Cats in the City Read online

  DEDICATION

  Dedicated to Elizabeth.

  (YAT BY WITW ILY)

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Chapter 1(A): What? It’s Possible.

  Chapter 1: Mesmerized

  Chapter 2: An Invitation

  Chapter 3: Steak, Silk, and Cashmere

  Chapter 4: A Whole New View

  Chapter 5: The Disappearance

  Chapter 6: Beach Balls and Flippers

  Chapter 7: For the Love of Lox

  Chapter 8: Crumbs and Parachutes

  Chapter 9: Zipping

  Chapter 10: Edith’s Feminine Feline Figure

  Chapter 11: Snap! Snap! THUD!

  Chapter 12: Two Smart Kitties

  Chapter 13: A Flash of Red

  Chapter 14: Almost There

  Chapter 15: “Why’s She So Wet?”

  Chapter 16: Lox

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1(A)

  WHAT? IT’S POSSIBLE.

  I think she might like me. She liked my first Stick Cat story. She told me.

  You know who I’m talking about, right?

  Mary. The one I wrote Stick Cat for? She likes cats. She carries all her books in this big denim shoulder bag that has a cat face sewn onto it. She’s got lots of stuff in that bag with her books. I’ve seen her pull out a hairbrush, a plastic container with a sandwich in it, a little packet of tissues, a long string of ponytail rubber band things, and a soft, flimsy Frisbee, which she throws at recess. There are probably another dozen things in there too.

  Why do girls carry so much stuff anyway? I don’t understand them.

  Maybe there’s a journal in there too. And maybe Mary wrote all about reading the first Stick Cat story. And maybe she wrote about how she liked it. And maybe she wrote about how she likes me.

  What? It’s possible.

  So, the thing is . . . umm, I lied.

  But I didn’t do it on purpose.

  I really did intend to write just one Stick Cat story. But it turns out that Mary liked it. And since she liked it—and now says “Hi” to me—I thought it might be in my best interest to write another one, if you know what I mean.

  What choice do I have? She might like me.

  What? It’s possible.

  *Note to self: tear out these first couple of pages before letting Mary read the new Stick Cat story.

  Chapter 1

  MESMERIZED

  It was Stick Cat’s favorite time of day—early morning in the big city.

  Goose, his human, had risen early and put some food in his bowl. The sound of his breakfast being poured woke Stick Cat up, but he didn’t mind. He liked early mornings.

  Stick Cat jumped out of his box, exited the bedroom after a healthy stretch, and crossed the living room. He hopped up to his favorite perch—the big windowsill—to enjoy the start of the day.

  He loved to watch the city wake up.

  As Goose showered and dressed, Stick Cat rested on the windowsill and watched as daylight began to illuminate the city.

  As the sun rose, he watched thousands of windows throughout the city begin to glow orange, yellow, and gold with that early-morning light.

  Goose approached him as Stick Cat stared out the window.

  “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he said, and scratched Stick Cat behind the left ear. It was one of his favorite places—and Goose knew it. Stick Cat turned his head and allowed Goose to scratch behind his right ear too.

  “See you tonight,” Goose said. He patted his pockets to ensure that he had his cell phone, wallet, and keys. He did. And he left.

  Stick Cat turned back to the window.

  On these summer mornings, Stick Cat loved to watch the building across the alley the most. It’s where Mr. Music tuned the pianos in the old factory and played short concerts for Stick Cat. In the summer, that building would catch the very first daylight. But it was what happened next that always caught and kept Stick Cat’s attention.

  As the morning minutes passed, the sun rose slowly higher, and buildings off to Stick Cat’s left began to cast shadows on Mr. Music’s building. For several minutes, he watched as the shadow from one skyscraper’s pole slid along the building. There was a flag atop that pole and, since it was a breezy morning, it flapped in the wind.

  Stick Cat had seen it before on many other summer mornings, but it remained fascinating to him.

  Everything else moved so slowly, methodically, and deliberately, but the shadow from that flag flapped and shimmied. It made Stick Cat think that the morning was waving at him—welcoming him to the new day.

  He watched it. And watched it. And watched it.

  Mesmerized.

  Until something startled him out of his trance.

  “Stick Cat!”

  It was Edith.

  Chapter 2

  AN INVITATION

  Stick Cat smiled. He couldn’t help himself. He knew exactly what he would see when he went into the bathroom to meet up with Edith. She would be stuck in the wall between their apartments again.

  The two of them had scratched and clawed a hole in the wall at the back of their respective bathroom cabinets. Edith climbed through that wall almost every day to come to Stick Cat’s apartment.

  They treasure hunted together, found things in Stick Cat’s kitchen to snack on, or napped together on the windowsill. Sometimes, their days were far more exciting—like the time they rescued Mr. Music when his arms were trapped inside a grand piano across the alley.

  Stick Cat wondered what this day would bring.

  One thing he didn’t wonder about was where he would find Edith. He was quite certain she would be stuck in the hole in the bathroom wall. It had been happening more and more lately. In fact, in the past couple of months, Stick Cat figured he must have yanked Edith out of her wedged position more than twenty times.

  “Stick Cat!”

  “I’m right here,” he said upon entering the bathroom. “I’ll pull you out in just a second.”

  “Pull me out of what?” Edith asked loudly.

  “Out of the hole in the wall,” he said, and opened the bathroom cabinet. “Just like I’ve done—”

  But Stick Cat didn’t finish his sentence.

  That’s because Edith wasn’t stuck in the wall at all. She hadn’t even started climbing through yet. She just stood on her side looking through the hole.

  “Oh, I thought you were, umm . . . ,” Stick Cat said, and stopped himself.

  “You thought I was what?” Edith asked. She seemed offended.

  “I thought you were, you know.”

  “What?”

  “Umm,” Stick Cat said, and began to slap gently at a loose edge of toilet paper on a spare roll in the cabinet. “Hey, look at this! This is really fun. Look how it flutters away and then settles back into its original position. Pretty neat, hunh?”

  “You thought I was what?!”

  “I thought you were, umm,” he said, stalling for time the best he could. It only took him a few seconds to decide that honesty was probably the best course of action. “I thought you were stuck, Edith. I thought you were stuck in the wall. Like all those times before.”

  Edith’s eyes narrowed. “All what times before?”

  “You know, the previous times.”

  “You make it sound like I’ve been stuck a million times!” Edith huffed. “I haven’t! I know what you’re implying—and I don’t like it.”

  Stick Cat, being a clever and wise cat, decided to retreat as quickly as possible. “I wasn’t implying anything at all. I just heard you call and thought you needed help in some way, that’s all. And you’re right: it hasn’t been that many times. Tw
enty times at the most.”

  “TWENTY?!”

  “Less than twenty,” Stick Cat said immediately. “Way less than twenty. Ten.”

  “TEN?!”

  “Did I say ten? I meant five. No, three.”

  “Maybe three,” Edith said, and un-squinted her eyes.

  “Probably even less than three.”

  “Probably,” Edith said. She seemed satisfied now.

  One of the things that Stick Cat loved best about Edith was how she could instantly do something—whether it was fall asleep, get over hurt feelings, or even jump from one window ledge to another. And he was happy that she suddenly seemed done with this part of their conversation.

  “Why were you calling me if you weren’t—” he began, but then started again. “Why were you calling me?”

  “Stick Cat, I was thinking about something this morning,” Edith replied. “I was up on the kitchen counter after Tiffany left. She had a donut this morning. She left me some really tasty crumbs.”

  “That was nice of her,” Stick Cat said.

  “Tiffany always does nice things like that,” Edith said. “Well, I was up on that counter after licking the plate. You know, just hanging around up there. And it reminded me of that time we were on Goose’s counter after finding those blueberry muffin crumbs he left for us. Do you remember that?”

  “I do,” Stick Cat said. “Those were good.”

  “And I was thinking how nice it would have been to share those donut crumbs with you like you shared those blueberry muffin crumbs with me.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “I can’t now, of course. Because I ate them all. You know how donut crumbs are. You can’t eat just one. You have to keep going. There’s absolutely no way to stop. So I’m not saying I actually have donut crumbs to share or anything.”

  “I understand.”

  “I just don’t want you to think there are any donuts over here is all I’m saying. I’m simply saying I thought about sharing them. Not that I could. Because they’re all gone. And not because I chose to eat them all. They’re just donut crumbs and it’s impossible not to eat them all once you’ve had a taste.”

  “I understand,” Stick Cat said again.

  Edith sat back on her hind legs and licked her front left paw as she continued to speak. She stopped to examine the placement of each strand of fur every now and then.

  “So when I thought about sharing those crumbs with you—even though I can’t—something occurred to me,” Edith said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ve never been to my apartment, that’s what!”

  It was an intriguing thought to Stick Cat—for a couple of reasons. First, it had never occurred to him that he and Edith would spend the day at her apartment. It just seemed natural for her to come to his house. It was the way they had always done it. It was also intriguing to Stick Cat for another reason: Edith had thought of it and he hadn’t.

  “You know what?” he asked, and smiled. “You’re right. I never have.”

  And with that Stick Cat began to climb into the bathroom cabinet. In just a few seconds he had climbed over the spare toilet paper rolls and begun to poke his head through the wall into Edith’s apartment.

  But he didn’t make it any farther.

  “Hey!” Edith shouted. “What are you doing?!”

  Stick Cat pulled his head back through the hole quickly. “I’m coming over.”

  “Humph!” Edith said, simultaneously closing her eyes and turning her head. “I don’t think so, buster.”

  “Why not?”

  “You weren’t invited, that’s why not!”

  “But I thought when you said—” Stick Cat began and then stopped himself. He sat down in the bathroom cabinet and looked through the hole. He could see Edith sitting there with her head still turned away from him. Stick Cat figured the best thing he could do was wait.

  Finally, Edith spoke.

  “Stick Cat?” she asked formally. Edith had now turned to face him.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you like to come to my house today?”

  “I’d love to,” he answered, and nodded. He came closer to the hole in the wall, but stopped one step short of it. “When would be a convenient time?”

  “How sweet of you to ask,” Edith answered. She seemed to appreciate this formal tone of voice from Stick Cat. “Right now would be fine.”

  “It would be an honor,” Stick Cat said, and climbed through the hole, comfortable now that he would be welcomed completely.

  Once he was in Edith’s apartment, things became significantly more informal.

  Edith led him out of the cabinet and into the bathroom, which looked exactly like Stick Cat’s, except there was a green and yellow polka-dotted shower curtain instead of a plain blue one.

  “Can I show you around?” Edith asked as they exited the bathroom.

  “I’d like that.”

  Chapter 3

  STEAK, SILK, AND CASHMERE

  “Let’s go to the kitchen first,” Edith said, and padded off. Her head was held high and there was a certain, barely perceptible, strut in her gait. She was proud of the home that she let Tiffany share with her. Upon entering the kitchen, Edith continued, “Here it is. This is where Tiffany makes my breakfast.”

  Stick Cat looked around. Like the bathroom, this all seemed very familiar to him. There were only slight differences. The small table off to the side was circular instead of rectangular. The cabinets had different handles and the walls were painted light green instead of tan.

  “It’s very nice,” commented Stick Cat. “When you say ‘makes your breakfast,’ what does that mean?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what does that mean?’”

  “How does Tiffany ‘make’ your breakfast?” Stick Cat asked again. “Goose just tears open a pouch and pours my breakfast into my bowl. Isn’t that what Tiffany does?”

  For a single second, Edith looked at Stick Cat with shock. Quickly, however, she regained her composure even though it was clearly evident she found this whole idea quite primitive and unsavory.

  She said, “Umm, Tiffany did that a few times for me when I was younger, but I made her stop.”

  “You made her stop?”

  “That’s right,” Edith answered. Then she shook her head a bit and said, “I don’t eat just any old thing that comes out of a plastic pouch. I have too sophisticated a palate for that.”

  “How did you make her stop?”

  “I refused to eat it, that’s how,” Edith answered immediately. “And sometimes I would step on the edge of my bowl and tip it over. Then I’d walk out of the kitchen without eating a bite.”

  “Didn’t you get hungry?”

  “Of course I did. But it was a small price to pay,” Edith answered. “Tiffany soon began serving me much better food.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, scrambled eggs. Bacon or sausage for breakfast usually,” answered Edith. She sniffed the air in the kitchen now, attempting to pick up any lingering aromas to provide Stick Cat with a more comprehensive answer. “Then dinner is usually steak or salmon cut up into little pieces. I like rice with my dinner. I prefer basmati, but I’m not too picky. And there has to be a few drops of hot sauce on everything. I LOVE hot sauce. Especially on scrambled eggs.”

  “You do?”

  “A lot!” Edith exclaimed. “I like things spicy. It matches my personality. I’m spicy, don’t you think?”

  Stick Cat smiled. “I do.”

  “Tiffany has a whole collection of different hot sauces just for me.”

  For some reason, he found it very unsurprising that Edith loved hot sauce.

  “You should stop eating for Goose—that will change everything,” Edith suggested. “You might even get some hot sauce!”

  “I don’t know,” answered Stick Cat after a moment of consideration. This was all very, very strange to him. He had never been served anything besides pouch food. Goose was nice enough to change th
e flavors of his meals, but they always, always came from a pouch. For some reason, refusing to eat what was given to him just didn’t seem like a very nice thing to do—even if it might lead to better food. “I don’t mind the pouch food. Some of it’s pretty tasty.”

  “Suit yourself,” Edith said. “But you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Maybe you could save some of yours for me sometime?”

  “I’d really like to, Stick Cat. I really would,” Edith said, and sighed. “But here’s the problem: Tiffany does this strange thing whenever she prepares my meals. It’s always the perfect amount, the ideal portion. There’s never one morsel left over.”

  “That’s okay,” Stick Cat said. He wanted to change the subject. “What else can you show me?”

  “I can show you the bedroom,” Edith said. She tilted her head toward the kitchen doorway. “Come on.”

  Stick Cat began to follow her. As he did, he glanced back toward Edith’s food bowl. He noticed something he hadn’t seen before.

  “Why is there a pillow by your food bowl?”

  “Oh, the tile floor gets so cold under my paws when I’m eating,” Edith said without slowing down. “I made Tiffany get the pillow for me.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “I stopped eating again,” Edith said. “I get a lot of things that way. Eventually, Tiffany just keeps trying things to get me to eat again. She figured out the pillow thing in just a couple of days. She’s fairly bright.”

  Stick Cat said nothing else as he followed Edith out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into the bedroom.

  “Here’s where I let Tiffany sleep with me,” Edith said, and pointed up to a neatly made bed. There was a fluffy blanket decorated with yellow and white daisies folded halfway down the bed. On one side of the bed was a small table and lamp. On the other side, a rectangular pegboard was attached to the wall. It had Edith’s bejeweled collars hanging on it. She had a different collar for each day of the week.