Puss 'N Cahoots

readily Point Guard responded, how fluid his movement. He didn’t shy even when passing Miss Nasty and Pewter, who both prudently returned to the Kalarama box amid gasps from the crowd.
    “This pin is mine!”
Miss Nasty touched the pin as she perched on the rail.
    Pewter lurked under the rail.
    “Give Joan the pin.”
Mrs. Murphy puffed out her fur while being firmly held by Harry.
    “Or what? What can you do? Ha! Ha!”
Miss Nasty turned a somersault on the rail, dropped under, and swung around then back up.
    Pewter grabbed Miss Nasty’s tail, but the monkey jerked free. The cat then bounded into Joan’s lap to face her opponent.
    Paul clucked to the monkey, who clucked back but eluded his reach.
    “Maybe if we ignore her,” Joan suggested.
    “I’ll kill her!”
Pewter became repetitive.
    “Rack on, ladies and gentlemen, rack on.” The announcer called for the most physically demanding gait, the rack.
    The speed of the rack is much faster than a non-Saddlebred horseman can imagine, until he or she sits on top. It’s like driving a mighty racing Ferrari with a long hood, yet you feel the rear wheels grip the road.
    Point Guard lifted his forelegs effortlessly while driving from behind. His hindquarters were not as big as Shaq’s. Ward made the most of that, using Shaq’s muscle to drive and fly. The rack was Shaq’s best gait.
    Point Guard would develop further and his motion was truly flawless, although the rack wasn’t his best gait. Right now his trot was his best gait, his balance flawless, but his rack was showy enough.
    Accustomed to the competition, Senator and Frederick went at it hammer and tongs. Each horse has a gait where they excel, and it’s a rare horse that’s equally fabulous at all gaits. Senator, like Shaq, excelled at the rack.
    Charly and Booty wanted these horses, at the height of their careers, to win big. Then the animals could be sold at a huge price or retired to stud if the current owners were willing. Each time a horse sold, the commission slipped right into the seller’s pocket.
    As for Ward, he didn’t want Shaq’s owner to sell, but he was tired of eating Booty and Charly’s dirt, so his competitive fires burned high.
    For a split second Booty was distracted when he passed by the Kalarama box to behold Miss Nasty carrying on. He immediately refocused because Charly passed him, obscuring him exactly when he was distracted by his beloved monkey. Cursing under his breath, Booty pulled away from Charly to give the judges a clear view of Senator.
    The crowd, many on their feet, bellowed to high heaven.
    “Walk, please, walk.” The announcer had sense enough not to keep the rack going for long, as it was brutally strenuous.
    After a brief walk the announcer called, “Trot, please, trot.”
    The judges, watching intently, could still see out of the corners of their eyes the japes of Miss Nasty. Even the organ couldn’t drown out her obscenities.
    The two judges conferred briefly. They agreed to call in the horses after this trot for the conformation exam.
    In the five-gaited grand championship, the tally for each horse was based seventy-five percent on performance, presence, quality, and manners; twenty-five percent on conformation.
    They figured while the horses stood in the lineup, stripped, someone could bag Miss Nasty.
    The male judge stayed on the west side of the center dais; the lady crossed over to the east side as the horses continued to trot counterclockwise.
    Charly, in front of the Kalarama box and pointedly ignoring the ravishing Renata, felt the muscles in his throat go numb just as Miss Nasty leapt onto Frederick’s hindquarters, which caused the highly strung stallion to rear up. Pewter elected to stay in the box, for as much as she vowed to kill Miss Nasty, she wasn’t going to get trampled.
    Charly’s lips, tightly compressed and a touch blue, only made spectators think his concentration during this unpredictable moment was ultra intense. He pulled the left rein down, since his right hand was useless. Down came Frederick, but as Charly loosened the left rein, the horse swung his head to the right, irritated by the monkey. Charly saw Renata staring at him, and for a flash he knew he’d been a complete fool to disregard her. Another sharp pain followed, and he gasped for breath, but his legs, strong and trained, kept the right pressure on the horse. He couldn’t get air into his lungs. He couldn’t breathe at all.
    Charly died just as the