Animal Whisperer: Take Back My Life and Love Chapter 120: Of Mice And Hens

The officers assigned to arrest Nieman were still trapped in a humiliating stalemate with the villagers. Two elderly residents were clinging to them like barnacles—one locking onto their legs and the other grabbing their waists—while wailing at the top of their lungs. "Police brutality! They’re beating an old man to death!"

Right at the peak of the tension, Nancy’s voice crackled through the radio. "Team Two, backup has arrived!"

"Once you break free, the sparrows will lead you to Nieman's location."

The two officers immediately scanned their surroundings, looking for their promised saviors.

Out of the shadows stepped the Tabby, leading a pair of formidable-looking stray cats with an elegant, unhurried stride. Each of the strays held a fat, trembling field mouse in its mouth.

The mice were squeaking in terror. "M-M-Master Cat! You promised to spare us if we cooperated, right? Does the deal still stand?"

The Tabby gave an indifferent flick of its tail. "Relax. My word is my bond. I’ll grant you three days of safety. For the next seventy-two hours, every cat in this village will turn a blind eye to your presence."

The mice immediately folded their tiny paws in a gesture of gratitude. "Alright then!"

The stray cats released them on cue. The moment the mice hit the ground, they turned into two streaks of gray lightning, bolting toward the elderly villagers who were putting on their theatrical performance.

It was a sweltering summer day, and the villagers were wearing loose-fitting clothes. The mice found it effortless to zip up the old men's pant legs and begin their mischievous journey.

"Gah! What is that?! It’s cold! It’s slimy!"

"God help me! It’s inside! It’s inside! There’s something scurrying in my pants!"

The two men, who had just been acting as if they were too frail to stand, suddenly transformed into high-voltage robots. They twisted and hopped with more energy than a competitive dance troupe. They forgot all about blocking the police; their hands were too busy frantically slapping their own bodies, trying to locate and eject the "unidentified scurrying objects." Their faces were contorted in pure, undignified panic.

The two officers felt the weight lift off them instantly. They stared at the sudden change in scenery for a stunned second before bursting into laughter. They instinctively took two steps back to clear the area and made their escape.

A sparrow flew in from the distance, chirping loudly to signal the path. The officers understood immediately and sprinted after the bird. "Good grief," one panted. "Detective Nancy is literally carrying this entire operation on her back today."

On the east side of the village.

Finn, another member of the gang, was running for his life. Relying on his familiarity with every nook and cranny of the village, he performed a nimble leap over a courtyard wall. He was feeling smug. Hah, try and catch me—

"Oh, for heaven's sake!"

Before his feet even hit the ground in the third yard, Finn felt the atmosphere shift. He looked up, and the color drained from his face.

The courtyard was a fortress. Perched on the walls, lookout stations atop the coops, and hidden in the woodpiles were dozens of sharp-eyed, battle-ready hens. They stood with their chests puffed out like a feathered League of Avengers. Finn was notorious in the village for his "sticky fingers"—he’d stolen countless eggs and more than a few chickens for a late-night stew.

Finn swallowed hard as cold sweat began to pour down his neck. The lead speckled hen took a deep, resonant breath and let out a war cry that pierced the heavens:

"Cluck! Cluck!"

It was the signal for a general offensive.

The next second, over a hundred hens acted as one. They flapped their wings and launched themselves like a fleet of dive-bombers, descending upon Finn with relentless fury.

"Help!!!"

Finn was instantly submerged in a swirling sea of vengeful feathers. Chicken down flew through the air like snow after an explosion. In the chaos, he felt several hens leap up to peck at his backside. His first instinct wasn't to protect his head, but to shield his rear with both hands, terrified of a "fatal strike" to his dignity.

The hens were merciless. Some used their wings to deliver stinging slaps to his face, while others used their sharp beaks to target his eyelids, earlobes, and nostrils with surgical precision. One even began "dancing" on his head, clearly intent on redesigning his hairstyle into a literal bird's nest.

Finn swung his fists wildly, but he couldn't break through the "Sea of Poultry" tactic. Every punch hit nothing but air. He screamed in agony, unable to move a single inch.

The two pursuing officers arrived at the wall, gasping for breath. As they prepared to vault over, the scene before them caused one to stumble and nearly fall back off the ledge.

There was Finn, trapped in a violent vortex of feathers, reaching out a desperate, tear-streaked hand toward them.

"Save me!"

"Please, just arrest me! I confess! I’ll tell you everything!"

"Just get these crazy broads off of me! Argh—!"

Finn’s voice cracked as he flailed his arms. A hen immediately leaped up and caught his finger with her beak, making him let out a high-pitched howl.

the two officers jumped into the yard. They fought back their laughter as they tried to shoo the birds away and pull Finn out of the fray. But the hens weren't finished yet. Several turned their attention to the officers' shoelaces and pant legs, as if to say, Back off, we aren't done teaching this one a lesson!