Henry Pickle was a strange boy, or so his widowed mother said.
For one thing he was very fond of cats and had thirteen of them. He knew nothing about his father who died when he was only one year old. He did have one picture of him that he found one morning on his bed. In the picture his father was holding Henry as a baby, and bending down to show him a kitten. His father also wore a ring made of wood, and Henry often wondered why his father had worn such a plain ring. If he was going to wear a ring it would be much more shiny and fancy.

Henry’s mother did not like cats. She only let Henry have as many cats as he did because his father had liked cats also, and she had never let him have even one. Feeling bad about it after her husband’s death she made up for it in letting Henry have as many cats as he would like.

Every night after Mrs. Pickle had blown out Henry’s candle, said goodnight, and closed the door, Henry went over to the window and opened it to let his cats in because his mother would not let them come through the house.

They came in single file, then sat at the foot of his bed, until he got back into it, and settled down then one by one they came.

First was Sydon, a grey, white, and black stripped tom with green eyes. Henry would never admit it to any one, but Sydon was his favorite out of all the cats.

Sydon sat down next to Henry’s pillow, and watched at all the other cats jumped up. This was the first thing that Henry thought was strange. Before, Sydon had always curled up and gone to sleep as soon as he was on the bed, so Henry turned and watched the other cats jump up.

The next cat was Chartreuse; she was a calico and was very tiny.

Third was Boraton, he was long haired and was always getting fur stuck on his tongue. Henry did not know how old he was, but got the feeling he was older then the rest of the cats.

Then came the four Siamese, When, What, Where, and Why.

Next was Thorton, a black cat who did not always stick around. One night he would be there and the next he wasn’t. Henry never worried about him though because he was always back with in a day, or two.

Mimsy and Maimsy jumped up next. Henry did not know where these two ladies had come from. One night they had just come in with all the rest as if they had always been there.

Then there was Mac, he was always getting in fights with dogs. The dog always ran away with its tail between its legs, except for one, who had bit off Mac’s entire left ear, and then he ran away with his tail between its legs.

Last were the two kittens Rosie and Spud, and this is where the story really gets interesting. When Rosie jumped up she had something clamped in her tiny teeth. Spud jumped up after her, and swatted at her tail as she marched right up to Henry and dropped something in front of him. Henry reached out, and much to his surprise grabbed a ring. He sat up in bed to look at it much closer, and all the cats began to purr at once, except Spud who was still batting at Rosie’s tail.

“What’s this, and where did you get it?” Henry asked.

Henry turned to ring over in his hand. It was very plain one made of wood, and was completely smooth, except for some grooves Henry could feel on the inside. He got out of bed and went over to the window so he could see what the grooves were. They were letters that said George Pickle. That was his father’s name.

“This must be that ring he is wearing in that picture I have of him.”

Without thinking he slipped the ring on his finger, and turned to smile at the cats.

“How did you get this?”

Much to his amazement someone answered him.

“Do you think were going to tell you that?”

“You might know someday, but I don’t think we should tell you now dear.”

Henry’s eyes were near to bulging out of his head, as he stared at his cats then looked around the room to see if it was really the cats talking.

When quite sure no one else was in the room, he turned back to the cats.

“You talk?” he asked, quite astonished, as you would be too, if your thirteen cats started talking to you.

“Of course we talk.”

“Did you think we were just dumb beasts that only ate and slept?”

“Well, I…”

“We can’t be too hard on him, after all his mother has influenced him a great deal.”

Henry stared at the cats.

“So you can talk to me, but can I talk to you?”

“Of course”

“How come all of the sudden? You never spoke to me before.”

“Uh, Henry, the ring.”

Henry looked down at the ring, and smiled.

“This is just too weird,” Henry thought, and all the cats laughed.

“Sydon said that’s what you would say.”

“We knew he would be right.”
“He’s always right.”

Henry looked at Sydon, who was looking at him, and seemed to be burning a whole right through his head with his green eyes.

“You really believe it’s us talking?” he asked.

“Who else would it be?”

“You always were a sensable boy, like your father.”

“You knew my father?” Henry asked.

“Of course, he was a very good friend of mine, best human I ever owned.”

“You owned him?” This time Henry was skeptical.

“Just as I own you now.”

“You do not own me!”

Henry had been whispering before, but he had shouted these last words, and through all of the other cats laughing, he could hear footsteps in the hall.

His Mother had heard him. He dove into bed, and was just pulling the blanket up and squeezing his eyes closed when she opened the door to peek in. All the cats had gone flying, except for Sydon to save them selves from being landed on, and if Mrs. Pickle had known cats at all, she would have noticed that they were sending very nasty looks in Henry’s direction. Not knowing cats, she made sure her son was asleep then left the room, closing the door behind her.

As soon as he heard the door closed Henry sat up, and whispered,

“That was close.”

“If you hadn’t of shouted out loud she would never have heard you.”

“What do you mean shout “out loud“, I don’t think there is another way to shout?”

Sydon curled into a ball and laid his head on his paws.

“Actually there is.”

Henry sat there for a moment waiting for further explanation, but when none came he asked,

“Well are you going to tell me about this other way, or not?”

“Don’t talk to me like that; you’re the one that was shouting.”

“Well!”

Henry had been mad before, now he was just exasperated.

“Have you noticed at all that when we’re talking our mouths don’t move?”

“Yeah,” Henry lied.

“You have to think about what you want to say, not just a little thought, you really have to think about it, and…”

Henry cut him off,

“I get it! I read about that kind of thing all the time. Here let me try.”

Henry thought the words; this is so cool till his brain hurt.

“You just said, sith si os looc.” Spud said, just a little confused.

“I did not.”

Sydon sat up,

“If you’ll let me finish! As the message is being sent to someone else it gets turned around.”

“It’s like a rubber stamp.” Chartreuse spoke up.

“You’re stamping your message inside other cat’s heads.”

“So,” Sydon continued, “you have to think of the words backwards.”

“Backwards! That would take forever for me to send one word.”

“It took your father a few weeks to get the hang of it.” Borton nodded.

“My father was a genius.”

“Unlike you,” Spud unwisely spoke up. Henry kicked him off the bed.

“Really this will take me a lifetime. I don’t even know how to spell.”

“You do need some better schooling.”

What flicked his tail back and fourth.

“Start with something easy, sound the word food out backwards.”

Henry squinted his eyes for a moment then closed them all the way and thought the doof, as hard as he could.

Sydon laughed.

“You just said food five or six times.”

Henry smiled, then took a few moments to think (backwards of course)

“What does the ring have to do with it?”

Sydon shrugged, if it is possible for a cat to shrug.

“It’s something you Father made so he could talk with us.”

“He knew all of you?”

“Not me,” Rosie sighed,

“or me,” Spud followed.

“Your father knew all of us except the kittens of course, they not being born before he died.”

“So what was he like?”

“Well for one thing he couldn’t stand pickles.”

“Mother always said that he loved them.”

Sydon laughed, but didn’t point out that Henry had made a few mistakes in his message.

“Your Mother told you that in hopes it would get you to like pickles, but that was not the pickle I was talking about. I was talking about his family, The Pickles.”

Henry looked around the room, and realized how tired he was.

He lay down and pulled the covers up to his chin.

“So I wasn’t the only weirdo in the family?”

Sydon chuckled,

“No, you weren’t the only one.”

With these words in his head, Henry fell asleep.