Fuzzy Fights Back

by Bruce Hale

  “I’ve brought along everyone who’s most affected by this meeting,” said Mr. Darius.

  Mrs. Krumpton’s makeup-coated face loomed over Fuzzy’s box, and snarled in disgust when she saw him. “But these aren’t people,” said the PTA president. “They’re animals.”

  “They’re more than that,” said the custodian.

  “That’s right!” squeaked Fuzzy.

  The blonde woman folded her arms. “They’re nothing but trouble, and I won’t have these creatures at my meeting.”

  The custodian’s jaw tightened. He made no move to depart.

  “First of all, it’s not your meeting, it’s our meeting,” said a familiar voice. Over the box’s edge, Fuzzy could just make out the gray-blonde hair of Principal Flake. “And secondly, these pets are part of our Leo Gumpus family. If we’re making a decision that concerns them, they should be present.”

  “But—but this is so irregular,” sputtered the PTA president.

  “Life is irregular,” said Mrs. Flake.

  “It’ll disrupt everything.”

  The principal was as calm as a frozen lake in February. “It’ll be just fine. I’m sure if the pets get restless, Darius would be happy to settle them down.”

  “That’s right,” said the custodian. “But I won’t have to. These pets are better behaved than plenty of people I could name.”

  “Amen, brother,” said Cinnabun primly.

  Mrs. Krumpton huffed and blustered, but she knew when she was outmaneuvered. Her face disappeared from view, and a few seconds later, Fuzzy heard her amplified voice. “People, if you could all take your seats. We’re about to start the meeting.”

  Fuzzy felt his box rise into the air and settle onto a hard surface. Then, it very slowly tilted until it was on its side. Moving with it, he and Cinnabun carefully stepped to the mouth of the box and looked out.

  Fuzzy gasped.

  They sat at the very edge of the stage, gazing into a room full of humans on folding chairs. A ripple of unease sloshed through Fuzzy’s belly at the sight of all those faces. The audience murmured as Mr. Darius set the other boxes onstage and tipped them sideways, so that all the pets could watch the proceedings.

  Fuzzy thought Mr. Darius must be the kindest human around. Or at least tied with Miss Wills.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” said Principal Flake over the microphone. “Thank you all for coming. Let’s begin.”

  Fuzzy bit his lip. Cinnabun blinked rapidly and fidgeted.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “Not even a little bit,” he said. “But here goes nothing.”

  From their vantage point, Fuzzy and Cinnabun couldn’t see the other pets in their boxes, but they had a ringside view of the audience, the bigwigs’ table in front of it, and the backs of the bigwigs’ heads. Besides Mrs. Krumpton and Principal Flake, Fuzzy recognized a teacher, Mr. Chopra. Two humans he’d seen around school also shared the table. Fuzzy figured them for PTA members.

  Taking charge of the meeting, the principal laid out the rules.

  “First, our PTA president, Krissy Krumpton, will explain her proposal,” said Mrs. Flake. “We will let some people speak, both for and against, and then we’ll all vote on the matter. Mrs. Krumpton, if you would begin?”

  The PTA president cleared her throat and tossed back her long blonde hair. That golden sheaf reminded Fuzzy of hay. But he knew that nothing she said would be nearly as nice as his favorite food. He felt a twinge of regret sharper than a double-edged sword that he had failed to charm her.

  “For too long, we have lived with danger in our midst,” Mrs. Krumpton began. “An unseen danger that threatens all our children.”

  “Yeah,” said Igor’s voice from the box beside them. “Rat farts.”

  “Hush, Brother Igor,” said Cinnabun.

  From the other side, Vinnie’s voice chimed in. “Yeah, I can hear ya, Dinosaur Breath.”

  “Shhh!” The rabbit shushed him.

  Mrs. Krumpton leaned into her microphone. “Don’t let their innocent looks fool you. Animals present a very real danger to our children. They can bite—”

  “I’d like to bite her,” said Igor.

  “They carry diseases,” Mrs. Krumpton continued.

  “For the last time, rats are clean animals!” cried Vinnie.

  “And kids can be allergic to them without knowing until it’s too late. But worst of all, they don’t live very long.”

  Fuzzy shook his head. This woman had death on the brain.

  “Compared to what?” said Cinnabun. “We live a lot longer than doodlebugs.”

  Mrs. Krumpton’s shoulders stiffened under her cascade of golden hair. “Is it fair to our children to let them get attached to something that will die so quickly? Some say it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. I say skip the heartbreak. Protect our children from this loss. Ban all classroom pets.”

  “Geez Louise,” said Vinnie. “What’s her deal?”

  “That woman is lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut,” huffed Cinnabun. “No offense, Brother Luther.”

  “None taken, Missy Misss,” said the boa.

  Murmurs erupted in the audience. Some folks were nodding, but many were frowning or shaking their heads. It looked to Fuzzy like the group was pretty evenly split.

  “Thank you for your proposal, Mrs. Krumpton,” said Principal Flake, though her tone sounded anything but grateful. “We will now open up the floor for anyone to express their opinions on the matter.”

  “Anyone?” said Mrs. Krumpton. “I think we should limit comments to ten people or fewer. Otherwise we’ll be here through dinnertime, and no one wants that.”

  Mrs. Flake disagreed. But when the head table voted on the matter, it came out three to two in favor of a shorter session.

  “Very well,” said the principal. “Everyone, please keep your comments brief and respectful. Who’s first?”

  Hands shot up like prickles on a porcupine. To start, the principal called on Malik’s mother, who was sitting in the first row with her son. Mrs. Summers stood in place, half-turning to address both the audience and the head table. She smoothed down her skirt front.

  “Like many of you, I never used to object to the idea of pets in the classroom,” she said. “Until a week ago, when a class pet got my son into a terrible accident.”

  Fuzzy heard some sharp inhalations from the crowd, but many people still looked skeptical.

  “He brought the class guinea pig home for the weekend,” Mrs. Summers continued. “Malik let the creature out of its cage while he was rehearsing a scene for a play.”

  Cinnabun shot Fuzzy a glance. He hung his head, unable to meet her eyes.

  “At a crucial moment, this animal got in the way,” said Malik’s mother. “My son was hit in the head. He could have developed brain damage or even died.”

  From his chair beside her, Malik started to rise. “I’m totally fine, Mom!”

  “Only through blind luck,” said Mrs. Summers, pushing him back down into his seat. “I’m with Krissy; we should ban all classroom pets.”

  Cinnabun touched Fuzzy’s shoulder. “Luther told me all about it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I was just trying to help.”

  She didn’t accuse him; she didn’t even have to. “Oh, Fuzzy.” The note of gentle reproach in her voice made him want to shrivel up and disappear.

  When Mrs. Summers sat down, the school nurse, Mr. Wong, rose to speak. “There’s been a lot of loose talk about pets carrying diseases,” he said, “and I want to set the record straight.”

  “About time,” came Vinnie’s muffled voice.

  Mr. Wong raked back his hair with one hand. “I worked for five years in a vet’s office, and during that time, our clients didn’t report even one case of a pet passing on a disease to a human.”

  “See?” said Vinnie. “Told ya so.”

  “The truth is,” the nurse continued, “practicing go
od personal hygiene and keeping pets healthy and vaccinated—which we do—completely minimizes any risk. Come on, people. These are pets, not rats with bubonic plague.”

  “Hey!” Vinnie objected. “That’s stereotyping.”

  After answering a couple of questions from Mrs. Krumpton and Principal Flake, Mr. Wong sat back down. The next parent to testify went on and on about the dangers of rabies. Clearly, thought Fuzzy, someone hasn’t been listening to the nurse.

  Then a third-grade boy made an emotional appeal, saying that Mistletoe the mouse was one of his best friends, and that people shouldn’t be allowed to take away your friends. His classmates cheered him on.

  “You tell ’em, Ethan!” squeaked Mistletoe from Vinnie’s box.

  A couple more parents spoke, and a couple more kids. After Miss Wills had her turn, Mrs. Krumpton wanted to hold the vote right then and there. But the principal called for one last speaker.

  Abby’s arm was flailing like windshield wipers in a hurricane, so Mrs. Flake picked her. Blushing but determined, the girl grabbed her poster and made her way to the front of the room.

  Mrs. Krumpton leaned forward urgently. “Sweetie?” she said in a low voice, covering the microphone. “You don’t need to testify. Mommy’s got this.”

  “She wants to speak,” said Mrs. Flake.

  Abby gave the principal a grateful nod. Wordlessly, Malik rose to join her, ignoring his mother’s pointed look. He set their petitions on the head table.

  “Here’s two hundred and forty-three signatures in favor of keeping our pets,” he said. Malik stood beside Abby, cutting his eyes to her.

  The girl cleared her throat loudly and ducked her head. Abby seemed daunted by all the attention from the audience. She’s probably never had this many people who want to listen to her before, thought Fuzzy. Malik nudged Abby’s shoulder in an encouraging way.

  “Um, Miss Wills always tells us that we live in a democracy,” said Abby at last. “She says that everyone has the right to express their opinion. That we should speak up when we see injustice.”

  From an aisle seat, Miss Wills smiled, giving her a thumbs-up.

  “So Malik and I did an extra-credit report on why we need class pets like these,” said Abby. She turned to look at Fuzzy, Cinnabun, and the others.

  “Aww,” said Cinnabun. “I like her.”

  “Now, Abigail,” said Mrs. Krumpton. “You really don’t know—”

  “Let her speak,” said Principal Flake in a stern, I’m the principal here tone. The PTA president stiffened, but she held her tongue.

  Abby’s gaze flicked uncertainly over the two women. Then she turned back to the audience. “Um, so here are our top five reasons why we need to keep our classroom pets. Reason Number Five: Taking care of pets encourages a sense of responsibility.”

  “Tell that to Jamaica, who forgot to change my water,” said Igor from the next box over.

  “Shh!” Fuzzy and Cinnabun shushed him.

  “Reason Number Four,” said Malik. “Kids who don’t feel as confident in their reading abilities feel safer reading aloud to a pet.”

  “He’s right!” shouted Loud Brandon. He grimaced when he realized what he’d just revealed about himself. “Oops.”

  The audience chuckled.

  “Reason Number Three,” said Abby in a stronger voice. “Cuddles.”

  “Huh?” said a dad in the front row. “I don’t get it.”

  Abby addressed the kids in the audience. “School can be stressful, right, guys?”

  Kids shouted things like, “You know it!” “Ugh, standardized tests!” and “Oral reports are the worst!”

  She bobbed her head in agreement. “We found studies that said when students can cuddle pets, it lowers their stress and anxiety levels.”

  Vinnie’s cackle reached Fuzzy from the next box over. “Well, that leaves you out, Spiky Boy,” he called to Igor. “Yer the least cuddly creature on the planet.”

  “Zip it, Plague Breath,” the iguana retorted.

  “Reason Number Two,” said Malik. “When you help take care of a pet, you learn empathy and have more respect for animals.”

  Cinnabun beamed. “Respect’s a good thing.”

  Thinking about everything they’d been through, Fuzzy said, “And we could all use a little more empathy.”

  “But this weekend I learned the number-one reason of all.” Abby glanced back at Fuzzy, and he felt a warm flutter in his chest. “And that’s love.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Mrs. Krumpton snorted. “Abby, sit down right—”

  Before the principal could intervene, Abby burst out, “No, Mom!”

  Her mother rocked back in her seat. “What did you say?”

  “It’s my turn to speak.” Abby’s lip quivered. Her face was pale but determined. “You never listen to me, but this time I’m going to finish.”

  “Let the girl speak!” shouted someone from the crowd.

  “Yeah!” cried another parent.

  Mrs. Krumpton sputtered indignantly.

  One of the PTA members at the table reached over and laid a hand on the blonde woman’s arm, making a calming gesture with her other hand.

  “This weekend,” said Abby, “I had a terrible time at my soccer game. I was sad; I felt bad about myself.” She looked at the floor. “But when I spent time cuddling with Fuzzy afterward …”

  Fuzzy swallowed a lump in his throat.

  “His love made me feel better,” said the girl. “I know that’s not scientific, and I didn’t read it in a study, but it’s true. Pets love us, and we love them right back.” Abby cleared her throat. “And if that’s not enough of a reason to keep them around, I don’t know what is.”

  “But,” said Mrs. Krumpton, her voice thick with emotion. “But what if they die and leave you alone? Like Fifi.”

  The look Abby turned on her mom was a tender one. “Then they die, Mom. But their love stays on.”

  “Oh, Abby.” Choking back a sob, her mother jumped to her feet and wrapped her daughter in a tight hug. They rocked gently back and forth.

  “Aww,” said Cinnabun. She threw an arm around Fuzzy’s shoulders. “Now, ain’t that sweeter than a sugar boat on a honey sea?”

  In the end, the count wasn’t even close. The students and parents voted overwhelmingly to keep classroom pets at Leo Gumpus Elementary. A great cheer went up when Principal Flake announced the voting results.

  Fuzzy and Cinnabun joined paws and whooped for joy. Unable to contain himself, Fuzzy began popcorning with a wheek wheek wheek!—until he bonked his head on the box’s top. After that, he settled for mellower cheering.

  The rabbit glowed with happiness. “Well, hush my mouth, Brother Fuzzy. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Congratulations to us?” said Fuzzy.

  She shook her head wonderingly. “You got us into this whole mess by acting on your impulses.”

  Fuzzy held up a paw. “I said I’m sorry.”

  “But you also got us out of this mess by acting on your impulses.”

  Fuzzy turned up his palms. “I’m funny that way. But the kids come first.”

  “First and always,” agreed Cinnabun.

  Something thumped on the box to their left. “Way to go, Chubby Cheeks!” cried Vinnie. “Or should I say, Doctor Love?”

  Cinnabun giggled. Fuzzy’s face felt warm.

  “Does this mean the club isn’t going to kick me out?” he asked.

  Patting his shoulder, Cinnabun said, “I don’t see how we could when the school just voted for you to stay. You’re safe … for now,” she added teasingly.

  Fuzzy looked up to see kids crowding around the pets’ boxes. Some faces he recognized, some he didn’t, but all were grinning and praising the pets.

  “Holy macaroni!” Mistletoe squeaked. “It’s like we’re movie stars!”

  “Dream on, Short Stack,” said Vinnie, but Fuzzy could hear the affection in his voice.

  Then Fuzzy saw someone he knew pushing through the c
rowd. Abby seemed to have an extra spring in her step, an extra twinkle in her eye. She reached into the box, lifting Fuzzy out for a cuddle. He burrowed into her shoulder, nuzzling.

  “Oh, Fuzzy,” said Abby. “You’re the best.”

  “Well, maybe second-best,” he chirped modestly.

  “I couldn’t have done this without you. You gave me the courage I needed to stand up and speak.”

  Fuzzy doubted that very much, but he thought it was sweet of her to say.

  After being passed around from student to student for a few minutes, Fuzzy was ready for some peace and quiet. Almost as if sensing this, Mr. Darius appeared. He reclaimed Fuzzy and the others from the kids who’d been petting them, and returned the pets to their boxes.

  On the ride back to their classrooms, Fuzzy and Cinnabun shared a comfortable silence. After all the excitement, both felt truly tuckered out.

  At Room 5-B, the custodian carried Fuzzy’s box inside and lifted him out of it. Placing him back in his habitat with a last pat and a bit of carrot, Mr. Darius smiled down. “I guess those posters I put up made a difference after all,” he said.

  “You did that?” said Fuzzy.

  Almost as if he understood, the custodian said, “I’m glad they came to their senses before it was too late. In my book, a school without pets just isn’t a school.”

  After Mr. Darius shut the door, Fuzzy treated himself to a long, long nap.

  * * *

  By unspoken agreement, none of the pets showed up at their clubhouse the next day after school. Fuzzy didn’t know about the rest of them, but after the stress of the past couple weeks, he felt lazier than a sleepy snail riding piggyback on a sloth. It wasn’t until Wednesday afternoon that the group gathered again.

  When Fuzzy ambled down the ramp into their hangout, Luther hailed him with, “Hey, Fuzzarooney! The rodent of the hour!”

  Vinnie clapped him on the back. “So, what’s the good word?”

  “You know that girl Abby who testified to keep us at school?” said Fuzzy.

  “Our pigtailed angel? What about her?”

  Fuzzy grinned. “Today she told the class that her mom is finally letting her have a pet at home!”