Elvis and the World As It Stands

by Lisa Frenkel Riddiough

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  LEGO, the Minifigure, and the Brick are trademarks of the LEGO Group, which does not sponsor, authorize, or endorse this book.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Riddiough, Lisa Frenkel, author. | Mueller, Olivia Chin, illustrator. Title: Elvis and the world as it stands / Lisa Frenkel Riddiough, Olivia Chin Mueller. Description: New York : Amulet Books, 2021. | Audience: Ages 8 to 12 | Summary: After being sadly brought home from the animal shelter Elvis learns to appreciate his new family, especially ten-year-old Georgina Pemberton who builds skyscraper buildings in her bedroom, and Elvis realizes that both humans and animals can build a world of their own choosing, even if the choices are not what they had initially expected. Identifiers: LCCN 2021005887 | ISBN 9781419752391 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781419752407 (paperback) | ISBN 9781647002015 (ebook) Subjects: CYAC: Building—Fiction. | Family life—Fiction. | Self-reliance—Fiction. | Architecture—Fiction. Classification: LCC PZ7.1.R535 Elv 2021 | DDC [Fic]—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021005887

  eISBN 978-1-64700-201-5

  Text copyright © 2021 Lisa Frenkel Riddiough

  Illustrations copyright © 2021 Olivia Chin Mueller

  Book design by Jade Rector

  Published in 2021 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

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  For James and Julia

  Chapter 1

  Ah, afternoon naps! Always interrupted by Etta’s prickly paws, sticking and stabbing their way from the top of my head to the tip of my calico tail.

  “Hey!” I say. “You’re treading in your sleep again!”

  “What? Huh?” Etta says in her scratchy voice. “Elvis. Let me sleep.” Such a feline.

  The click click click of the wheels on Carly’s cart echoes through the shelter. It’s music to my ears, because I’m starving. And everyone knows Carly’s cart means dinner.

  “Etta! Wake up,” I say.

  I peer through the glass of our condo and watch Carly roll up to the whiteboard and look at the calendar. She grabs that stinky black pen and puts a nice big X in the box that marks today’s date, which is, of course, Saturday, July 3. I take note of tomorrow’s box, all decorated with blue-and-red starbursts. The Fourth of July Adoption Extravaganza! I stretch my paws wide up the sides of our condo door and laugh at myself as I form an X. Etta copies me.

  “We’re just a couple of Xes, aren’t we, Elvis?” she says.

  “Sure are,” I say.

  “Our forever family is out there waiting for us, isn’t that right, Elvis?” Etta says. Her eyes sparkle when she talks.

  “Indeed,” I say.

  “Quiet down over there,” Rupert calls out from across the room. Long-haired party pooper so covered in fur it’s hard to believe there are eyes in there somewhere. I don’t know how that fat cat sees a thing.

  “Get back to napping, Rupert,” I say.

  “I would if you weren’t such a loud know-it-all,” he says.

  Then, saved by the snap-click of the lock on our condo door, it’s Carly. With a full plate of chow.

  “Hello, my sweet peas,” she says.

  I tell her, like I do every day, “Carly, please call me Elvis.” But Carly doesn’t listen. Such a human.

  “I know,” she says. “I love you, too.”

  I just shake my head, turn on my motor, and give her a nice, strong headbutt. Humans love that.

  “Eat up,” she says. “And, look, I’ve got your favorite alphabet book.”

  Oh good, the alphabet book. It’s the best. Full of letters. Like X. Humans love their letters. One day I’m going to crack their code. I just wish it wasn’t so hard.

  Etta and I chomp and crunch at our kibble, and Carly opens her book.

  “A is for Appreciate Art,” Carly reads. Everyone knows that. Who wouldn’t appreciate art? “Do you know what else A is for?” she asks.

  I crunch my kibble and think about it, but I can’t come up with anything. This is what I mean about cracking their code. I can’t figure out how humans make the letters mean something. You’re supposed to put them all in a row. For writing. And reading. It’s tricky. But if I could get it right, I could communicate clearly. Just talking to a human never works.

  “A is for animal adoption,” Carly says. “And that’s what’s happening tomorrow.”

  I already know that. But Carly wants to keep on talking about it. She says something about new families and new homes and adjusting, but I’m waiting for her to get to the letter B, which stands for “Become Brave.” She never gets there. Fine. I just nuzzle her a bit and smile over at Etta. We’re both so excited.

  “We’re going to have a brand-new, wondrous life, isn’t that right, Elvis?” Etta says.

  “Yes, indeed,” I say, with a twitch of my whiskers.

  “There are no guarantees,” Rupert snorts from across the room. Rupert. Please.

  “What do you think our forever home will be like?” Etta asks.

  “Like that one story in Carly’s fairy-tale book, of course,” I say. “An enormous yard with rolling hills and green grass and trees filled with blue birds and a pond with fish! The out-of-doors. The fun never ends in the out-of-doors! Oh, and the banquets of food. So much food. The best—”

  “And so many blankets,” Etta says. “And cushions. NEW blankets and cushions!”

  “Ah, the blankets,” I say. “Thick and soft and warm.”

  “Don’t forget about the villains,” Rupert says.

  “Our forever home won’t have any villains, will it, Elvis?” Etta says.

  “Of course not,” I say. Villains. Please.

  Carly closes the alphabet book. “I think you are all too excited to concentrate on reading,” she says. I guess she’s right. The alphabet book will have to wait.

  “I’m sure going to miss you,” Carly says. “Good night, my sweet peas. See you tomorrow for the big day.” Carly snap-clicks our condo door and leaves.

  “When we’re at our forever home, will we ever come back here?” Etta asks as she tumbles around me and tugs on my tail.

  “Why would we?” I say.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “We’ve lived here since the beginning. It’s not our forever home, but it’s our home, right?”

  “No. No,” I say. “It’s just a shelter.”

  She nibbles on my tail, and we swat at each other and laugh.

  “You don’t know anything,” Rupert says. Poor guy. If only he knew that he’s the one who doesn’t know anything.

  The place quiets down, and it’s lights off and motors on.

  Etta and I get to grooming.

  I start at my tail and work my way through my calico colors. Mango, ebony, cream, and rust. One in a million. That’s what Carly says about me
. Etta and Elvis, she says. The original American Idols. I spend quite a bit of time working on the tufts of my paws. There’s something there I can’t quite get at, so I bite and pull. Got it! A clump of kitty litter. Please.

  Etta helps me a little, and I help her, too. Eventually she tucks her head into my neck and treads. The pushing and pulling. The grabbing of tufts of fur. I wouldn’t trade it for anything! Her rumble is soft and sweet. The gray of her tummy rises and falls with each breath. The tips of her little white paws twitch and snap. She’s dreaming of our forever home. The mother, the father, the children. Maybe one of those very old humans. Yes, a grandparent. And friends visiting. And naps. Wonderful naps.

  I close my eyes and sigh. It’s a dream come true. Etta and me. Together forever. In our forever home.

  The Fourth of July Adoption Extravaganza can’t get here fast enough.

  Chapter 2

  New day. Same prickly paws on my backside reminding me that this is my life. I can’t help but smile.

  I clear the morning fuzz from my vision and see Carly standing right in front of our condo.

  “Good morning, my sweet peas. Rise and shine. We’re moving you up front to a condo in the spotlight,” she says.

  Before I even have time to consider this, Carly opens the door with a snap-click and grabs me by the scruff. She tucks me under her arm and grabs Etta, who is just waking up.

  “What’s happening, Elvis?” Etta says.

  “We get to go to a new condo today. For the big event!” I say.

  “Oh! Wow!”

  Carly walks us down the corridor—felines on the right, canines on the left. The corridor is cool and musty, just the way I like it. I fill my lungs.

  I consider wriggling out of Carly’s grasp to scoot off on an adventure, but with the adoption extravaganza coming up, who has time? Also, those awful mutts are snarling and snapping like they own the place, and I don’t want to accidentally cross their paths.

  The Second Chance Club comes into view—those poor, hopeful souls. They’re injured and old, and some of them went to their forever homes but got returned. They’re supposed to get a second chance, but Rupert calls it the You Don’t Stand a Chance Club.

  Ah, there’s the front desk, up by the double doors of the entrance, with the cardboard carriers stacked to the ceiling. I grin at the posters on the brick walls. Pictures of happy felines sitting in confident poses. They’ll probably take our picture, too, when Etta and I get our forever family.

  Carly deposits us in our new condo up front. It smells fresh. Nose-tingling clean. I twitch my whiskers and sniff around. From here, I can see everything in the whole shelter. There are red, white, and blue sparkles everywhere. And flags, too. With stars and stripes. There’s one on every condo, next to our identification cards. I try to fiddle with the one on ours, but I can’t get to it from inside the condo.

  “Elvis!” Etta says. “It’s the Fourth of July Adoption Extravaganza!”

  “Sure is,” I say.

  Rupert lands in the condo next to ours. “I preferred the back room,” he says.

  “But this is the place to be if you want a forever home,” I say.

  “Forever is too long for me,” he says. “And I don’t need Old Glory, either.”

  “You’re the old one,” I say.

  “It’s the name of the flag,” he says.

  “I know,” I say. Of course I know. I’m not stupid. Please.

  Carly checks our water bowl and gives us some breakfast. “I’m so happy for you two,” she says. “Look! They’re all in line at the front door.”

  Etta and I turn toward the front desk and the doors beyond. The humans are crowded outside. There’s a whole pile of miniature humans, too, jumping up and down and tugging on their parents like a litter of puppies. It’s a little overwhelming, but they look happy and special, like I knew they would. They can’t wait to meet us.

  One of the volunteers opens the doors, and the crowd pushes its way inside. My ears twitch with all the screeching. A tiny human rushes up to our condo and bangs on the door so loudly that I jump and hit my head on the ceiling. Etta crouches in the corner.

  The dogs bark and bark and bark. Barely a comprehensible word comes from their snouts. They can’t help it. Sophisticated communication is not their strong point.

  “It’s so loud in here,” Etta says. She tries to push herself into the corner. “Remember before?” she says.

  “Before?”

  “Yes. Back then,” she says. “When we were, you know, all together.”

  “Yes. Of course I do.” But the truth is that I only barely remember. It’s more of a feeling in my memory. Of safety. And comfort. Something we were born into but can never have back.

  Another small human taps on our condo door and presses his face into the glass and yells, “Kittens!”

  I nudge Etta gently. “Cover your ears,” I say. Then I snuggle into Etta to block the noise. This is not exactly what I thought would happen. There’s so much chatter.

  “Look at this one!” someone says.

  “I want that one!” another cries.

  One of them tries to open our condo door.

  Etta and I cuddle together. “This is exciting,” I say, in an upbeat voice. I nudge her again, to remind her this is all part of the process. But I can tell that she is not so sure.

  My ears prick up when I hear a clippity-cloppity noise approach and then my name.

  “Elvis!” I hear. I poke my head out from our fluff ball. A human woman stands in front of our condo. She smiles with all her teeth and pets a long tail of hair that hangs over her shoulder.

  “Carly, is it?” she calls out. “I’m Mrs. Pemberton. Can you help me over here with little Elvis?” Her voice changes when she says my name, like I’m a baby or something. “I love that name.” She taps on our glass door with her fingernails as Carly approaches. “Carly, he’s perfect for my daughter. She’s had a hard month. Her father and I . . . well, anyway . . .”

  “Oh, Mrs. Pemberton,” Carly says, “your daughter will love Elvis. And he has a sister, Etta. She’s precious.”

  I whisper to Etta, “It’s happening. Our forever family, Etta. Here we go.”

  Carly opens our condo door and grabs me by the scruff. The tip of my tail brushes Etta’s whiskers. Carly pulls me out and tucks me under her arm, but as she reaches back to get Etta, the woman says, “Oh, no. Just one.” And Carly shuts the door. Snap-click.

  I look back at Etta. “Hey, wait a minute,” I say. But Carly doesn’t listen.

  My heart starts pounding, and I taste something sour in my mouth.

  Etta springs toward the glass and looks at me. “Elvis?” she says.

  I wiggle in Carly’s grasp. I try to bite her wrist, but I can barely move my head. “Etta! Etta!” I say.

  Carly hands me over to the woman, whose scent is sharper than that stinky black pen.

  “Are you sure you don’t want them both, Mrs. Pemberton?” Carly asks.

  “Yes! Yes! We are together,” I say as clearly as I can.

  “Just Elvis,” she says. “We kind of have a full house already.”

  The woman, this Mrs. Pemberton, presses her face right into mine and shakes her head back and forth, and I can’t breathe. “Elvis, you’ll be perfect,” she says in that baby talk. Her tail of hair tickles my nose.

  I strain my neck in Etta’s direction.

  “Elvis, don’t go,” she says, and I feel dizzy and sick.

  “Told ya,” Rupert says.

  The clippity-clopping starts up, and my view of Etta gets farther and farther away. “Etta,” I call. “EEETTTA-AAAAAA!” But all I can see is the light pink of her paw pads pressed flat against the glass of our condo.

  Chapter 3

  “Carly, what about Etta?” I say.

  “I know. I love you, too,” she says.

  I state very clearly, “Etta and I belong together!” But it’s no use. Humans don’t listen. They never do. If only I knew how to string
the right letters together. If only I could hold that stinky black pen. I would write it out for her on the whiteboard. I would make her understand. But I can’t do any of that. So, I stiffen my legs and hiss with all I’ve got. Before I know it, I’m being pushed into one of those cardboard carrying boxes. I press my eyes up to the peek holes and try to orient myself. I see the Second Chance Club and the posters hanging on the brick walls. Mrs. Pemberton sticks her eyes up to the peek holes and breathes hot, dry air into the carrier.

  “Where are you taking me?” I say.

  “Oh, Elvis,” she says. “Georgina is going to love you.”

  “She will love Etta, too,” I say.

  But Mrs. Pemberton ignores me and pets her tail of hair.

  Carly looks through the peek holes at me. “Goodbye, my friend. You’re going to have a wonderful life. I’m so happy for you.”

  I jump and scratch at the cardboard. Then I run in circles, trying to find a way out. I can’t see back to our condo. I can’t see Etta. What is going to happen to her? Where am I going? This is all wrong.

  The clippity-clopping starts again, and I can’t keep my balance inside the carrier. I try to dig my nails into the cardboard to steady myself. It’s no use. Suddenly a cool breeze hits my fur. We are in the out-of-doors. I turn around and look back at the City Shelter of Care and Comfort. The red bricks. The glass windows. One of those Old Glory’s flying from the top. And then SLAM! I can’t see a thing. I claw at the peek holes, trying to force myself through. But who am I kidding? “Etta,” I say. “Etta. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Getting to wherever we are going is full of jolts and bumps. Not to mention that constant stream of noise Mrs. Pemberton makes.

  She can’t stop talking about Georgina. Georgina this. Georgina that. I don’t care one lick about Georgina. I just want to get back to the shelter and start this whole thing over. With Etta.

  Suddenly, I can see the out-of-doors again through the peek holes. We’re headed to a small building. A house. With a porch and a front door. I see some grass and trees, too. It’s like a cottage from Carly’s fairy-tale book.