Officer Willie Mae - A Cuthbert Catwatch Society Story

Officer Willie Mae

A Cuthbert Catwatch Society Story

It was a warm, muggy morning in Cuthbert, Georgia. The dew still clung to the grass, and the sun had only just begun peeking over the pine trees when Boo called an emergency meeting.

Nosey arrived first, tumbling over a root and landing at Willie Mae’s paws.

“Gator,” Willie Mae said flatly, eyes narrowed as she watched the horizon.

Nosey blinked. “You mean… like, with teeth and a tail and—”

“Yes,” Willie Mae interrupted. “Big. Green. Not friendly.”

The rest of the Catwatch Society soon gathered under the old gazebo in the town square: Midnight, sleek and brooding; Willow, her short tail flicking with interest; Spot, who just said, “Oh no,” in his clearest voice; and Boo, perched high, eyes sharp and calm.

“It’s in the lake,” Boo announced. “Lokey Lake. Probably came up through a storm drain. This is Florida-level business, so I’m putting Willie Mae in charge.”

Willie Mae gave a curt nod. Her tuxedo fur gleamed in the morning light, and her golden eyes were hard as steel. “Back in Tampa, I dealt with gators ten times my size and twice as mean. We don’t panic. We plan.”

She strutted to the edge of the group and pointed with her paw. “Willow, you and Nosey scout the lake’s edge. Look for tracks, tail marks, anything fresh. Stay out of the water.”

“Yes, ma’am!” said Willow, grabbing Nosey by the scruff and sprinting off.

“Spot, you’ll be our communicator. If we need to alert a human, you know what to do.”

“HELLO,” Spot said proudly.

Midnight raised an eyebrow. “Great. We’ll get the whole county running with that voice.”

Willie Mae ignored him. “Midnight, you’re with me. We’ll find the hiding spot. Gators like quiet, shaded banks. I know the signs.”

By midday, the sun was high and the lake shimmered with lazy ripples. From the tall reeds, Willow’s whisper came through the cattails: “We found tracks! Big ones!”

Willie Mae crept to the scene, scanned the prints, and nodded grimly. “Yep. We’ve got ourselves a real big one.”

Behind a fallen tree near the water’s edge, a large, scaly tail shifted.

“Midnight,” Willie Mae whispered, “we need to flush it out. Not too close—just enough to get it to move toward the open bank.”

Midnight rolled his eyes but obeyed, circling the log and giving a sharp yowl. The gator’s eyes blinked. It hissed low and began to slide out toward the water—exactly as planned.

“Spot,” Willie Mae called.

Spot darted to the nearby dock where two humans were fishing. He stood tall, tail puffed out, and yelled, “OUT. NOW. GATOR. YES.”

The humans turned, startled. One dropped his fishing pole.

“What in the world—did that cat just say gator?”

The second man followed Spot’s gaze to the water—and saw it.

“CALL ANIMAL CONTROL!”

Within the hour, a truck arrived. The officer, sweating in the heat, carefully roped and secured the gator. As it was loaded into the back, the officer looked down at the cats gathered along the shore.

“That’s the smartest group of strays I’ve ever seen.”

Willie Mae gave a low, satisfied growl. “Not strays. Patrol.”

That evening, the Catwatch Society lounged on the warm bricks behind the hardware store. Nosey couldn’t stop chattering.

“That was amazing! You were like, ‘midnight, flank left!’ and he actually did it! And Spot! Oh my whiskers, you talked to the humans!”

“HELLO,” Spot said again, pleased with himself.

Boo gave Willie Mae a rare smile. “You did good today, Officer.”

Willie Mae shrugged. “Just doing my job. Gator’s gone, town’s safe.”

She looked out at the lake, now calm and peaceful under the stars.

“But next time,” she muttered, “we build a fence.”

The End

Dedicated to all those who serve—on paws or boots.