Elvis and the World As It Stands

by Lisa Frenkel Riddiough

  “This is hard,” I say to Mo.

  “Life is hard,” Mo says. “That doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying.”

  I think about this for a minute. “I know,” I say.

  Georgina and Mo build. I help with what I can, of course. But mostly I study the letters.

  “X,” I say, thinking of Etta and me.

  “X is in the word expert, Elvis,” Mo says. “You can hear it right in there.”

  “You know, I’m an expert on Etta,” I say, as Mo and Georgina finish with the Empire State Building.

  “Oh?” Mo says.

  “Of course. Etta loves to pretend to be an X,” I say.

  “To be an expert, you need to know a little more than just that,” Mo says.

  “Etta treads in her sleep,” I say. “And her rumble is soft and sweet. And her whiskers twitch when she’s hungry.” I try to picture her sleeping right now. I wonder what her bed looks like. Does she have a warm pile of blankets to sleep in? What does she eat for dinner? Does she have roommates like Mo and Laverne? What about a human friend? Is there a sad and grumpy feline in her house like Clementine?

  When I add up all that I know about Etta, I realize I don’t know much at all. I don’t even know where she lives. I feel stuck all over again and stare at the X in my alphabet book. The only thing X really means to me is that the day is over. Done with. Crossed out.

  Georgina suddenly bursts with information about the Empire State Building. “It was finished in record time,” she says. “Four and a half floors per week—we were much faster than that! It took a total of seven million hours. That’s with six thousand workers. It says right here it was a multiethnic work force.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask Mo.

  “It means when everyone is from different backgrounds,” Mo says. “Like all of us.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I say. But it sounds ridiculous. I’m a cat from a shelter. Mo is a hamster in a plastic palace. Laverne lives in water. Georgina is a human who lives in two houses. And yet here we are.

  Mommy comes into the room and stands with her hands on her hips.

  “We finished it, Mommy,” Georgina says.

  “I can see that,” she says. “You certainly are focused, Georgina. That’s such a positive trait that will serve you well in life.”

  “Mommy, did you know that an airplane flew into the Empire State Building?” This certainly gets my attention.

  “You mean the Twin Towers—the World Trade Center,” Mommy says.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. 9/11. We’ve discussed this before.”

  “Look, Mommy. Read this right here.” Georgina points to a page in the Big Book of American Architecture, and Mommy reads aloud.

  “On July 28, 1945, at 9:49 A.M., a B-25 bomber accidentally flew into the seventy-eighth and seventy-ninth floors of the Empire State Building. Because it was a Saturday, fatalities were minimal.” Mommy looks up and says, “Wow! I had no idea. I have never heard anything about this in my life.”

  I look over at Mo, shocked. An airplane crashing into a skyscraper. That’s terrible. I can’t believe that would happen. Mo scampers over to the book to look at the picture.

  Georgina continues. “It says that the building didn’t come crashing down. It was open for business the very next Monday. But, Mommy, the Twin Towers came crashing down. Why did the Empire State Building stay in place? I don’t understand.”

  “9/11 was different,” Mommy says. “It had to do with the size of the airplanes. And all that gasoline.”

  “You saw the Twin Towers in real life,” Georgina says.

  “Yes, I did. That was a long time ago.”

  “It’s not fair that we can’t go to New York! Why can’t we go?”

  “Georgina, we’ve discussed this.”

  Georgina sighs and drops her head. “I need a picture, Mommy. From when you and Daddy visited. Just before 9/11. I know we have one. I’ve seen it before.”

  “You remember everything, don’t you, Georgina?” Mommy says.

  I finally have to ask Mo. “Why does she keep saying those numbers? Nine and eleven?”

  “It was the date of the tragedy,” he says.

  I walk over to Georgina and give her a headbutt. She lifts me into her arms and snuggles me. But no one says anything else about those numbers.

  Chapter 17

  “Bambi should have been back by now,” I say to Mo while he’s shredding part of an egg carton.

  I amble into the hallway to check the calendar. The letters that used to be at the top, J-U-L-Y, have been replaced with A-U-G-U-S-T. I know all these letters, of course. And Mo already told me that the month after July is August, so, technically, I know what those letters spell. And we’re already halfway through it!

  It is Saturday, August 14. There is a big D in the square, which makes perfect sense since Georgina left for Daddy’s house yesterday. I come back into our room and tell Mo the date.

  “It’s been more than four weeks,” he says.

  “I knew it!” I reply. “Where is Bambi? He was supposed to come back for me.”

  “Maybe they made him stay at camp,” Mo says. “Poor pup.”

  “Poor pup, nothing,” I say.

  “Elvis, you know that the chances of Etta still being at the shelter are slim. It is unlikely,” Mo says.

  I know this is true. Of course I know it. But who on earth would leave their sister and never try to find her again? “Why would Bambi make a promise and not keep it?” I say.

  Laverne flips and splashes. “INCOMING! DANGER!”

  Clementine prances in and scowls right into my face. “Don’t you know you can’t depend on a dog?” she says.

  “A promise is a promise,” I say, turning my head away from that annoying feline.

  “Dogs are not in control of their own lives. They love being told what to do—all that sit, stay, shake garbage. If you want something important done, ask a feline.”

  “What? Are you going to take me to the shelter?” I laugh at the thought of it.

  “Yes,” she says, licking at her orange patch. “If it’s the only way to get you out of here. Then, yes. I’ll take you to the shelter.”

  “You don’t even know how to get there,” I say. Please.

  “I know a lot more than you or that ratty mouse give me credit for,” she says.

  “Clementine,” Mo says. “We give you credit for a lot of things. We just wish you’d be a little friendlier.”

  “THAT’S WHAT I’M DOING RIGHT NOW!” she yowls. “Besides, I have my own reasons for going.”

  I cock my head sideways and snap my tail. “How do you know where the shelter is?” I walk closer to her. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” I am suspicious. And twitchy.

  “None of that matters, you fluffy imp,” she says.

  “When can we leave?” I ask.

  “As soon as we get that wretched pink thing off your leg.”

  Mo scrambles up to Clementine, holding his hands out to her face. “This isn’t a good idea, Clementine. You haven’t thought this through.”

  “It’s a great idea,” I say. “She wants to help. It’s a miracle!”

  “I’ve thought it through plenty,” she says. “Let’s get busy. Mo, get your nasty, gnawing chompers ready. We’re going to need them.”

  Chapter 18

  Mo is reluctant. But I beg and beg and beg. Like a dog. It’s embarrassing.

  Mo gives in and gnaws at my splint. I sit very still.

  “Can’t you go any faster?” I say.

  “This isn’t exactly a piece of cardboard. I don’t know what the material is, but I will say that it’s easier than plastic. I once chewed through a plastic container of almonds. I’d never tasted almonds and was thoroughly intrigued. But plastic! It’s terrible.”

  Mo continues chewing, but also takes frequent breaks to talk about plastic like a plastic know-it-all. It makes me twitch. Every moment that I am not on my way
to the shelter is, once again, a waste of time.

  “I love my plastic home,” Mo says. “But plastic has taken over the world. The material itself is miraculous. I mean, look at these LEGOs. But you can never get rid of it. Thankfully, the LEGO people are testing organic materials, like corn and wheat. Isn’t that marvelous?”

  “Mo, please concentrate,” I say.

  “Once I got to the almonds, there were plastic bits everywhere. I opted to reuse and recycle. I fashioned them into an artistic sculpture. It’s displayed right there on level three.” He points to his palace.

  I squint my eyes, and sure enough, some crazy artsy thing is sitting in the corner on one of his platforms. A is for appreciate art.

  Mo continues gnawing, and Clementine pulls with her teeth. It’s not fun to be the subject of this project, but eventually my paw is free. And then my whole leg. I hold it up. It looks terrible, all skinny and sickly. But I’ve never been so happy to see my own leg.

  I bite and pluck at the matted fur and lick and groom to try and make it look respectable.

  “Not the most attractive leg I’ve ever seen,” Clementine says.

  “Be careful when you step on it,” Mo says.

  I gently place my foot on the floor and tap twice. “Feels strong to me,” I say. I take a step and put my total weight on the newly revealed paw. I slip and fall over.

  “Holy habitat! Elvis, be careful!” Mo scampers around me, pulling on a poor, unsuspecting whisker.

  “Mo, I’m fine,” I say. “I just need to get used to it. It’s not a problem.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Clementine says. “We’ll be taking this journey slowly anyway. I’m not exactly a cheetah. Now, come on. Let’s get downstairs. Mommy is down there somewhere, and it’s just a matter of time before she opens the front door.” Clementine turns to me. “Are you coming or not?”

  “We’re going right this minute?” I say. I want to go. I’ve been wanting to go for weeks. So why is my head spinning?

  “Of course,” Clementine says. “You too, Mo! Get a move on.”

  “Me?” Mo says. “Oh no, I’m too old to venture out into the wild. I have reservations about the two of you as well.”

  I lean down and nudge Mo with my nose. He chuckles and tips over. But I suddenly have an ache in my stomache. “Georgina might not like the idea of all of us leaving.”

  “On the contrary,” Clementine says. “She’d want us all to stay together.”

  Hmmm? Maybe she would. The more I think about it, the more I realize I don’t want to leave without Mo.

  Mo stands and brushes his hamster hands down the sides of his round, fluffy body. He starts to reach for that whisker. He’s considering going. I know he is. If he starts to twist, it’s as good as a done deal.

  “Listen,” he says. “A lesser rodent like myself has no business on the streets with two felines.” But as he says it, his fragile little wrist begins to turn. I glance at Clementine, who rolls her eyes. Then, voila! He twists, and I am so relieved.

  “Oh, thank you, Mo! Thank you!” I say.

  “I didn’t say anything,” Mo says.

  “You didn’t have to. Now climb on board. You can ride between my shoulder blades. It’s first class up there, Mo. First class!”

  Mo crawls up my good leg and over my shoulder. He nestles into his comfort spot.

  “This is against my better judgement,” he says.

  “But it’s still a good decision,” I say.

  “Traveling with a fluffy imp and a ratty mouse,” Clementine says. “Who would have thought?”

  Who would have thought is right. Traveling with Clementine? But I don’t say anything negative. Instead I say, “It’s a multiethnic adventure.”

  Laverne splashes out a goodbye and good luck, and then we hobble down the stairs, hide behind Big Ben, and wait.

  Chapter 19

  The ticktock of the clock reminds me of a heartbeat again. Or maybe that’s my own heartbeat I feel.

  Mo’s grip on my scruff is tight. I can feel his tiny nails clutching on, and it tickles. But the three of us wait without saying a word. I have questions, that’s for sure. There is a part of me that is still not sure I can trust Clementine. How does she know how to get to the shelter? Why would she want to go there anyway? Maybe she’s playing a horrible trick on us.

  I am about to speak when the door flies open and Mommy marches in with her arms full of grocery bags and walks straight to the kitchen.

  “Now!” Clementine yells.

  We dart out the door and skid into place next to the flowerpot. I haven’t been in the out-of-doors in quite a long while. The smells. The sounds. The air itself. Fantastic!

  “There’s no time to lollygag,” Clementine says. “We have to get on our way right now so Mommy doesn’t spot us.”

  “It really is easy to get out of this house,” I say.

  “Of course it is. You should know that by now,” Clementine says.

  “Where to?” I say.

  “Just follow me. We’ll take the sidewalks until we have a reason to stay out of sight.”

  Looking over my shoulder at the house, I wonder if we’ll get back before Georgina returns from Daddy’s.

  I walk next to Clementine with a tiny little limp and a whole pile of hope.

  The air is chilly, but I feel alive. That whitish-gray fog stuff hangs in the air. It’s fluffy, like Etta. And also like the fluff in Mo’s plastic palace. Ha!

  Our pace is slow, with me just out of my splint. We hobble and wobble our way down the street.

  “How are you doing up there, Mo?” I ask.

  “I’d rather be indoors,” he says. “This is not my favorite thing in the world.”

  “You’re my emotional support, Mo. Thank you for coming.”

  We turn the corner, and there are so many cars. They zip and zoom past, and I wince at the memory of my accident. “Kind of dangerous out here,” I say.

  “Like I told you before,” Clementine says. “Life is dangerous. But if you want to get what you want, risks must be taken.”

  Mo whispers in my ear. “I hate to say it, but she’s right. No risk, no reward.”

  “I know,” I say. I feel the risk loud and clear turning flips in my stomach. I just want to hurry up and get to the reward.

  A car slows down next to us and a woman calls out the window, “Oh no! Little lost kitties. Here kitty, kitty.” The car stops and the woman starts to get out.

  “Leave us alone,” Clementine hisses. “This way, Elvis.”

  I follow Clementine into a plant with long, thin stems that have tiny purple buds at the ends. So sweet smelling. We duck there for a few moments, then make our way to an alley, where we hide behind a garbage can.

  “This alley is actually a shortcut. We’ll be fine,” Clementine says.

  “I hope so,” I say.

  It’s a thin gravel road jammed with parked cars and garbage bins and an odor that stings my nose. A cold wind picks up and ruffles my fur. Dust blows in my eyes and I blink rapidly, trying to clear the itch. “How much further?”

  “We’re close. When we get to the coffee shop up ahead, we go right, and then we walk past the pet store, and then it’s two more blocks.”

  “A pet store,” Mo says. “Oh dear.”

  “I thought pet stores were your motherland?” Clementine says.

  “It’s true. I was born in a pet store.” Mo says. “But let’s not talk about that right now—we have goals and objectives.”

  Yes. Goals and objectives.

  “Clementine, do you go to the shelter often?” I ask.

  “Maybe,” she says. “It’s not really any of your business now, is it?”

  Mo digs into my neck with his claws. But I’m curious. “Why haven’t you ever mentioned it before?” I say. “Do you have littermates? A brother? A sister?”

  “Shut your yapper,” she says.

  “I’m just curious,” I say. “Geez.”

  “Well, you
know what they say about curiosity and cats.”

  “Of course I know,” I say. But I have no idea, and that makes me even more curious. I don’t pester her anymore. I can’t help but think that Clementine has a family out there somewhere.

  Clementine looks up and nods at what is in front of us. “This is Kal’s. It’s a coffee shop. Now follow me to the back. It’s snack time.”

  We enter a narrow space around the side of the building. There is a door there with a tiny bell mounted to the wall, right at our height. Clementine headbutts the bell.

  “Well, isn’t that convenient,” Mo says. “I think I might like a bell at my place. I’m putting that on my project list.”

  In no time at all, a strange-looking girl opens the door. She has drawings on her arms and neck and metal clips in her nose and ears and on her eyebrows. She looks like she is being pinched.

  “Yikes,” I say.

  Clementine snaps her tail at me and says, “Oh, stop it, Elvis. This is Pearl.” Clementine purrs seductively and slinks around Pearl’s ankles, which are also covered in drawings.

  “Hi, sweet baby,” Pearl says. “I see you brought a playmate today. How wonderful.” I feel Mo burrow into my neck, and I don’t think that Pearl sees him. That is until she leans down and scratches my chin. “Oh wow! Is that a hamster? Holy moly.” She reaches out to touch Mo, but he burrows in. “Okay, little fella. I’ll leave you alone.”

  Pearl pats the top of my head and then reaches into her pocket and produces a small bit of something. She gives a piece of it to Clementine and a piece of it to me. She even puts a tiny morsel on her finger and presents it to Mo, who accepts it, I think. Not that I can see him at this point.

  I sniff the small bit and decide to give it a try. I can’t place the taste, but it is delicious.

  “Du fromage!” Mo says. “Cheese.”

  Pearl gives us each another bit, and it makes my tummy sing.

  After a few minutes doting on us, Pearl bids us farewell. “Be careful out there. I’m a little nervous for you all,” she says, and heads back inside.

  I’m not nervous. I just want to get there.