Elvis and the World As It Stands

by Lisa Frenkel Riddiough

  “I hope you reconsider,” Mo calls out. “Either way, steer clear of Clementine.”

  Clementine? Whatever.

  I wave Mo off and step over the threshold and into the darkening hallway.

  Chapter 5

  The hallway is long and wide. I’m not sure where to go from here. I see another window down the way, so I head in that direction.

  The window is so high up that I’m not sure how I’m going to reach it. Jumping is really my only option. I crouch and push off my hind legs with all I’ve got and grab onto the edge. But I slip off backward and do a flip in midair. I surprise myself and land on all fours. Wow!

  I shake off the shock, suck in a lungful of air, leap, and fall again.

  There’s got to be something to step on. But there is nothing in the hallway except for a large board on the wall. It reminds me of the white board at the shelter, only this one is the color of kibble: brown. Pinned to it is something I easily recognize: a calendar. Strangely, this calendar does not have a single X on it. It’s got other letters, though, that I know from Carly’s alphabet book. Ds and Ms. In every box. Everyone knows that you’re supposed to put Xes in each box, to mark the day. This calendar is all wrong. Oh, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve got to get to that window.

  I peer around looking for ideas but can’t come up with anything, so I decide to abandon this plan and head for the stairs. Just then, a light flashes in the window followed by POP! CRACKLE! BANG!

  I jump straight up and scramble, but the floor is slippery. I roll head-over-tail to get away from another enormous blast. ZIP! ZIP! BANG! I scramble through the first door I see and slide underneath the bed inside. That ticking tower downstairs must have finally exploded.

  The popping and zapping continues all around me, and I’m sure something is going to crash down and ruin everything forever. The room shakes, windows rattle, and flashing lights bounce off the walls. I squint and feel dizzy, and my ears pound and ache, and there’s no way these bed skirts can protect me. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for destruction.

  Maybe I should run back into Georgina’s room, but I can barely breathe. My tail twitches, my whiskers tremble, and the fur on my back stands straight up. I don’t know what to do.

  Finally, there is a break in the commotion, and my heartbeat slows. An echo rings in my ears, but I am able to take a deep breath.

  I open my eyes to see the silhouette of another feline sitting right in front of me. I see the sparkle of a glittery collar.

  “What are you doing under here?” the feline says.

  “Part of the world blew up,” I say.

  “Perfectly pitiful. That’s just the fireworks, you fluffy imp.”

  “Oh, right. The fireworks,” I say. “Of course.”

  “Fireworks are the celebratory flamboyance of the entertainment-centric human race. They cannot be avoided on Independence Day.”

  I don’t know what the heck this feline is talking about, but I play along. “I know,” I say. “It was quite loud. The whole place almost came crashing down—ha!”

  “Well, the world is a loud place, and things come crashing down all the time, so you’d better get used to it. I take it you’re the consolation prize.” This feline has a way with words, and most of them I’ve never heard before.

  “Maybe I am,” I say with my chin up.

  I watch the cat move from beneath the bed and into the light of the room. She’s pasty yellow with a splattering of brown along her back and a single splotch of orange on her hip. Long, tufted fur frames her face. And her tail is bent and twisted. What a mess.

  Then it occurs to me. “Are you Clementine?”

  “What’s it to you?” she says.

  “I thought you were supposed to be scary,” I say.

  “BOO!” she says, and throws her head back laughing.

  I lean backward. Please.

  “That ratty mouse and his fishy friend are telling stories again, aren’t they,” she says, preening her orange patch.

  “Mo is a hamster,” I say.

  “Hamster, mouse, rat, guinea pig. It’s all the same to me. Rodents! They’re ruinous.”

  “Well, my name is Elvis, and I was just on my way out.”

  “I know exactly who you are. Mommy had to find something for Georgina to make up for all the changes around here. And you’re that something.”

  “Of course,” I say, like I’ve known it all along. But then curiosity gets me. “What changes?”

  “I’m talking about Mommy and Daddy. Daddy doesn’t live here anymore, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She licks her paw and smooths the uneven fur on her face.

  “Sure, I noticed,” I say—a bit of a lie. “But it’s no concern of mine since I’m about to leave.”

  “Good,” she says. “Because it’s pure chaos in this house, and we don’t need any other characters to add to the drama. And, by the way, this is Mommy’s room, and it’s off-limits!”

  She glares at me and begins to slink away. And that’s when I realize it. I’ve seen her before. On one of the posters at the shelter. She’s practically famous!

  “You’re from the Second Chance Club,” I say.

  Clementine stops in her tracks. She turns back around and snarls, “How do you know about the Second Chance Club?”

  “It’s at the City Shelter of Care and Comfort,” I say. “Everyone deserves a second chance. It’s common knowledge. Not that most ever get one, from what I’ve . . . heard.”

  “You don’t know anything,” she hisses like Rupert. “Now get out of my chamber! And keep your pitiful paws off Mommy. She’s mine. We don’t want anything to do with you or that ridiculous rodent.”

  “Alright! That’s enough, Clementine.” It’s Mo. He’s suddenly standing in the doorway. “There’s no need to be rude to Elvis. For goodness sake, it’s his first day here.”

  “Oh, what do you care?” Clementine says, flicking her crooked tail. “P.S. Mo, I’m feeling a little snack attack coming on.”

  “Wait! Don’t fight over me,” I say. “This might be my first day here, but it’s also my last. Remember? I’m leaving.”

  “Come on, Elvis,” Mo says. “Let’s give Clementine her space.”

  I don’t know why, but I follow Mo out the door. I turn back and look at Clementine. She sits and grooms the orange spot on her hip. She sees me and curls her tail around her body, sort of. I feel sorry for her tail.

  Back in Georgina’s room, I need to know. “What’s her deal?” I ask.

  “She’s got a history,” Mo says.

  “What kind of history? Why was she in the Second Chance Club?”

  “Whatever the reason, it has affected her outlook on life. The way she sees the world.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course,” I say.

  “You’ve got to keep your eyes focused on the positive. Don’t look back,” Mo says.

  “I agree,” I say. “Focus on the positive.” I hold my head up, not letting Mo know that I can’t think of anything positive at all right now. It seems I am stuck in this house. I can’t figure out how to get out and back to the shelter. And even if I could, it’s dark out there, and I won’t be able to orient myself. And on top of all of that, I’m exhausted.

  Mo scurries right up to my face and puts his hands on my cheeks. I’m so tired that I ignore the urge in my stomach. “Elvis, sometimes finding the positive takes concentration,” he says.

  “I know that,” I say. And then I think about concentrating on the positive and nothing happens.

  I stretch my neck around a bit and watch Mo. He skitters across the floor, climbs back up to the top of his plastic palace, pops the door open, and crawls inside. Something about that is all wrong!

  “Hey,” I say. “How come you’re not locked up in that plastic house of yours?”

  “Elvis, this is a home, not a prison,” he says.

  “But why on earth would you stay here if you could leave?” I ask.

  “Simple. I like it here.”

>   “Well, I don’t like it here, and I’m leaving,” I say.

  “I know. You already said that. But we’re starting on the Transamerica Pyramid soon. It’s the skyscraper near Daddy’s office, and you’re not going to want to miss that,” Mo says. “In the meantime, I need to get some shut-eye. Good night, Elvis.” He crawls into one of his fluff-filled tunnels and disappears.

  The Trans-a-whatever it is. Please.

  There is no denying that I’m too tired to try to leave tonight. I crawl under Georgina’s bed. It’s like the bed from that one princess fairy tale of Carly’s with lots of pillows and blankets. Etta would love it. I find a pile of wrinkled clothes under here, so I start treading. I’ll leave in the morning when the sun is up and I have more energy.

  I close my eyes and try to get comfortable. It’s not easy. Every so often the room lights up and the windows rattle. The “celebratory flamboyance,” I think, covering my ears. Why does it have to be so loud?

  I’m still awake when Georgina climbs into bed above me. She tosses around for a few minutes. The bed creaks and squeaks. I hear a few splashy plips coming from Laverne’s bowl, too. And then, finally, after a long sigh, I hear Georgina’s slow, soft breath. It rumbles gently. Just like Etta’s. But Georgina is not Etta!

  Oh, Etta. Are you in our condo at the shelter? Are you curled in the corner, treading alone on the hard, cold glass? Who will be there to greet you in the morning and gently nudge you awake? Who will tumble with you after breakfast? Who will be there to answer all your questions? It should be me, and it is not. I am here. You are I don’t know where you are, and I can’t stand it.

  Chapter 6

  I wake to the sound of whooshing and rattling.

  I stretch my arms and legs and yawn so loudly that a fierce growl escapes my mouth. I poke my head out from under the bed and creep forward, and for a moment, I can’t remember where I am.

  “Good morning,” Mo says from inside his plastic palace. He’s on his wheel, running. “It’s good to get your exercise out of the way first thing, I always say.”

  This guy’s joy is annoying, and I need to get the heck out of here. If only my stomach wasn’t screaming.

  “What do you have on the docket for today?” Mo asks.

  “The docket?” Here we go with more code words.

  “The agenda. The schedule,” he says.

  My heart says that I am headed out immediately, back to the shelter to find Etta. But going to sleep last night without a snack really did me in. “Breakfast,” I say.

  “Marvelous! A good meal in the morning makes all the difference,” Mo says.

  “Whatever,” I say, and slip out the door. I’m in that long hallway again, and I can see the window and the door that leads to Mommy’s room. I find the stairs and hop down swiftly.

  In the kitchen, Mrs. Mommy clippity-clops around and sips loudly on her human drink, while Georgina sits at the counter. Clementine is at the food bowl. I don’t even consider butting in.

  “Georgina,” Mommy says. “You have a busy day today. I’m dropping you off at the library for Reading Circle. My workday is crammed, so Jasmine will pick you up from the library and be your chauffeur. You’ve got swimming lessons and piano. And did you check the calendar? Ms all week until Friday. Then it’s a D day again. Daddy says he might take you to San Francisco this weekend.”

  “You said we were going to New York City this summer,” Georgina says. “ALL THREE OF US TOGETHER.”

  “Georgina, I don’t know if we’re going to be able to do that,” Mommy says.

  “But we talked about it with Daddy.”

  “I know we did, sweetie. But sometimes plans change.”

  “But you said—”

  “Georgina.” Mommy sits down next to Georgina and takes her hand. “We’re all doing the best we can.”

  Georgina looks down at me, but she doesn’t smile. Mommy just sits there. I’m glad that neither one of them feels the need to grab me and squeeze me to death. What a relief!

  At least now I know what the D on the calendar stands for. Of course I know.

  Technically, I have a daddy, too, not that I’ve ever met him. And a mother. I’m sure of it. I think of before, back then. I feel it, anyway. The comfort. The safety. And Etta. Hey, if the D stands for Daddy, then the M must stand for—

  “Elvis!” Mommy suddenly scoops me up. She puts her face up to mine and then takes a huge whiff of my tummy. My tummy! Please. “We just love you so much,” she says in that baby voice. “Kittens are such a joy. Isn’t that right, Georgina? And, I bet Clementine is happy to have a feline friend.”

  I try to look at Georgina, but I can’t move my head. My shoulders are scrunched up to the tips of my ears, and I’m completely helpless.

  Mommy holds me out to Georgina. Georgina gently takes me into her arms. She kisses my head and says my name, “Elvis.” Then she sets me on the floor. I skedaddle behind the counter and try to hide. I certainly don’t need to be kissed on the head like that.

  Clementine saunters past me toward the hallway. “Out of my way,” she scowls.

  I scoot up to the food bowl with high hopes. Empty! Not a crumb in there. My stomach churns and I lick at the edge of the bowl, hoping for something.

  “Georgina, shuffle on upstairs and put a comb through that hair, will you,” Mommy says. “And grab your sweatshirt. I need to answer an email, then we’re out of here in ten.”

  Georgina refills the food and water bowls and crouches down near me. I pull back into the corner, suspicious. But she just smiles at me and leaves. Good. At last I can fill my tummy.

  After I eat and wash down the kibble with a few laps of water, I head down the hall to the front door. I spot that window again, the one by the sofa, and consider checking it out.

  “What are you still doing here, anyway?” Clementine says from around the corner.

  “I’m leaving, okay?” I say. “It’s not that easy.”

  “It’s about the easiest thing there is, you fluffy imp,” she says.

  Clementine comes into view and sits squarely in front of me. She leans over and grooms the orange patch on her hip.

  “Hide behind Big Ben.” She nods at that ticking tower then dramatically continues licking.

  “Wait for Mommy to get the tote bag.” Lick, lick.

  “The book bag.” Lick.

  “And all the other bags that define the human existence.” Lick. Lick.

  “She can’t bring everything outside to that motor car of hers all at once.” Lick.

  “You mean the rambling contraption?” I say.

  “It’s called a car, Elvis.”

  “Yes. A car. I know,” I say.

  “Anyway, she always leaves this door, right here, wide open.” Lick. Lick.

  “All you have to do is wait.” Lick. Lick. Lick.

  “It’s easy as A, B, C.”

  “A, B, C? Do you know the alphabet?” I say, shocked.

  “Oh, for the love of furballs! JUST LEAVE WHEN THE DOOR IS OPEN! Sheesh!”

  “Okay, I know,” I say. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Your absence will be better for all of us.” Lick. Lick.

  Clementine hops up onto one of the chairs in the big room near the front door and nestles into a blanket draped over the back.

  I’m suspicious of the whole thing. But at this point, I’ve got nothing to lose. So I sit behind Big Ben, the exploding tower—and wait. And why is it called Big Ben, anyway?

  Chapter 7

  In a matter of minutes, Mommy marches down the hallway and starts doing exactly what Clementine said she would. I glance at Clementine on the back of the big chair. She smirks at me and preens her paws like a glamour puss.

  Mommy brings over a big bag, filled to the brim with who knows what, and sets it by the front door. Then she brings over another bag, filled with books. I watch her shuffle into the kitchen for yet another item, which is not a bag, but more like a box or something. Finally, she places a sweater on top of all
of it. I remain undetected behind Big Ben.

  “Georgina! Hop to!” Mommy yells. “Time to go!” She stands and pets her tail of hair. She looks around and spots Clementine on the back of the chair. Clementine immediately jumps off and circles Mommy’s feet, yowling and begging for attention. Mommy leans down and pats the top of her head and says, “Aren’t you so happy to have a new kitty friend?”

  Clementine looks over at me and very clearly says, “No!” But Mommy doesn’t hear her. She just opens the door and carries two of the bags outside. I can see past the porch to the front lawn, the sidewalk, and even across the street. A shiver runs from the back of my neck to the tip of my tail. It’s my chance.

  I perk up my ears. Noises from the out-of-doors come in loud and clear. Birds chirp. Cars motor by. A horn honks.

  All sorts of scents waft under my nose. Sweet. Fresh. Inviting.

  The cool air ruffles my fur. I breathe in a lungful.

  “It’s now or never, kid,” Clementine says.

  She’s right. I push off my back legs and spring through the door.

  I duck behind a flowerpot on the porch and contemplate which direction to take. Where is the shelter from here? I realize I have no idea what to do next. I’m in the out-of-doors, and it’s so big.

  Mommy stands half-in, half-out of her car. I glance over my shoulder to the house. A jolt of energy pushes through my body and I leap down the porch steps and land in the grass. Cold. Squishy. Spongy.

  I skitter across the lawn as fast as I can and hop onto the sidewalk. To one side, a man walks a dog in my direction. To the other, a gaggle of kids skip and shout as they approach. My heart pounds in my chest.

  I step off the sidewalk into the gutter and onto the dark pavement of the street. I’m sure I’ll know what to do if I can just get across the street. But it’s hot on my paws. I do a one-paw-at-a-time dance to keep from burning my pads. Water pools in the gutter on the other side. It’s the relief I need. I make a run for it.

  “Elvisssssss!” I hear.