When Kittens Go Viral

by Darcy Pattison

  “Yes!” PittyPat twined her tail around mine. She did that when she was excited. “In my acting videos, I want to surprise people. They think cats will do this or that. I want to do the other things.”

  Suddenly the door of our kennel opened.

  There was the Director.

  MamaGrace said he was a sphynx cat. She said he was a fine-looking cat.

  But he was bald, and his stomach hung out. His skinny neck was full of wrinkles. His back had rows of wrinkles from his spine to his belly. The only thing not wrinkled was his ears, which were huge.

  “Time for work,” the Director said.

  Quincy sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

  PittyPat bounded toward him, purring, “Yes, sir.”

  I wished acting made me as happy as it did PittyPat. She knew what she wanted in her videos. Surprises. I didn’t know what I wanted. I liked acting and the spotlights and watching the finished videos. I just didn’t know what I wanted to do in them.

  “Angel!” The Director turned back to me. “Are you coming?”

  I sighed. “Yes, sir.”

  Episode 3: Fraidy-Cat

  The falcon dived down. I leaned against the cold window to watch. I was almost six weeks old and had never seen such a thing.

  The falcon’s wings were tucked tightly against its side. It went fast, faster, fastest.

  My ears twitched.

  Pulling up, the falcon grabbed something off the ground. Then it was beating its wings upward.

  It landed on the wide ledge outside the window. It opened its claw.

  A mouse tumbled out. Small and gray.

  “Meow!” My mouth watered.

  I wanted to smell the mouse, but the glass was in the way.

  The falcon pounced on the mouse.

  That falcon was so wild. So dangerous.

  I shuddered and turned away, hackles prickling.

  “No,” the Director called. “Snarl at the falcon.”

  I wanted to snarl and snap. I knew that would be good acting. I could be a fight cat.

  Instead, I stepped backward.

  “No,” the Director yelled. “Scratch at the window.”

  I wanted to slash and tear. I knew that would be good fighting.

  Instead, I sagged and hid my face under my leg.

  MamaGrace said quietly, “It’s the fraidy-cat video.” She sat behind the lights. I don’t work unless she’s there.

  The Director said, “Hmmm. Maybe.”

  MamaGrace said, “Every kitten needs a fraidy cat scene.”

  Talk it Out: I Love you

  MamaGrace says, “You should always think about the viewer. That’s your audience. That’s who you act for.”

  I watched videos of viewers watching videos.

  One family that watched viral cat videos made me sad. The video showed a human mama and daughter.

  They sat on a couch.

  They didn’t talk.

  The narrator said they never talk to each other. But every day, they watch one cat video together.

  It’s the only way they can say, “I love you.”

  I don’t understand.

  What’s so hard about saying, “I love you”?

  MamaGrace’s Tutorial

  Twenty-seven kittens were born this season across the kennels in Kittywood. That included Quincy, PittyPat, and me. We were six weeks old now.

  “You’ll give them acting lessons,” the Director told MamaGrace.

  “No!” Her paw went to the scar on her face.

  The Director shrugged and looked around our penthouse apartment. “This doesn’t come free. Albert is gone and you can’t work in front of the camera. So your kittens act. And you teach.”

  MamaGrace frowned but finally nodded.

  It started a few nights later, after a long day in the sound studio. Twenty-four other kittens crowded into our penthouse, mewling, fighting, and spitting. So many tired kittens were a disaster.

  When MamaGrace swept into the room, though, silence descended. Even limping, she moved with a certain grace. A black patch on her right eye blended with the black hair on her face, so that you almost thought she was blinking. Until the second eye never appeared. She might be scarred, but no one could look away.

  “Today,” MamaGrace said, “we’re talking about the different acting roles that cats can have.”

  PittyPat, Quincy, and I sat on the floor at MamaGrace’s feet. The other kittens sank to the floor too. We were learning from the queen, and we knew it.

  MamaGrace nodded to Mr. Danny. A large, red-faced man, Mr. Danny was the Director’s right-hand man and did anything and everything the Director needed. Mr. Danny turned on the projector and turned out the lights. MamaGrace talked while we watched slides and videos.

  “Cat actors and actresses have different roles in their lifetime,” MamaGrace said. “These are video clips of some of those roles.”

  “Innocent cat is a role for young cats, like you kittens. Innocent cats are naive, which means they know nothing. It’s funny to watch them mess up everything. All of you have started as innocents. You can’t stay there, but that’s where you start.”

  On-screen, DaddyAlbert scrunched his baby face and charmed the camera. As an innocent, he was soft and mellow.

  The next slide appeared, and MamaGrace said, “Dress-up cats love to wear crazy clothing. They are feline-fine!”

  There was DaddyAlbert wearing cowboy boots in one picture, and in the next, a tuxedo. I’d no idea my daddy was so handsome!

  A film clip was next, showing a tiny Siamese cat in a musician’s costume. The costume fit onto the kitten’s front legs and chest. Sewn onto the costume were miniature human hands that held a guitar. From the front, the cat looked like a miniature person (with a cat face) playing a guitar.

  “Jazz, please stand up,” MamaGrace said, “and take a bow.”

  The cat beside me stood. She was about my size—we were both small, even for kittens. Her Siamese face was dark and serious. Bowing, she said, “Thank you, Madam.”

  Everyone cheered for her, and a smile finally showed up on Jazz’s face.

  When she sat, the next slide didn’t work.

  “I’ll have to turn on the light to fix it,” said Mr. Danny. The human-to-cat speech translator made his voice sound buzzy, like a robot.

  While the lights were on, I turned to Jazz. “I’m Angel. That was a great dress-up video. Were your parents dress-up cats too?”

  “No. I’m the first video cat in my family. My brother and I auditioned every day for three weeks. Just to get here. My parents really wanted this for us.”

  “Oh.” I realized that I had no idea how outside cats got a chance to act in a video. I only knew about those of us born here. “Well, you were amazing.” I wondered if we’d be friends. MamaGrace didn’t notice many kittens, so Jazz must be a good actress. I needed good actresses as my friends.

  Around us, the kittens meowed and chatted.

  Suddenly Jazz leaned toward me. “It must be easy for you. The daughter of the Golden Ones.” She looked over at MamaGrace and frowned.

  I stepped backward. “No, it’s not easy. I work hard.”

  “Yeah.” She waved a paw around. “From the penthouse.”

  “You don’t know anything,” I said angrily. “Yes, I live here. But it’s hard because my mom was hurt in a car wreck and can’t be in videos anymore. DaddyAlbert went to France to look for work and got stranded. MamaGrace cries in her sleep and doesn’t even know it.”

  I put a paw over my mouth, and my eyes grew wide. I hadn’t meant to say all of that.

  Jazz stepped backward. We were standing so far apart. “I didn’t know,” she said in a quiet voice.

  I took two steps and said into her ear, “Don’t you dare tell anyone that she cries.”

  Mr. Danny called, “Lights out.”

  I shoved PittyPat toward Jazz and sat between my brother and sister, away from that Siamese. Why had I told Jazz so much about our family?
MamaGrace and DaddyAlbert were famous, but even famous people have problems. But why tell Jazz all that? I shook my head. I didn’t understand myself.

  MamaGrace waved at a new slide and said, “Water cats love anything to do with water.”

  I nudged PittyPat, who loved water too. She leaned forward to watch the film of Peter Reuben, the master of the water-cat role.

  “This is clever editing,” MamaGrace said. “Peter was videotaped taking a bath every day for a year. This video puts together his best 100 jumps into a big water bowl—in just 100 seconds. It’s a well-known fact that cats hate water. But that’s what makes a water cat so popular on KittyTube. It’s the unexpected.”

  That’s what PittyPat had said! I nudged her again, and this time she flashed me a smile. PittyPat, the CatFish.

  The video raced through the splashing water, while around us the kittens laughed and giggled nervously. Everyone was wondering about their own next role.

  Jazz shook her head, and Angel agreed. No water for her.

  MamaGrace’s voice was hypnotic in the dark. “Chase cats will chase their tails, or shadows or anything else. Albert Persian was a whiz at this. There are classic tricks that you can repeat. You just need a slight new twist. For example, there’s the classic chasing-your-tail trick.”

  We laughed at DaddyAlbert’s tail that flowed like a river of gold. He never caught it.

  “In the open, the trick looks one way,” MamaGrace said. “For variety, try it on carpet, on a wood floor, or on grass. Or you can chase tails in an enclosed place like a bathtub. Or in a bowl or a bathroom sink that just barely fits your body. Or you can chase your neighbor’s tail.”

  DaddyAlbert chased a pretty young cat and caught her tail. I gasped. That was MamaGrace.

  “Honey,” he said, “I’d die for you!”

  “How many times?” Mama Grace said.

  And my heart clenched at how beautiful they were together. And how sad it was that DaddyAlbert couldn’t get home.

  But MamaGrace was already on the next video clip. “Fat cats do normal everyday things, but their size makes the videos funny. Usually, these are older cats. Wesley Maine Coon used to be a chase cat. As an older cat, though, he’ll have many more videos as a fat cat.”

  Wesley towered over the other cats in the video. He wasn’t so much fat as just a giant. A mountain of a cat.

  “Food cats,” MamaGrace said, “will eat anything. Beetles, spiders, shoes, or superhero action figures. My son, Quincy Persian, already loves to eat. Watch.”

  PittyPat and I pounced on Quincy, who hid his head in embarrassment. But we sat up quickly to watch the video. It opened with Quincy batting around a large garden spider. Finally he pounced and swallowed it. But he didn’t use his teeth. He didn’t chew.

  His face screwed up. He tilted his head.

  And then, a spider leg appeared between his teeth.

  The audience gasped.

  On screen, Quincy bent his head, and then lifted it high, trying to swallow.

  He paused. His eyes looked up. Then down.

  A moment later, a spider leg appeared again.

  Quincy coughed. And that spider crawled out of his mouth.

  Oh! In the penthouse, kittens screamed and wailed, scared by the spider that was bigger than life on the video. I turned to watch them and smiled. Quincy had nailed it with his acting. The video editors were brilliant.

  On the video, Quincy yowled, “I don’t want to be a food cat!”

  Now, THAT was a great food cat video. It would get heaps of views.

  Mr. Danny flipped on the lights, and MamaGrace was gone.

  Instead, the Director stood there. “Today,” he said, “I’d like to announce the competition for this season’s kittens. Poplin Cat Foods needs a star for Kitten Adoption Month. For the next six weeks, we’ll track your views. Whoever has the highest number of views on their videos will be Top Kitten. Poplin has pledged $1,000 to the Top Kitten. Yowza!”

  Pandemonium.

  That’s a big word—I’m learning big words and big ideas now. It means the kittens went crazy. What an uproar, a furor, a hubbub, a ruckus. “I’ll be Top Kitten,” they all cried.

  My heart pounded with excitement. Poplin Cat Foods had agreed to the competition! We had a chance to bring DaddyAlbert home.

  In the shadows near the window, MamaGrace wiped a tear from her good eye.

  The Director raised a paw. Slowly, the kittens quieted. “Top Kitten right now,” he said, “is Jazz, the Siamese kitten, with her musician video.”

  I turned to stare at Jazz. We didn’t understand each other because our families were so different. But still, I’d hoped for a friend. Instead, she was competition. Serious competition. Could she be both a friend and the one to beat?

  “Second,” the Director said, “is Quincy with his ‘Eat the Spider’ video. A distant third is Angel Persian with her Fraidy Cat video. For the next six weeks, I’ll update weekly scores each Sunday night and post them early on Monday morning.”

  At least Quincy came in second for Top Kitten this week. Quincy, PittyPat, or I had to be Top Kitten at the end of the contest. Because that’s the only way our DaddyAlbert was coming home. But maybe it would be okay if Quincy won, so I could be friends with Jazz. If she wanted to be friends.

  Big Words

  I’m learning big words now.

  A group of cats is called a clowder of cats. The word clowder dates back to Middle English, about 1800. It comes from a word meaning “clot.” Clot means a tight group of things. A group of cats could be clotted together.

  To remember that a group of cats is called a clowder, try this tongue twister:

  “A cluttered clotting cluster of cats creates a clowder.”

  Odd Eyes

  I looked at MamaGrace and then at the Director.

  MamaGrace blinked her good eye.

  The Director jumped up from his red mat, walked around me, and went back to sit down again. Leaning forward, he said, “It’s true.”

  MamaGrace nodded. “She’s got odd eyes. One blue and one copper.”

  “It’s a beautiful blue.” The Director rose again to come to squint at my eyes. “Aqua blue. Yes, almost sapphire. And the copper is like a shiny penny.” He spun around, his skinny body looking like a ballerina’s. The image was ruined by his impossibly large ears.

  “Will this help her views?” MamaGrace said.

  “Help? Oh, yes.” The Director tapped the wall chart with the videotaping schedule. “I’ll move the schedule around. We need a special video tomorrow to showcase them. Can you coach her acting on how to make use of those gorgeous eyes?”

  MamaGrace smiled. And purred.

  I rubbed my head against her nose. “Is it good, Mama? Will it help DaddyAlbert come home?”

  “Yes, dear. We have a chance.”

  Episode 4: The Eye of the Soul

  “Quiet on the set!” the Director called.

  The rustling quieted. I was almost seven weeks old and getting used to the soundstage.

  “Lights!”

  The bank of lights turned on, blazing.

  MamaGrace and the Director disappeared behind the glare.

  I blinked.

  “Action!”

  I blinked and blinked. Blue and copper. Blinking.

  I turned around, looked straight at the camera, and meowed.

  That’s it.

  I just meowed.

  It was my most woebegone meow.

  It was a cry for my mama.

  It was a cry for someone to come and pick me up and pet me.

  Someone, please. Lonely. Needy. DaddyAlbert, come home.

  MamaGrace said my odd eyes were riveting. That means people couldn’t look away.

  I looked straight at the camera and said, “Mew! Eh!”

  The “Eh!” was for an exclamation. It made it sound even sadder.

  MamaGrace says that looking into the camera’s eye creates a special soul contact.

  Me connecting wit
h you.

  That scares me.

  But it shoots the views sky high.

  Meeew! Eh!

  Talk it Out: The Camera

  After a long day of acting, it was hard to calm down.

  PittyPat and Quincy flopped onto a sleeping pad. I paced along the windows, checking top and bottom for cameras. I strode the four walls of the room, looking into each dark corner where a camera might hide. In the room’s center, I flipped over sleeping pads, looked under MamaGrace’s chaise lounge and Mr. Danny’s chair, and finally sat with my head twisting back and forth, searching. My tail twitched and my ears twitched. “Are there any cameras here?” I asked.

  Quincy and PittyPat stared at me.

  “No cameras,” Quincy said. “Are you okay?”

  “No cameras,” PittyPat said. “Come, sit with us.”

  I breathed deeply. Maybe I could relax.

  I was trying so-o-o-o hard to be Top Kitten so DaddyAlbert could come home.

  No cameras. Finally.

  I hated being onstage all the time. Acting was still fun, except when it didn’t end. Acting every day, all day long—I was tired.

  Quincy flopped down on his back, letting his legs stick straight up.

  “Teach me that,” PittyPat said. She flopped down on her back. But her legs were folded up, relaxed. She looked at Quincy and straightened her legs. “Like that?”

  She crossed her front legs. “What about this?”

  She stretched her legs on one side but relaxed them on the other side. “Or what about this?”

  I didn’t want to pose upside down.

  I didn’t want to meow like a tiger.

  I didn’t want to meow like an elephant.

  I just wanted to be me.

  But the camera ruled our lives.

  “Smile for the camera,” the Director said.

  “Action!” the Director said.

  The problem was that I watched the camera.