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Chapter 14

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As we watched the scouts march off, the Cat smiled and said, “Yes, sir!  They’re naturals, all right!”

“You can say that again,” I said.  “If fate decides they become cadets here, they’ll have no problems.  There is more to being at West Point than just marching, but we do march a lot here.”

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305. The next one documented here was actually the last one for this day.  He was now a bloodhound, and he had played third base for his college baseball team.  He appeared in his uniform here, and he commented, “A bunch of my ancestors who played baseball actually wore the same number I have: 55.”

“Oh, is it?” we said.  “How’s that for a coincidence?”

“Seems that way, but the school would tell you that they chose that number for me on purpose.”

“That was a kind gesture, then.”

“It was.”

“Do you hope to go professional?”

“That’s my goal, but if it doesn’t work out, I have something to fall back on.  My degree I’m obtaining is in structural engineering.”

“Good choice; the world needs those as much as it ever did.”

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306. The next day began what seemed like a full army’s worth appearing, for there were 450 total mice appearing the next day.  All 450 wore the same blue drum major uniforms with golden highlights, and about 20 of them were half-naked as a result of watching “The Adventures of Drummer Dog.”  Two of them had a unique situation, shown by the photos they showed.  “I guess we’re still half-naked,” they said, “but you can see that the jacket goes all the down to the knees here.  It doesn’t show the whole leg.”

“CNG did always pick the animals at random,” we explained, “and then made their anatomy to match it.  I think it was just trying something different.  No need for you to worry about it, though.”

“Okay.”  The mice then led us in the national anthem for today, and then marched off so the others could take their turn.  To make it easier on them, the West Point Band and the Cat’s look-alikes played the same march they did as they departed, later marching around the parade grounds just as the scouts did.  The march was “The Stars and Stripes Forever.”

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307. The selected drummer of honor, however, was the first of four bulldog percussionists we then documented, all currently serving in the U.S. Marine Corps.  “It’s about time we had a bulldog in the Marines,” Super C thought silently to himself.  “It’s their mascot, in a way, and Danger Dawg was just that.”

Two of the dogs playing bass drum in the parade we had at the beginning wore the red uniforms worn by the President’s Own, while the two dogs that had played a military field drum in the parade were now wearing the formal black dress uniform with peaked cap.  As always, though, the drummer of honor was drumming on a concert snare drum.

We then asked him what he wanted us to play, and he chose “Semper Fidelis.”  “I never feel so proud to be a Marine as I do when it gets to the drum solo and bugle trio of this piece,” he said.

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308. We then had four more bulldogs serving in the Marine Corps, although one had retired, but they didn’t play any instruments.  The first three wore the black dress uniform with white peaked cap, while the retired dog wore a dark green version of the same thing.

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309. In addition to the circus and game show conventions, we also heard about a superhero-themed convention, which also saw a bunch of its attendees suffer the same fate.  The next three beagles had been to this convention, and as a result, when they became beagles, they had gained the same superpowers as the one they were cosplaying as: Superman.  Thus, all of them appeared before us today wearing those very Superman costumes, and we discovered they had the same superpowers as Superman.  The band played the Superman march while this was going on.

“I would have said Superman’s dog, Krypto, to be more accurate,” one beagle commented, “but I don’t think he’s anthro necessarily.  In our case, though, we were pretending to be Clark Kent.  I know people compare the character to you a lot.”

“Probably a coincidence,” Super C replied, “but Superman can’t summon holograms like we Caticonians can.”  He demonstrated how they did this, and the hologram showed evidence of how they got their powers.  “Note that while I made you allies, not all superheroes make the cut to become actual G-52s.  I don’t think you three were planning on that anyways; you were just fans of my human counterpart, according to a joke somebody made once.”

“Not really.  We just wanted to be at the convention.”

“What I do in all these cases, though, is work with the allies to help control their powers.  Normally it is forbidden to the public, but for you three, I will grant you access to G-52 HQ.  It has to be kept secret, though.”

“Your secret is safe with us.”  The beagles promised to keep things secret, and the C.I.D.F. showed their memory-wiping device that would help with that.

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310. Three white Bengal tigers wearing the fancy black tuxedo with bowtie.  They were attending the game show convention when they got hit with the CNG.  They all worked for Dollar General as a day job.

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311. Four white lions serving in the U.S. Marine Corps.  Two had the formal black dress uniform with while peaked cap, while the other two used a tan version of the same thing.

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312. Three more Bengal tigers from the same game show convention.  They however, were wearing sparkly green tuxedos, and one even had a green bowtie.  “We liked Rod Roddy,” they said.

“So did Doughty Dog,” Super C replied.  “He likes to wear those same glitzy jackets.”

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313. Seven lynx wearing t-shirt and blue jeans.  They all worked various retail jobs.  One of them drew comic books on the side, and showed us some of the pictures he drew.  “They’re just for fun,” he said, “but one man told me I had potential to actually sell them.”

“Talk to my recruit known as the Jaguar of Justice,” Super C replied.  “He draws and sells them for a living.  The same publishing company might be able to help you get your superhero stories out there.  This is good stuff here.”

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314. Then we had an entire pride to document here, since we had a full marching band of exactly 450 lions (451 if you count the drum major).  They wore green uniforms with silver highlights, and their shakos had a white plume with the harp symbols.  This marching band had played at a local event themed around the latest solar eclipse, and commented how thankful they were that there was no risks of a crowd crush.  However, they experienced the same problem that the Minotaur Drumbums down in Texas experienced when performing at the stadium that was home to the Dallas Cowboys: their choice of music was apparently the wrong choice (or so they thought), because the supernatural used it as an excuse to make the crowds feel embarrassed to even be there.

“I don’t get it,” said the drum major.  “We were not trying to make them feel ashamed of themselves.”

“I don’t get it either,” the C.I.D.F. soldier replied.  “The supernatural was wrong about this, and it was wrong of them to do this.  If anything positive came out of it, it was the fact you got everybody to focus on the important stuff going on and get them to stop staring at their smartphones for 10 to 20 minutes.  Solar eclipses are amazing to look at when you have the proper protective gear; it should not have been seen as a wasted journey.  Yet because of the crowd crush that did almost happen in Texas—but the G-52s and allies did prevent it, thank goodness—everybody is now sore afraid of even leaving their hometowns once again.”

“We’re not in the pandemic that COVID-19 put upon us; it wants them to act as if we are,” said Super C.  “You did nothing wrong.”

Bit by bit, the band was beginning to feel better about the whole thing.  After we finally got the 451st lion documented, they spent the next bit of time playing some of the selections they played at the event.  All of them were medleys of pop standards, and/or TV and film music arrangements.  All of us agreed that it was merely meant to be pre-show entertainment.  The supernatural just used it as an excuse to make the public feel they wasted their time, and that they never should have left their homes.  Travel can be a good thing; you know this, folks.

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After the band left, we called it a night.  We’ll give you a pause here, then.  Stay tuned, though; we’re not done.

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TO BE CONTINUED