Puss 'N Cahoots

off his nose. He actually liked raiding the horse shows, upsetting people he viewed as rich. Little men make the most of little power.
    “I will.” Larry compressed his lips lest the wrong words fly out.
    The fellow left Barn Five to assist another INS person.
             
    Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, Tucker, and Cookie scampered through legs to Charly’s barn, since that’s where most of the noise was coming from now.
    Four hapless young men, neatly dressed in jeans and pressed cowboy shirts, were lined up, backs to the stalls.
    The animals quietly walked in. Mrs. Murphy climbed up onto a stall beam. Pewter followed with effort, as Spike, like a skyscraper steelworker, sauntered toward them from the other direction.
    “What a fuss,”
Mrs. Murphy greeted the tough guy.

    “You missed the knockdown.”
Spike grinned, his three good fangs yellowed a bit.
    The two visiting cats glanced down, noticing a roly-poly INS official with sawdust on his back and backside.
    “Did Charly do that?”
Pewter enjoyed the evolving spectacle.
    “No, that guy walked right into a stall and asked one of the boys for his green card. The Mexican pushed the chub in the chest, the chub fell flat on his back, and the Mexican ran like hell. Then Charly showed up, foul as a bad storm; guess he didn’t do what he wanted to do in the class. He rode right toward the fatty, now out of the stall, stopping on a dime in front of him. Gave the boys in the back of the barn time to get out, because the official’s attention was on Charly, then Carlos, who was right behind him.”
    “Did the INS man—”
    “What’s INS?”
Spike inquired.
    Murphy answered.
“Immigration and Naturalization Service.”
    “Oh.”
Spike sat down.
“Humans have hunting territories like us. These fellows are in our territory.”
    “Who, INS?”
Pewter asked.
    “No, the Mexicans. I listen to the barn radio, you know. Illegal immigrants, all in the news.”
He opened his mouth wider; his missing left fang gave him a sinister appearance, but at heart, Spike was a good cat.
    Down below, the two dogs sat on their haunches as Charly excoriated the INS official. Carlos took Panchetta.
    “I want to see his papers.”
    “And you will, but I can’t have the mare standing here in harness. If you want this to go faster, help us.” Charly put the man on the spot.
    The fellow stepped back. “I’m kinda afraid of horses.”
    “Then wait, because I’m not going to risk my mare for you or anybody. I wouldn’t give a good goddamn if the President of the United States walked in here. I wish he would.” Charly overflowed with hostility, but he did add, “So he could see what idiots you people are.”
    “Politics isn’t my department.”
    Charly and his groom rapidly unhitched Panchetta, then walked her back to her stall for a rubdown. “Bullshit. Politics is everyone’s department,” he yelled from inside the stall. “Don’t stand there like a bump on a log and tell me you’re just doing your job.”
    The official, cowed by Charly, stood up for himself on this one. “I am just doing my job.”
    “Sure. You raid us at one of the biggest shows of the year. You tell me that isn’t political?” Before the man could answer, Charly turned to his groom. “Carlos, show him your card, will you?”
    “Yes.” The skinny, good-looking man fished in his hip pocket, retrieving a worn leather wallet, the hand tooling nearly smooth. He stepped outside the stall.
    The roly-poly man brought it close to his eyes. “Hmm, fine.” He handed it back to Carlos as Charly stepped out of the stall.
    “I could have you arrested, you know,” the official declared but without belligerence. “You’ve been using illegal workers.”
    “Prove it.” Charly was calming down. “You go ahead and prove it. I don’t know who those men are.” He pointed to the four hapless illegal workers.
    The INS official knew that one man knocking him down didn’t prove that Charly had hired the worker. The evidence was circumstantial, and the illegal had fled. But circumstantial was better than nothing.
    “I’ll have to cite you.”
    “Go ahead. And when you get back to your dreary little desk in your dreary little office, remember this: I will fight you, I will fight the INS tooth and nail. You have to prove I hired illegal workers. My employee has shown you his green card. He is the only non-American working for me.” This was a bald-faced lie. “And furthermore, you find me white people