Two cats to the rescue, p.1
Two Cats to the Rescue, page 1
DEDICATION
To MEJ
(YGATB)
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1A: Mary
Chapter 1: A New Favorite Spot
Chapter 2: The Morning—Interrupted
Chapter 3: Puffy Tails Are No Good
Chapter 4: Kitty?!
Chapter 5: Where Did Everybody Go?
Chapter 6: Uh-Oh
Chapter 7: Where’s Millie?!
Chapter 8: A Gazelle and a Frog
Chapter 9: A Giant Mirror
Chapter 10: Squash-a-Roo!
Chapter 11: Two Sticks
Chapter 12: Falling in Love?
Chapter 13: Stick Cat Is Stuck
Chapter 14: A Rumbling Sound
Chapter 15: What Could It Be?
Chapter 16: A Monster Squirrel
Chapter 17: His Name Is . . .
Chapter 18: Barking
Chapter 19: Another Edith Plan
Chapter 20: Something Is Coming
Chapter 21: Magical Fairies
Chapter 22: Here Comes Stripes
Chapter 23: Soul Mates
Chapter 24: Mutt Shakes
Chapter 25: Sleepy Time
Chapter 26: Stick Dog Understands
Chapter 27: Bacon!
Chapter 28: Home
About the Author
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1A
MARY
So, you know who Mary is, right?
She’s in my English class.
There are two things you need to know about Mary.
1. She’s totally into cats.
2. She’s totally cute.
And there’s one thing you need to know about me.
1. I like Mary.
I wrote four Stick Cat stories for her to get her attention. It worked. She talked to me and walked with me to class and stuff. And, get this: she asked me to go to the Sweetheart Dance with her—where I totally impressed her with my amazing dance moves.
Now, it’s almost the end of the school year and Mary’s going to summer camp. And she wants me to write a new Stick Cat story so she can take it with her.
I said I would, of course.
What choice did I have?
She’s totally cute.
(Tom: remember to tear out this chapter before giving it to Mary.)
Chapter 1
A NEW FAVORITE SPOT
In the big city, Stick Cat always woke up before everybody else in the apartment. He woke up before Goose, his roommate. He got up before Tiffany, Goose’s wife, and Millie, their daughter. And he woke up before Edith, his best friend.
He still wakes up before everybody.
But Stick Cat wasn’t in the big city anymore.
This Saturday morning, while everyone else in the family slept in, Stick Cat woke up. He stalked silently from the bedroom, across the living room, and into the kitchen. A door in the kitchen opened up to the backyard.
Stick Cat loved, loved, LOVED that kitchen door. And here’s why:
That kitchen door had a small swinging door at the bottom. It allowed Stick Cat and Edith to go outside and come inside whenever they wanted.
That kitchen door meant something super-important to Stick Cat.
Do you know what it meant?
I’ll tell you.
It meant freedom.
He and Edith called that little swinging door the Door of Freedom.
Stick Cat pushed through the Door of Freedom and emerged into the backyard.
He wasn’t going to watch the big city wake up from a windowsill on the twenty-third floor of a tall apartment building.
He was going to watch his new neighborhood wake up from his new favorite spot.
Chapter 2
THE MORNING—INTERRUPTED
Stick Cat gained speed as he crossed the back deck and hopped down onto the soft, green dew-covered grass. By the time he was halfway across the backyard, Stick Cat was at a full sprint.
He leaped into the air, dug his claws into a big maple tree’s bark, and scrambled up the trunk. He passed a couple of the lower, thicker branches and kept climbing. Stick Cat was two-thirds of the way up when he reached his favorite branch. He stalked his way toward its end, found the spot where two smaller branches split off in opposite directions, and lay down slowly on his belly.
Stick Cat shimmied himself into a comfortable position. He felt the branch dip and sway with his weight. He held perfectly still until the branch settled.
Once it did, Stick Cat took in everything he saw.
In the big city, Stick Cat could only see patches of sky between buildings. Here, the sky went on forever.
He watched as the sun rose and brightened the day.
There was a park on a hillside in the distance. Stick Cat knew it was called Picasso Park. It was where Goose and Tiffany had their wedding party.
After the wedding, Goose, Tiffany, Edith, and Stick Cat went back to the big city. Millie was born about a year later. And about a year after that, their apartment began to feel too small. So, Goose and Tiffany decided to move to Goose’s hometown and buy a house with a big backyard. The house was fine—and there was more space for everyone.
But it was that backyard that Stick Cat loved the most.
He scanned the neighborhood slowly from left to right. He saw the grass beyond their backyard fence. He saw the little patch of forest that was just past the grass. He saw several houses and an elementary school. He heard birds tweet, squirrels chatter, and dogs bark.
Stick Cat was about to scan the neighborhood back from right to left.
But he didn’t.
There was another sound.
A sound he knew very well.
“Stick Cat!”
It was Edith.
Chapter 3
PUFFY TAILS ARE NO GOOD
“Stick Cat!” Edith yelled again.
“Coming!” Stick Cat called back.
He hurried down the tree trunk, across the green grass, and over the deck. He stopped in front of Edith. She stood just outside the Door of Freedom.
“Is something wrong?” asked Stick Cat.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” Edith answered quickly. “It’s Saturday for one thing. That means breakfast will be late.”
“But Saturday breakfasts are always delicious. Tiffany and Goose cook together on the weekends. They have more time. They don’t hustle off to work. They don’t hurry to take Millie to preschool.”
“That’s all well and good,” replied Edith. “But it’s later, Stick Cat. Later. I’m hungry now. There’s nothing worse than waking up without the smell of sizzling bacon or sausage in the morning.”
Stick Cat nodded even though he didn’t really agree.
“And here’s another thing,” Edith continued. “How is a girl supposed to get any sleep around here? I mean, jeez, can you believe all this racket?”
“What do you mean?” asked Stick Cat. He had found their new home in the suburbs to be quite quiet and peaceful at night. And Millie didn’t cry in the night any longer.
“All this nature, that’s what I mean,” Edith huffed. “The incessant bird chirping, for one thing. It goes on forever and ever! The rustling leaves in the trees. Insects buzzing. Dogs barking in the distance. I swear. I even think I heard a babbling brook earlier. It all just drives me nuts!”
Stick Cat found this attitude hard to believe. “But the big city was way noisier.”
“It’s not the amount of noise or the volume of the noise,” Edith explained. “It’s the kind of noise.”
“It is?”
“Most definitely,” continued Edith. “I’ll take car honks, rickety trains, and sirens over a bunch of birds and a babbling brook any day.”
“I see.”
“I mean, I only got thirteen hours of sleep last night, Stick Cat. What with all the commotion around here.”
“I see,” Stick Cat said again. “And thirteen hours of sleep is just not enough for you?”
“Not even close.”
Stick Cat grinned at her. Only Edith, his best friend, would think thirteen hours of sleep was not enough.
“What are you smiling at, Mr. Man?” Edith asked with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Stick Cat said, and changed the subject. “Would you like to climb up into the maple tree with me?”
“Sure,” Edith answered. “Maybe there’s a squirrel up there somewhere. Nothing like a little squirrel-menacing to start the day—especially since breakfast isn’t ready anyway.”
“I forgot how much you dislike squirrels,” commented Stick Cat as they padded across the back deck.
“Oh, I despise squirrels,” Edith confirmed. A look of anger and disgust came across her face. “You know why, don’t you?”
“No. Why?”
“Their tails, that’s why,” Edith stated as they stepped off the deck and into the grass. “They think their tails are sooooo special. Pshaw. They have a nice twitching quality, I’ll grant them that. But that’s the only thing I’ll admit. Everything else about their tails is wrong.”
“Like what?”
“They’re all the same color and the same shape for one thing. I mean, how about a little variety, you know what I mean? And their tails are way too puffy. Tails should be thick and luxurious like mine. Squirrel tails are more air than fur. Imagine, just imagine! A tail th
“Tails shouldn’t be too puffy?”
“Absolutely not,” Edith said, and gave her own thick tail a quick flick and flutter. “Thicker is better.”
They reached the base of the tree trunk and were about to start climbing.
But they didn’t.
They heard a sound from the house. And Edith immediately lost all interest in harassing the inferior, puffy-tailed squirrels in the neighborhood.
When that sound came out of the house, Edith turned around and sprinted back across the lawn.
Chapter 4
KITTY?!
It was Millie. From inside the house she yelled, “Kitty?!”
Millie was Goose and Tiffany’s two-year-old daughter. She could walk, talk, and giggle.
Millie could say five words—and a bunch of sounds.
Her five words were Mama, Dada, binkie, Cat, and Kitty.
Mama meant Tiffany.
Dada meant Goose.
Binkie meant the small rubber thing Millie sucked on at night that made her go instantly asleep.
Cat meant Stick Cat.
And Kitty meant Edith.
So when Millie yelled, Edith came running.
Edith adored Millie.
That’s because Edith believed she could do something totally amazing whenever Millie made some of her sounds. Edith thought she could interpret all of Millie’s gurgles and noises. She could translate them. And her translations always ended up making Edith appear in a flattering light.
This part of the story provides an excellent example.
Watch.
“Come on, Stick Cat!” Edith exclaimed, hustling across the yard. “It’s Millie! She’s looking for me!”
“Okay,” Stick Cat said, and turned toward the house too.
They pushed their way quickly through the Door of Freedom and into the house.
Millie, wearing a yellow onesie, was in her absolute favorite spot—under the kitchen table. She loved to be under that table. She had a blanket under there. And she could stand up without hitting her head.
Edith rushed under the table and quickly began to circle Millie. She rubbed her left side against Millie as she paced around her counterclockwise—purring the whole time. Millie cooed and babbled and smiled.
And Edith translated her sounds for Stick Cat, who was now under the table as well.
“Do you want to know what she just said?” asked Edith.
“Sure,” he answered.
“Well, first, she said good morning to me, of course. She’s very polite, you know.”
Stick Cat nodded. “Then what did she say?”
“She would like to know how I manage to make my fur so shiny and perfectly groomed first thing in the morning,” Edith answered, and paused to take a short, studied look at herself. “Millie marvels—absolutely marvels—at my unique ability to present myself to the world with beauty and grace at such an early hour. She wonders how I do it.”
Stick Cat did his best to suppress a grin and asked, “How do you do it?”
“It’s not something that can be explained, to be perfectly honest,” Edith replied. “It just comes naturally to me. It’s actually quite a miracle.”
“It certainly is,” said Stick Cat. “Did she happen to mention anything about me?”
“Well,” Edith said, and then hesitated for a couple of seconds. “I probably shouldn’t say it.”
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t be very nice.”
“It’s okay,” Stick Cat said, still trying to keep that grin from appearing. “I won’t mind.”
“Well, she said your appearance is quite pedestrian and plain, I’m sorry to report,” Edith said. “She sees many parts of your fur sticking up—and out of place. And your fur lacks the smooth, shiny sheen that mine has.”
“She said all that?” Stick Cat responded. “In just that little time?”
“She did indeed,” Edith said immediately. “Millie is quite the little chatterbox, as you know.”
Stick Cat nodded and was thankful that he had, in fact, managed to hide that grin as Edith translated Millie’s sounds.
He was also thankful that Goose and Tiffany walked into the kitchen. Just like Edith, he was hungry too.
He didn’t know it at the time, of course, but Stick Cat would benefit from a hearty breakfast this morning.
He was going to need a lot of energy very soon.
The morning was about to get very busy.
Chapter 5
WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO?
“That was scrumptious,” Stick Cat said after lifting his head from his bowl and licking his lips and whiskers.
Goose made blueberry pancakes. Tiffany made French toast topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. There was also a plate of bacon. The cats got two strips each.
“It was okay, I guess,” replied Edith as she shrugged. She had finished her breakfast a minute or two before Stick Cat. “‘Scrumptious’ is a bit of an overstatement.”
“Why’s that?”
“First, the batter-to-blueberry ratio in the pancakes was off a good bit.”
“It was?”
“Without a doubt.”
“How so?”
“Well, I prefer a greater quantity of blueberries in my pancakes,” Edith explained. “I like it to be about one-half blueberry to one-half batter.”
“I see.”
“And the French toast? Please,” Edith said with clear dissatisfaction in her voice.
“What about it?”
“The whipped cream came out of a can, Stick Cat. A can.”
“So?”
“Genuine whipped cream demands true effort.”
“It does?”
“Yes,” Edith said authoritatively. She knew her food—and did not lack confidence when speaking about it. “It’s made correctly by pouring heavy cream into a chilled stainless steel bowl and then churning it frantically with an Italian-made metal whisk. It should take a good fifteen to twenty minutes. This so-called whipped cream this morning came from a can in the refrigerator. I mean, seriously. A can?”
Stick Cat peered down into Edith’s empty bowl and saw neither a morsel of pancake nor a crumb of French toast. The bowl itself was shiny and wet—licked clean.
“Despite those faults—the small amount of blueberries and the whipped cream coming from a can—you seemed to enjoy your breakfast quite a bit,” observed Stick Cat.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I ate it,” Edith replied. “But ‘enjoy’ is too strong a word.”
Stick Cat was ready to change the subject. He was about to suggest to Edith that they head back outside to explore the backyard, but he didn’t get the chance.
Right then, it got very busy in the kitchen.
Tiffany lifted Millie out of the high chair and put her down on the floor. Millie walked under the table and sat down. Edith followed her.
Meanwhile, Goose worked at the kitchen counter, scraping the leftovers into the smaller section of the sink. He poured the extra batter and pushed the broken eggshells and other stuff in there too. He turned the faucet on. Then he flipped a switch on the wall and the disposal started to churn.
Do you know what a kitchen disposal is? Not all homes have them.
A kitchen disposal is a machine underneath a sink. You push leftover food down the sink, flip a switch, and the machine spins and churns all those food things and water into a liquidy mush. Then that mush goes down the drain without clogging it up and making your parents mad.
It’s a pretty cool thing actually.
It can also be disgusting, now that I think about it. I mean, consider all the stuff that could be in there at one time. There could be eggshells, carrot peels, bread crusts, mayonnaise, baby food, eggplant, and a dozen other things in there all at the same time. And then the disposal machine slices, cuts, and spins it all into a gross, mushy, slushy mess.
Yuck.
I’m glad it all goes down the drain.
So, anyway.
Goose had shoved a bunch of stuff down there.
