Elvis and the World As It Stands

by Lisa Frenkel Riddiough

  Once inside, Mrs. Pemberton sets the carrier on the floor. I look through the peek holes and try to get my bearings.

  “Elvis, we’re home,” she says.

  “No. This is not my home,” I tell her.

  She opens my carrier and sticks her face inside, and her tail of hair flicks my eyes. “Now, Elvis,” she says, like we’re good friends or something, “Georgina will be back from her father’s house soon. Come on out and get used to your surroundings. This is your new home.”

  I look up at the woman. Her eyes blink and blink and she won’t stop smiling. But that’s not going to make me like her.

  “Leave me alone,” I say.

  Naturally, she ignores me and reaches her hands into the carrier and grabs for me. I swipe at her wrist and hiss.

  “Ouch!” she says. “Oh, gosh. I guess you need a moment. I’ll be right back.” She turns and clippity-clops away. Good!

  I lift my head out of the cardboard box and look around. There are signs of humans everywhere. Sofas. Chairs. Tables. Rugs. I know about these things from Carly’s books.

  Ah! There!

  A window!

  That’s my way out of here.

  I pull myself out of the box and onto the floor and fix my eyes on my escape route. But then I hear that woman’s clippity-clops approaching.

  “Elvis!” she calls. “Are you ready to come out and see your new home?”

  I quickly wedge myself behind some sort of tower. My heart is pounding so loud, I am sure she can hear it. I hold my breath.

  A strange noise comes from the tower. Like a heartbeat.

  Ticktock.

  Ticktock.

  “Elvis! Where are you?” she calls.

  I can’t hold my breath any longer, and just as I gasp for air, the tower erupts into an explosion of sounds.

  Tingle. Tingle. Tingle.

  Bong. Bong. Bong.

  I dart out from behind the thing and run as fast as my legs will let me. I slide down the hall and tumble as I turn the corner into another room, searching for something, anything, to hide behind.

  Mrs. Pemberton appears out of nowhere and scoops me up. “You are a little rascal,” she says. She presses her face into mine and rubs her nose back and forth. Her scent blasts my nostrils, and I sneeze and cough.

  If only I could wiggle out of her hands.

  But she holds me out in front of her and squeezes my body. Then she walks me around pointing out all sorts of things, like I’m stupid or something. “Your litter box is over there by the back door. This is the kitchen. Here’s your food bowl. Here’s your water bowl.” She splashes my paws in the water. Ugh! Drops flip up onto my whiskers. I shake my head back and forth and yowl, “Put me down!”

  She ignores me again, so I growl and hiss.

  “Aww, Elvis,” she says, pressing me into the crook of her neck and then holding me out in front of her face again. “I just want to make sure you know where everything is. I want you to be comfortable.”

  She can’t fool me. I pull back my ears and splay my paws, showing my claws. Then I do the only thing I can think to do: I sink my teeth into her thumb!

  “YOUCH!” she gasps. She loses her grip and stumbles to catch me, but I flip out of her hands and right into the water bowl. I hop over the food bowl, slip and slide on the floor, and scram out of there.

  Around the corner is a set of stairs. I leap. I can barely manage these steep steps, but I strain and trip my way to the top and tear down another hallway and through an open door. I scramble across the floor, heading for some sort of cabinet or something, and tuck in quickly behind it. My heart is thumping so loudly in my ears that I can’t hear anything else.

  I try to calm myself, but I’m shaking, so I crouch down and hope for the best.

  What do I do? How do I get out of here? What about Etta?

  It’s nearly impossible to think, so I concentrate on breathing.

  What’s that smell?

  Sniff. Sniff.

  I lift my nose.

  Kibble.

  Newspaper.

  Wood shavings.

  A peculiar noise rises up through my muffled ears. Shuffling. Scratching.

  I strain my neck to peer out of my hiding place without fully emerging. The room is filled with all sorts of interesting things. Toys, for one. Like some of the things Carly gives us to swat around our condo. And books. Stacked neatly on a shelf. I think of Carly. Her books. Her voice. The way it rises and falls when she reads. That just reminds me of Etta, and I feel terrible all over again.

  But there’s that sound. Shuffle, shuffle. Scratch, scratch.

  I step out from my hiding place and see a row of bins, like the ones that hold kibble at the shelter. Only these bins are filled with tiny, colorful bricks. Hundreds. No, thousands of shiny bricks. And so many colorful things made from these bricks. I recognize them from Carly’s books: an airplane, a sailing ship, a castle, and an enormous structure in the middle of the room. It’s at least two or three times as tall as me, reaching up to the ceiling. I cock my head and twitch my whiskers.

  “That’s the Sears Tower of Chicago,” a perky voice calls out. I jump back. “Well, it’s not the actual Sears Tower, of course. The real one is in Chicago, and that’s a long way from San Francisco. And also, it’s not called the Sears Tower anymore. Just so you know. This is a replica. Georgina and I are almost finished with it.”

  I peek out again, just barely.

  “Come on out,” the voice says. “This is the best room in the house. Do you see how the afternoon sun streams like a rainbow right through the window and lands like a pot of gold in the middle of the floor?”

  I look at the floor. Rainbow? Pot of gold? Please.

  But that voice. Where is it coming from?

  I scan the room again. I should have seen it earlier. In the corner. Another structure. A home of some sort. Like a plastic palace. With tunnels. Platforms. Walkways. Connecting this to that and here to there. It has food bowls and waterspouts and fluff.

  Fluff on the floor.

  Fluff in the tunnels.

  Fluff pushing out through the roof.

  So much fluff.

  If only Etta were here. We had seen something like this at the shelter. The creature inside was fascinating. It sent us both into a tizzy.

  Sure enough, on a platform at the very top of the palace, is a hamster.

  “Mo Pemberton, at your service,” the little guy says. Then he pops the door in the ceiling of his home and scrambles out and down to the floor.

  A tickle wiggles around in my stomach. I snap my tail. And twitch my whiskers.

  I creep forward into the middle of the room and breathe in a lungful of the little guy. He smells . . . I can’t describe it. Tasty!

  I simply can’t help myself—

  I spring forward and pounce!

  Chapter 4

  “Holy habitat!” the hamster cries out and dives behind his plastic palace. “Now hold on just a minute!”

  My aggression is kind of a surprise to me. I pull back and sit still.

  “You are energetic,” he says. “And what style! Why, you’ve got more colors than a Lucky Charms cereal box. I know because I just dismantled one yesterday.”

  “These are my calico colors,” I say, lifting my chin.

  “Marvelous,” he says.

  The furry fellow tiptoes out from behind his plastic palace and inches his way over to me.

  “You got a name?” he says. He has graying fur on his ears and a paunchy stomach. His hands are delicate, with long fingers that he holds together and taps at their tips, like he’s thinking or planning.

  “Elvis,” I say, snapping my tail for effect.

  “Well, you must be our new roommate. We heard we were getting a new one.”

  “No, no,” I say. “I’m not staying here.” I press my face a little closer to Mo’s and take in another big whiff. My stomach growls.

  “Ah,” Mo says. He grabs hold of one of his long whiskers and
holds it between his thumb and forefinger.

  “This is all a big mistake,” I say. “I was supposed to stay with my sister. We were supposed to be together.”

  I watch Mo the hamster begin to twist that poor little whisker round and round. He twists while he speaks. “I see,” he says. “Well, you must be tired from your travels. Georgina and I are almost finished with the Sears Tower. Let me tell you about it. It’s quite remarkable.”

  “I’m not interested in your tower,” I say. This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. A hamster who wants to talk about a tower. Please. “I need to get back to Etta. She’s my sister. She needs me.”

  “Yes,” he says. “Of course.” He stops twisting and scurries over to the Sears Tower and climbs up to the top and waves. “You need to know, first and foremost,” he calls out, “that the Sears Tower is made from bundled tubes. See how they have the appearance of steps?”

  “No,” I say. This guy is nuts. I look around and spot a window. An escape route! How to get to it?

  While I’m thinking, Mr. Mo keeps right on talking.

  “Tubes of varying heights are bundled together, forming a collection of towers . . .” blah blah blah, “resist outside forces,” blah blah blah, “. . . wind and gravity . . .” blah blah blah. “What do you think of that?”

  “Whatever,” I say, zeroing in on a chair. I jump up onto it and try to angle myself closer to the window. “I don’t have time for this, sir.”

  “Everyone has time for architecture,” he says. Then he lifts his tiny hamster head and yells, “LAVERNE! OUR NEW ROOMMATE WANTS TO LEARN ABOUT THE SEARS TOWER!”

  “No, I don’t,” I say. “Arcs and textures? Please.”

  “Architecture,” he says. “Building design. I’m a builder, you see. What do you do?”

  “I’m a kitten,” I say. “I do what kittens do. Duh.”

  “Oh, I see. You haven’t figured out your raison d’être.”

  “My raisin what?” Now I’m getting frustrated.

  “Your purpose,” he says. “Everyone has one. Laverne—up there on the bureau—she’s our guard fish.” Mo nods at the tall piece of furniture under the window.

  Sure enough, I look up, and a pair of goggly eyes stares down at me through a glass bowl.

  “Laverne keeps us posted on the comings and goings around here. From her position, she can see all the way down the hall. She is always on the lookout. She gave me a warning when you arrived.”

  I realize that I may be able to jump up there from the chair, so I dig my nails into the fabric and spring off. My landing is shaky, and I slide and almost knock right into the glass bowl. I get a close-up view. Fascinating!

  Apparently, there is more to a fish than just eyes. Laverne is solid orange. Her fur is feathery, and her black, glassy eyes protrude from her face on either side of her head. She glides easily through the water in continuous circles. There’s a rock in there, with a hole in it. Like a hiding place. I’ve never seen anything like this in my life. Bubbles float. Tiny waves roll. The floor is covered with sparkly blue pebbles, and there is a glittery box in the center with letters on it. I see a T. I know T from the alphabet book, but I can’t remember what it stands for, so I don’t know what it says. Laverne jolts in and out of her rock and around and around.

  The whole thing is tremendously thrilling, and I feel another tickle in my tummy. I reach into the bowl and touch the water.

  Laverne jumps out with a flip and yells, “KEEP OUT!” Then that crazy orange fish nips at my toes.

  I back up and turn my attention to the window, which I realize is right next to me. I try to push it open, but it doesn’t budge. I see the out-of-doors. Trees, cars, other houses. And believe it or not, another one of those Old Glories, flapping in the breeze just outside this window.

  Suddenly, that crazy orange fish splashes and yells some more. “INCOMING! THE KID!”

  I jump at the volume of her gurgling voice and almost fall to the floor.

  In the doorway is a human girl with skinny arms held tightly at her side.

  I try to hide behind Laverne’s bowl but realize you can see right through it. So I jump to the chair and onto the floor and scramble for the bookshelf. Behind the books, I watch as the girl leans down and hands Mo a cardboard something or other. Mo holds it up in the air and jumps twice. “Thanks, Georgina,” he says.

  Aha! Georgina.

  Georgina approaches the bookshelf, and I brace for a confrontation. Surely this human will try to pick me up. She’ll probably poke and prod at my body, pull my tail, and squeeze me so I can’t breathe. She might even go get that annoying Mrs. Pemberton.

  I close my eyes and hold my breath.

  But nothing happens.

  When I finally open my eyes, the girl is sitting on the floor in front of me.

  She lifts her brows. Her brown eyes are wide and soft around the edges. Her hair is parted on the side and held in place with a shiny pink something or other. On her shirt is a picture of a big, red apple. And a whole bunch of buildings. Towers, like Mo was talking about.

  She slowly reaches her hand out toward me, but I pull back and crouch. She sets her hand on the floor and taps her fingers lightly. “Hello,” she whispers.

  I lean forward, down on my belly, and inch toward those dancing fingers. They are delicate and strong-looking at the same time. They look like fun. But I’m not going to fall for any human tricks, that’s for sure. Not after everything that’s happened today.

  Her fingers stop moving. She looks right into my eyes and blinks three times. I think about blinking back but change my mind. Then she reaches into one of the bins and pulls out a yellow brick and pushes it toward me. It’s shiny and tempting. But I stay low and wait. It is nearly impossible. I don’t move a whisker for what seems like hours.

  Georgina watches me. She doesn’t try to poke me or pull my tail. She doesn’t push her face into mine, and she speaks very softly. “Welcome,” she says. Surely she’s trying to fool me.

  I decide to take a chance and come out from my hiding spot—but only a little bit. I make sure to stay away from Georgina, but I keep my eyes on her, just in case.

  Georgina opens a very large book and flips through the pages.

  “That’s our architecture book,” Mo says, skittering over and tapping on it like he rules the world. “Georgina got it for her birthday. It’s our inspiration!” He rambles on some more about the Sears Tower like some kind of know-it-all. He talks about the architect who designed it—Bruce somebody or other—and the year it was completed—nineteen seventy-something. And then Laverne calls out again, and I almost fall over dead.

  “INCOMING! MOMMY!”

  Apparently, “Mommy” is the same thing as Mrs. Pemberton, because there she is, front and center. “Georgina! Oh, good. Elvis is out of hiding. I am so glad. Isn’t he the cutest?” Mrs. Pemberton snaps me up before I can get away. “I know things have been difficult, Georgina,” Mrs. Pemberton says. “And I thought a new, precious pet would be comforting. Elvis is all yours, Georgina.”

  “What? No, I’m not!” I say.

  Mrs. Pemberton holds me in front of Georgina, who gently takes me into her arms and sets me back down on the floor. I scramble back behind the bookshelf.

  “He’s adorable, Mommy. But a new kitten needs a quiet space.”

  “Yes, of course he does. You’re right,” Mrs. Pemberton says, backing off and putting her hands on her hips.

  Ha! Georgina showed her. Even still, Mommy Pemberton keeps right on talking. “We have the Fourth of July block party in a little while. You and I are going together, Georgina. It’s going to be fun. And there will be other kids. For you to play with.” She grabs her tail of hair and tilts her head. “What do you say?”

  “I don’t want to play with other kids,” Georgina says.

  “Oh, Georgina,” Mommy Pemberton says. She smiles and wiggles around. “There’s going to be sparklers. And cupcakes.”

  “Fine,” Georgina says.
“I’ll go.”

  Georgina picks up the little yellow brick and gets another one from the bin. She presses the two together. SNAP! Then she turns the joined pieces over and over in her fingers.

  “Mo and I are just about finished with the Sears Tower,” she says.

  “I see that, Georgina. It’s quite impressive.”

  “Did you look for that picture on your phone, Mommy? From Chicago?”

  “That was a terrible trip, Georgina,” Mrs. Mommy says, shaking her head. “Honey, I’m glad you’re working with your LEGOs. It’s a worthwhile STEM activity, and I support it. But wouldn’t you like me to schedule a playdate for you one of these days?”

  “I don’t need a playdate. I have skyscrapers to build. Will you look on your phone?”

  “Of course. I’ll look for it,” Mommy says, petting her tail. “I have a few emails to answer right now, so grab your sweatshirt and meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”

  Mommy stands there and sighs. Georgina looks up and nods. Then Mommy turns and leaves.

  Humans are terrible at conversating. It’s embarrassing to watch. Just like the dogs at the shelter. Bark, bark, bark. Maybe one intelligent word, if you’re lucky.

  Mo scampers into one of the bins and comes out with a shiny, black brick. He hands it to Georgina, who adds it to the Sears Tower with a SNAP! I like the sound. Georgina adds another one. SNAP! CLICK! It reminds me of the shelter.

  The two continue with this for a few minutes, then Georgina pats Mo’s head with her finger. She looks over at me, says my name, “Elvis,” and leaves the room. That’s my cue.

  “It was nice meeting you,” I say to Mo, who seems to be counting bricks. “But I have to leave, too.”

  “Are you sure?” he says, twisting that poor little whisker again. “We could use your help around here. You heard Georgina. We’ve got skyscrapers to build. And summer vacation doesn’t last forever.”

  I shake my head. Skyscrapers. Please. And, whatever summer vacation is, it has nothing to do with me and Etta. So I head for the door. I look out into the hallway and then back at Georgina’s room.