle. This called for drastic actions, and Terry, without hesitating one bit, put the plans into action. After making sure the most loyal members of the mob were provided for, he took his wife, family, and Mike into hiding, after faking their deaths. That hurt Terry’s spirits, having to leave those he called family behind, but in order to avoid having to leave his real family behind, he fled.

After the evidence leading to the loss of life was securely planted, and more than adequate funds were wired off, Terry gathered Mike and his family together and did what had to be his greatest work of magic.

You see, Terry is a musicat, able to do magic through the song in his voice and heart. Putting body and soul into it, he sang his closest friend and family all the way across the country, leaving behind his treasured Big City.

Once arrived, he wasted no time in starting a new life, leaving the old one behind. He managed to change Mikhail’s name to Mike Fang, and found jobs for him and Michael. Soon, he bought a tidy house and started work as a public accountant. Mike found work with the newspaper, as an investigative reporter.

When Prohibition ended, Terry bought a beer distributorship, hiring Mike to be his assistant. Over the years, the business flourished. Mike found love and married, having a boy and a girl within a few years of wedding. Terry bought Mike and his wife the house next door to his own as a wedding present.

Terry was a good uncle to Mike’s kids, having two more children of his own, both girls. As the girls married and had children of their own, Terry hoped for a grandson, but, nothing but girls, girls, girls.

Mike and Terry, and their families, led peaceful lives together, raising their children and running the business. Things changed in 1956, when Maeve died in a freak auto accident. Shortly after, Terry came down with cancer.

Terry lived on, for his children and grandchildren, gradually handing off more of the business duties to Mike as the disease ravaged his body, but not his spirit. He saw his youngest daughter, Maureen, married off to Edwin MacManx, a ginger-furred cat who made his living fishing. When Maureen turned up pregnant, it gave Terry new strength to live.

Mike woke up to his alarm, startled that he had managed to go back to sleep. He thought once more about his old friend, feeling the sadness once more over how frail the once-vital cat had become. He went through his morning routine and was about to head for the office when the phone rang again.

"Hello" he growled.

"Uncle Mike? It’s Ned MacManx. Can you bring Poppa to the hospital? Maureen asked me to call."

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"She said for me not to tell, but she wants Poppa here. Can you bring him?"

Mike read more into the tones of Ned’s voice than the words. "Sure. Let me get him going. We will be there in an hour."

"Okay, Uncle Mike. You won’t be disappointed!" Ned said, and then he hung up.

Mike quickly called the office, telling the supervisor that he wouldn’t be in till later. He then told his wife about the phone call, and then walked next door to check on his old friend.

Peering in the window, he could see Terry in the kitchen, fixing coffee. Mike knocked gently on the side door to get the old cat’s attention, then opened it.

"What brings ye here this early, Michael?" Terry rasped. The cancer had ruined Terry’s once-beautiful voice, along with his robust physique and stamina.

"Maureen had her baby. She wants you at the hospital to see." Mike reported.

Eagerness lit up Terry’s rheumy eyes. "What be it? Boy or girl?" he asked.

"I don’t know. I wasn’t told. She does want you there. Get dressed and I’ll take you."

"Warm up the car, boyo! I’ll be ready in a brief!" Terry said as he made his way to his room to change.

Ten minutes later, Terry was bundled up against the autumn chill and loaded into the car for the trip to the hospital. On the way, Mike gave him the latest reports from the shop.

"Little Edwin’s doin a foine job, Michael. Giving him his head?" Terry asked.

Mike nodded. "Proving the value of his education. I’ll be a grandfather again soon. He told me the doctor is predicting twins this time."

Terry smiled as wide as he could. "That’ll make what, four now? Irene one and Edwin three?"

"No, Irene doesn’t have any yet, you old geezer!" Mike chuckled. "You should talk. This one makes what, nine?"

"Aye. Three each for Margaret and Colleen, two for Mary and one for Maureen. It IS one, right?"

"Far as I know."

At the hospital, Mike parked while Terry hobbled in. When Mike arrived, Terry took Mike’s arm and led him to Maureen’s room. There, the two found Ned sitting next to the bed, and Maureen lying in it, holding a swathed bundle. Maureen smiled a smile that lit up the room.

"Poppy," she said, holding out the baby, "I present to you little Alden Leonard MacManx!"

With Mike’s help, Terry held the sleeping baby. "It’s a boy." He breathed, his weak voice shaking with emotion. "Praise Heaven above, a boy!"

Ned got out of the chair, and he and Mike helped guide Terry down into it. Through tear-filled eyes, Terry looked down at the sleeping gray-furred kitten in his paws. "Wishes do come true…" he said weakly. He then looked at his youngest daughter with as much pride as he could muster. "Way to go, darling. Both of you." He added, looking at Ned.

Gently, with shaking fingers, Terry brushed his grandson’s face. "Ye’ve got a grand future ahead of you, little Alden. I’ll do me level best to help." He whispered, then quickly handed the kitten to Maureen as a spasm of coughing racked his frail body. The kitten woke to it, letting out a faint wail of protest at the noise. Maureen quickly settled the newborn. As the kitten cried, Terry’s coughing eased. He felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time… the flash of magic.

"Heavens be praised… he has the talent too, like you have, lassie. I can FEEL it!" he exclaimed, now more proud than ever. Of his four daughters, only Maureen showed any possibilities of musicat abilities, and only one of the granddaughters.

"That’s good to hear, Poppy. You happy now?" Maureen asked, yawning some.

"Now more than ever." Terry said, the smile on his face lighting up the room. Mike can literally feel the pride emanating from the old cat.

Terry slowly got up from the chair. Grabbing on to Mike’s strong right arm to steady himself, he said, "Let’s go, Mickey. We have shopping to do for the wee tyke now. Plus, lots of phone calls to make. Thanksgiving dinner will be at the house this year, and ALL of us will attend, roight?" Terry looked around at the others in the hospital room, plainly expecting dissent. But, none were to be found.

That day was indeed the busiest in a long time for Terry and Mike, shopping for baby items (unnecessary, but Terry would not take no for an answer), a stop at his lawyer’s office to update his will, off to the bank to set up accounts for the baby, to the cigar store for celebratory cigars, to the distributorship to pass the news along (and hand out cigars), then home to make phone calls. Terry asked Mike to ask his wife if she would invite their family for dinner, and if she would help in cooking. He knew she would say yes, but, Terry was unfailingly polite, even while ill. When he became snappish and irritable, it was from pain, not ill-will.

Thanksgiving dinner was an incredible affair at the O’Toole house, with Terry, his daughters, their husbands and children, Mike, his wife, two children, their spouses and the one grandchild so far. The three-plus weeks before that day, Terry rebounded some, looking more vital than he had been in more than two years. Ned and Maureen visited often, because the proud grandfather could not get enough of his grandson.

Mike and his wife surprised Terry by bringing a photographer to the dinner, and arranged for a family portrait to be taken in his front room, Terry at the center holding Alden, with the rest of his family surrounding him. Terry did insist that a second picture be taken, one including the Fang family as well. "Ye and yours are part of my clan, Michael, whether ye like it or not!" Terry said. The portraits were finished; copies made, and were delivered the next day, before the scattered families could return to their homes. The look on Terry’s face when he received his print more than repaid Mike the cost of having the photographer do the rush job.

One evening before Christmas, after a long day’s shopping, Mike and Terry were sitting in Mike’s kitchen, talking. The chill of the December air made it hard for Terry to speak, but, he wanted to.

"Mike, I feel like Moses now. Able to see the Promised Land, but unable to enter it." He rasped a cold settling into him.

"What are you referring to, Terry?" Mike asked, a little confused.

"Alden. I’m privileged indeed to spend time with the wee laddie now, but I won’t get to share his life. I know it. I hae not got long, old friend." Terry said, voice shaking some.

Mike reached across the table to take Terry’s paw. He grimaced inwardly as he felt the trembling. "Don’t give me that, old friend. You’ve done well the last month or so. You’ll have lots of time with him."

Terry looked straight into the aged Doberman’s face. Mike’s heart ached when he saw the tears there. "I’m not afraid, Michael. The Lord granted my wish, to live long enough to see my grandson. Now that the wish has been granted, it is time to go to Him. Not now, but soon."

"It’ll be hard leaving ye all, but at least I’ll get to tell Maeve all about him. She’ll be so proud…" Terry trailed off.

"She will be."

Christmas day was a wonderful time for Terry, two of his daughters (Mary and Maureen), coming over to visit. Mike’s wife made a wonderful dinner, like she did at Thanksgiving. That night, content, Terry went to sleep, dreaming of his little grandson. Mike found Terry’s body that afternoon after work, still in bed. The peaceful look on Terry’s face when Mike found him only made Mike hurt all the more.

After the funeral, Mike and his wife decided to retire. Terry’s will left his interest in the business to Mike, and his house to Ned and Maureen. Mike sold the business to his son Edwin, sold his house, and retired to Florida, a comfortably well-off Doberman.