Tj and The Cats Read online

  I made high sounds. I made low sounds. Max just kept cleaning himself. Seymour was right. Most cats may have great ears, but this one could hear about as well as a rock.

  “I wish we could test some of the other things, like direction-finding or psi-trailing,” said Seymour.

  “If you think I’m going to let them out so we can see if they can find Gran in Hawaii, forget it,” I said. “They’d have to swim, for crying out loud!”

  Seymour was gone by the time Mom and Dad got home. That was just as well, because I could tell they were pretty upset with me for not coming to the store. They didn’t say anything, but that almost made it worse. I think even Cleo felt the tension. She began to howl and seemed to be asking at the door to go out.

  “Before I forget to tell you, TJ, the furnace cleaners are coming next Wednesday,” said my mom. “You better put the cats in the laundry room for the day.”

  She didn’t even look at me when she said it.

  “Right,” I said.

  At that moment, Wednesday seemed a long way off.

  Chapter 11

  All Sunday Seymour and I worked like crazy. We organized, we typed, we drew, we made posters. The cats helped us. They sat on our poster paper. They rolled our markers off the table. They played hockey with our glue stick. They walked through the houseplants and left smudgy black cat tracks over everything.

  The only one that didn’t come out to sit on our posters or knock our pens off the table was Killer. Killer was still very shy. Every night, however, she sat on my chest.

  She was there the night the police came. Three in the morning is when they came, and it was their siren that woke us all up. The doorbell rang, and before Mom or Dad could get to the door, I could hear someone trying the handle.

  “We had a 9-1-1 call from this address,” the officer said as Dad opened the door.

  “From here?” asked Mom. “No one phoned from here.”

  I think I figured it out at the same moment as the police officer. She wasn’t happy about it.

  “Aren’t you the people with the problem cats?” she asked.

  We went into the living room. The phone was off the hook all right. There were cat hairs drifting all around it.

  “But how could a cat dial 9-1-1?” Mom asked.

  “The memory buttons,” said Dad.

  We apologized about a hundred times to the police officer and turned off all the memory buttons on the phone.

  “They probably hit number 4 and ordered pizza while they were at it,” said Dad as he and Mom headed back to bed.

  “So long as they didn’t hit number 5 and phone your brother in Alaska,” said Mom.

  I decided not to mention I’d found the phone off the hook at least four times in the last few days.

  Seymour thought the cats calling 9-1-1 was a hoot.

  “I bet the police have a big black X next to your address,” he said. “Even if your house is burning they won’t come unless you can prove it’s not a cat lighting matches.”

  “Ha, ha,” I said. Between the police and the cats I’d had even less sleep than usual.

  “Maybe we could use it for our report,” Seymour went on. “The police officer could come in and talk about criminal cats.”

  “Seymour!”

  “All right, but Amanda’s next up. From the amount of stuff I saw her carrying to school, I think she’s really gone nuts this time,” said Seymour.

  Seymour was right about her going overboard. She had all sorts of things to set up that afternoon. But even worse was her topic — dinosaurs.

  “Dinosaurs!” hissed Seymour at me across the aisle. “She’s supposed to do porcupines!”

  “I guess she changed her mind,” I said.

  “She can’t do that!” said Seymour.

  “We did,” I told him.

  “You’re the one who changed your mind,” said Seymour. “I just went along with it. That doesn’t mean I gave up dinosaurs.”

  “Tell Amanda,” I said.

  “I can’t tell Amanda! You know what she’s like!” said Seymour.

  What Amanda is like is nice. She’s so nice that when Seymour waves his arms around or asks a million questions, she doesn’t get mad at him unless he’s really out of line.

  She had done a lot of work. She had charts. She had posters. She had slides, overheads, models and plaster footprints. She even had a computer program, for crying out loud.

  “What a disaster,” moaned Seymour when it was over.

  “I’m sorry I made you give up dinosaurs,” I said.

  “I don’t think it would have made any difference,” said Seymour.

  And that’s all he said. Seymour, who talks a mile a minute, was silent all the way to my place. That’s how depressed he was.

  Seymour went home. I went in the house and flopped on the sofa. Max flopped on top of me and proceeded to gain weight. Kink rubbed back and forth on the floor under my dangling arm until I petted him. Cleo paced restlessly back and forth across the top of the sofa and shed long hairs down on me. Even Killer showed up, still shy, peering out from a hiding place in the plants.

  I had to admit that I was feeling pretty down in the dumps. Seymour had managed to draw some good pictures. We had all sorts of neat facts. We’d done a good poster. Next to Amanda’s presentation, however, it was all going to seem completely dull.

  Cats weren’t dull! They were annoying, weird, unpredictable and drove a person crazy — but they weren’t dull!

  Suddenly I sat bolt upright. Cats went flying north, south and center. I reached for the phone.

  “Seymour,” I said when he answered, “there’s something Amanda didn’t do.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Seymour. “She didn’t shoot off fireworks and she didn’t show up with T-Rex under her arm.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Especially the last part.”

  I would have liked to see him then. I know what it’s like when that good old light comes back into Seymour’s eyes.

  I felt so good about my brain wave that I couldn’t sit still after I got off the phone. I had to do something. It didn’t have to be something to do with cats; it just had to be something. I baked my favorite batch of cookies. And then, because being in the kitchen made me hungrier and hungrier, I made macaroni and cheese from a package and threw all the leftovers from the fridge into it. I’d got the idea from a TV commercial, but that didn’t matter — it might just work. By the time Mom and Dad came home I’d even set the table.

  I didn’t expect them to be as surprised as they were. They just stood there.

  “I’m starving,” I said. “Let’s eat.”

  “I’ve no objections,” said Dad. “It doesn’t even smell burnt.”

  Of course as soon as they sat down, the telephone rang. Mom walked over to it and pulled the cord out of its jack. Mom doesn’t usually do things like that. Dad and I looked at her in shock.

  “Stare all you like,” said Mom, sitting down to her meal. “I don’t know why things just got better around here, but they did and I’m going to see it lasts another ten minutes at least.”

  It lasted longer than ten minutes. Dad asked me why I’d cooked supper, and I started talking about being in a good mood because of the cat report. Pretty soon I was telling them all sorts of things — cat facts, Seymour facts, stories about Max and Cleo and Kink and Killer.

  “I didn’t realize you’d been through so much with those cats,” said my mom.

  “I didn’t even think you liked cats,” said my dad. “In fact, I thought you always avoided them at Gran’s house.”

  “We all avoided them at Gran’s house,” said my mom.

  “Ailurophobia,” I said. “That’s what it’s called when cats give you the creeps.”

  “Ailurophobia,” said my mom. Then she gave an odd little half smile. “Kind of like hardwareaphobia.”

  Dad had stopped eating and was watching me across the table.

  “But you got over it?” he asked. “You got
over this ailurophobia?”

  “I had to,” I said. “The cats needed me.”

  It was as if something in the room shifted then. Dad sighed. Mom became very, very quiet.

  “TJ,” said Mom softly, “we don’t very often tell you this, but we need you too.”

  “We don’t get to see you much these days. We miss you,” said Dad.

  “That’s why we like it when you visit us down at the store,” said Mom. “It makes us feel like we’re still a family.”

  I hadn’t thought about them missing me at the store as much as I missed them around home.

  “But all I do there is hang around looking dumb,” I said.

  “Would it help if you had a job?” asked Dad. “Would that help you get over the hardwareaphobia?”

  “It might,” I said. “But not some sort of made-up job for little kids that doesn’t count. I can handle more than some dumb job for little kids.”

  Dad looked over his shoulder at Kink, Cleo, Max and Killer spread across the dining-room floor like area rugs — happy, contented area rugs.

  “Yes,” he said, “I think you can handle a lot more than we’ve been giving you credit for. Let your mom and me think on it a bit.”

  Chapter 12

  That night I had the best sleep I’d had in a long time, in spite of being surrounded by furry bodies. In the morning I felt a thousand times better, plus Seymour and I were pretty excited about the possibility of bringing a live exhibit for our report.

  “Only one cat, and bring it after lunch tomorrow, please,” said Ms. K.

  I couldn’t believe it. We hadn’t even asked. All we’d done was walk up to her desk with our best smiles on our faces. Ms. K. really does know things.

  Seymour and I walked home at lunch on Wednesday and carried Kink to school in his fun-house box. Our class sat in a circle with the cat box in the middle. Seymour opened the door. No cat came out, but we were ready. I took out my recorder.

  Hot cross buns, hot cross buns,

  Kink peered out of the carry-box.

  one a-penny, two a-penny,

  Kink took a step forward.

  hot, cross buns.

  Kink bounded into my lap.

  A quiet ripple of laughter went around the circle. Kink looked around. He was in the center of a show ring. Maybe this wasn’t so bad!

  Hot cross buns, hot cross buns

  Seymour was playing on the other side of the circle. Kink looked at him, merowed happily, and walked in his funny dancing way over to rub against Seymour’s recorder. Seymour beamed.

  Kids began to talk to Kink and call him. Several had their own cats at home, of course, but it was still fun for them to have a cat in class. It was also neat to be able to look at a cat while Seymour and I took turns reading our report. It was easy to show things like the way cats really do walk on their toes, the way their ears move, the shape of their eyes.

  Kink liked being the center of attention. He liked it so much, in fact, that he began to step higher and higher. All of a sudden I knew what was coming next.

  “I think maybe he should go back now,” I said.

  It was too late. Kink had one of his explosions. He leaped high out of the circle, raced three times around the room, skidded through the papers on Ms. K.’s desk, knocked all the brushes off the chalkboard, tore three posters off the bulletin board and came to a stop on the filing cabinet. There he sat grooming himself as if nothing at all out of the usual had happened.

  “I’m not here,” I told Seymour, ducking behind him.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “The room’s a mess, but Ms. K.’s smiling.”

  It was true. She was smiling.

  “You may return to your desks now, class,” said Ms. K. “It’s time for math.”

  All through the math lesson Kink sat on the filing cabinet. He looked like he was trying to learn division. Just before the final bell rang, Ms. K. walked over and rubbed him behind the ears.

  “Kink,” said Ms. K., “back in your house, please.”

  She motioned toward the box on the floor. Kink jumped off the cabinet, crossed to his carry-box and walked in.

  “In the Dark Ages she’d have been burned at the stake for getting a cat to obey her that way,” said Seymour as we filed out of class.

  But he wasn’t complaining. Our report, complete with living exhibit, had been a wonderful success. Even Amanda had said so. And besides, there are times when it’s neat having a teacher who’s a witch.

  I only wish she could have warned us what was going on at home at that very moment.

  Chapter 13

  The cats were gone.

  As soon as we walked into the house we felt it. They weren’t just hiding in the sofa or on top of the bookcase — they were gone.

  “The furnace cleaners!” I said. “The furnace cleaners were coming today! How could I have forgotten?”

  “What door do they use?” asked Seymour.

  “The back,” I said.

  He was already hurrying through the house.

  Off we went into the backyard, calling the cats, “Cleo! Max! Killer!”

  “We’d better split up,” said Seymour.

  Seymour went one way up the alley. I went the other way. How could I have forgotten?

  Just as I came around onto the street, I heard a wonderful sound.

  Meeeeeeow!

  Killer was perched in an apple tree, looking worriedly down at me with her copper-penny eyes. She really was a scaredy-cat. I climbed up on a fence beside the tree, detached her claws one by one from the bark and lifted her down.

  I walked back towards the house. Seymour was coming from the other direction. There was something big and white in his arms. Hurrah!

  “I found him sitting in the middle of the road,” said Seymour as we went up the walk together. “Talk about a dumb place for a deaf cat to sit.”

  Just the thought of what might have happened made me feel sick inside. How could I have forgotten about the furnace cleaners coming?

  Cats! Cats! Catscatscatscatscats!

  The dog next door was rushing the house. Instantly I was covered in cat hair. That’s what Killer does when she panics — she sheds. And then she became a hysterical hurricane of claws and armpits clawing her way to the highest point she could reach at that moment — my head. Now I knew how the taxi driver had felt.

  I raced the last few steps and threw open our door. Killer leaped for safety. I turned back to help Seymour.

  Max was sitting placidly in Seymour’s arms. Seymour had turned him around so he couldn’t see either the dog or Killer’s panic. Max was blissfully ignorant.

  “I like this cat,” said Seymour, and carried him into the house.

  Kink was safe in his cat box. Killer had fled to the safety of my closet. Max was safe in Seymour’s arms. But Cleo was missing.

  We scoured the neighborhood. We knocked on doors. We talked to everyone on the street. We set out tins of tuna that attracted every other cat around.

  But we didn’t find Cleo.

  That night Mom let me phone Gran in Hawaii.

  “Gran?” I said when I heard her voice on the phone. I could almost picture my awful news traveling all those long, lonely miles across the ocean to reach her. “I’m really sorry. I’ve let you down. Cleo’s missing.”

  “Oh dear,” said Gran.

  “I’m really, really sorry. I’ll keep looking. I’d do anything to get her back. It’s all my fault,” I said.

  “Cleo, did you say?” asked Gran. “Oh dear.”

  “Gran, are you all right? You haven’t fainted or anything have you?”

  “No, no,” said Gran. “I’m just thinking. Now listen, TJ This isn’t all your fault. I’m to blame too. I’d been meaning to take Cleo to see the veterinarian ever since I adopted her, but I kept putting it off. If I’d taken her when I should have she wouldn’t have run away. Oh my.”

  I didn’t understand what she meant about the vet, but I didn’t like to ask. It was my fault
Cleo was missing and I didn’t want to duck any of the blame.

  “Well, TJ,” said Gran. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Chapter 14

  For three days, in every spare moment, we looked for Cleo.

  Mom checked Gran’s house and phoned the animal shelter. Dad handed out lost cat flyers at the store. Seymour and I walked miles around every place we thought a cat could possibly want to go. By the time evening rolled around on Saturday we were exhausted. We ate supper and collapsed in the middle of the living room. Max, Killer and Kink collapsed around us. They weren’t tired, but they collapsed anyway. Cats are like that. They also seemed totally content.

  “I don’t think they even know she’s gone,” I said.

  “Cats walk alone,” said my dad. “That’s an old saying.”

  “Does that mean she’s never coming back?” I asked my dad.

  “I don’t know,” Dad answered. “I wish I had a crystal ball that I could look into and tell you where to find her.”

  “It’s funny,” said Mom. “It used to annoy me when Cleo sat on the newspaper when I wanted to read it. This morning I looked at the paper and wished she was sitting on it.”

  “I found myself leaving the tap on so she could play in the drips after I’d finished shaving,” said Dad. “I didn’t think cats like water, but Cleo did.”

  “Kink likes it too, especially staring into the toilet bowl,” said Mom. “And have you noticed how Max stuffs himself into things? I found him in a shoe box this morning.”

  Mom and Dad kept talking about the cats, but I was way back at the beginning, the part about the crystal ball.

  I was desperate. Really desperate. Gran would be home tomorrow. Maybe a little crystal ball magic really would work. But was I brave enough to ask?

  I decided to take Seymour along for extra support.

  “You can’t just go knocking on Ms. K.’s door out of nowhere on a Saturday night!” said Seymour on our way over to her house. “What are you going to tell her? What if she flunks you for losing something you did a report on? She can’t really be a witch!”