Katt vs. Dogg

by James Patterson

  “I can’t! The eagle’s hanging on to me. I’m hooked in its talons!”

  The eagle swerved sharply, following the curving stone wall lining the road.

  Molly figured this was one way to climb down the mountain fast: in the clutches of a crazed bird bringing food home to its hungry babies.

  The eagle made another hairpin turn, hugging the side of the W-shaped road.

  And Molly saw Oscar.

  He had leapt from one stone wall to the next and caught up with the bird.

  The dogg flew up off his rocky perch and grabbed Molly’s legs with his arms. The combined weight of the katt and dogg was too much for the eagle. It started to lose speed and altitude fast.

  “Let us go, birdbrain!” shouted Oscar, sounding a lot like his dad. “Or you’re going to crash into that rock down there.”

  That’s when the eagle let go.

  Molly and Oscar were falling.

  “Thanks, dogg!” said Molly as they whizzed toward the jagged rocks on the ground below. “It was nice knowing you.”

  “Likewise!” said Oscar.

  And then they both crashed.

  Chapter 46

  They landed in a soft snow bank six inches away from the sharp rocks.

  “We’re still not dead!” Oscar shouted. “Woo-hoo!”

  Molly was hugging him tightly. She wouldn’t let go.

  So, Oscar hugged her back.

  O-kay, he thought. This is totally embarrassing. I’m hugging a katt. In a snowdrift. Un-be-liev-able. I’m glad Dad isn’t here to see this! She is kind of soft and cuddly, though…

  He didn’t say anything out loud, of course. He just held on to Molly and let her say, “Thank you, thank you, thank you” a million times in a row.

  “You’re welcome,” said Oscar, still not breaking the hug, because they’d landed in a mound of snow and two bodies are always warmer than one.

  “Remember when I said you reminded me of my brother?” said Molly.

  “Yeah. Because I’m so easily distracted.”

  “Well, that’s not the only reason. Not anymore.”

  “Okay. What’s the new reason?”

  “You’re like the best kind of brother, Oscar. Somebody who’ll look out for me, no matter what. Someone willing to jump up at an eagle and risk his own life to save mine!”

  “You did that for me, Molly. When you came back with the medicine and stuff…”

  “Huh. I guess that makes me your sister.”

  “Kind of, sort of,” said Oscar. “Temporarily. Until we get home. That was our deal.”

  “Right,” said Molly. “Of course.”

  The snow was cold. More was falling. Oscar and Molly huddled closer together.

  “Well, ain’t this groovy?” boomed a jolly voice.

  A snowy white bear was standing over Oscar and Molly, grinning like crazy. She wore a necklace of woven flowers draped around her neck.

  Oscar and Molly sprang out of their cuddle, stirring up all sorts of frosty snow. Oscar put up his paws, ready to defend himself and Molly from the huge bear. It wasn’t wearing clothes so it must be one of the wild, savage ones.

  The bear leaned down closer and opened her mouth wide.

  Oscar bravely stood snout-to-snout with the beast. Maybe he could scare it off before it ate them? He had to try!

  But the bear’s mouth curved into a grin. “Are you two, like, boyfriend and girlfriend, man?” she asked.

  “What?” said Oscar.

  “No way,” said Molly.

  “We’re like brother and sister!” said Oscar defensively.

  “Or sister and brother,” said Molly.

  “Really?” said the snowy white bear. “Well, heh-heh-heh, that’s even funnier, man. A katt and a dogg? Brother and sister? Far out. That’s what this world needs more of, baby. Love, sweet love.”

  Oscar stood up and dusted off some snow. Molly did the same thing.

  “We’re not in love,” said Oscar.

  “Being in love is gross,” said Molly.

  “You can love without being in love, man,” said the polar bear. “Can you dig what I’m laying down, children?”

  “Sure,” said Molly. “Whatever. We just want to get home.”

  “Far out,” said the polar bear. “Where do you two lovebirds call home?”

  “We are not lovebirds!” insisted Molly.

  “I’m a dogg, she’s a katt,” added Oscar. “Neither one of us is remotely related to birds…”

  “And doggs and katts hate each other,” said Molly.

  “Is that so?” chuckled the big bear. “Oh, right. I heard about that. Whole lot of hating going on down in the big cities. It’s why my family moved to the country, man. Too many haters in the city. Couldn’t handle all those negative vibes.”

  “I’m from Doggsylvania,” said Oscar.

  “Kattsburgh,” said Molly. “Do you know how to get there?”

  “Nope. Sorry. But I do know how to get down off this mountain and into the Western Frontier Park.”

  Oscar gave that a hearty arm pump. “Yes! We are going home, Molly! Home!”

  “So, what are your names?” asked the polar bear.

  “I’m Oscar.”

  “Molly.”

  The bear chuckled again. (She chuckled a lot.) “Oscar and Molly, sitting in a tree, k-i-s—”

  “We were not sitting in a tree!” insisted Molly, because she knew what the next part of the rhyme would be.

  “We were sitting in the snow!” added Oscar.

  “I know, man,” said the bear. “You were cuddling and snuggling.”

  “Because we were cold!” said Molly.

  “Far out. By the way, my name’s Momsy.”

  “Seriously?” Oscar and Molly said at the same time.

  “Yep. For reals. Climb on my back, little bro and sis. It’s time to get down and boogie—all the way to the valley below.”

  Oscar and Molly didn’t hesitate. They quickly grabbed a handful of Momsy’s fluffy fur, hauled themselves up onto her back, and snuggled down into her soft and cozy warmth.

  “This is way better than a pickup truck,” whispered Molly.

  “You got that right,” Oscar whispered back.

  And they spent the day riding in plush comfort down the far side of Crooked Nose Mountain.

  Chapter 47

  That same morning, in Faunae City, where the United Federation of Animals kept its capitol,

  the head magistrate, a hippopotamus in black robes, was listening to complaints from his constituents.

  “The beavers dammed up the darn river again!” complained a raccoon. “This has seriously endangered our ancestral fishing grounds.”

  “Is this true?” the wise hippo asked a beaver with sawdust flaking like dandruff on his dark suit.

  “Yes, sir, your majesty,” said the buck-toothed beaver.

  “I’m a magistrate, not a majesty.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Want a toothpick? I just nibbled one out of this chair leg…”

  The hippo banged his gavel.

  Startled, the beaver stopped chewing the furniture.

  The raccoon nervously fiddled with his fingers under his chin.

  “Hear ye, hear ye,” declared the magistrate. “Henceforth, the raccoons shall fish on the upstream side of the beaver dam instead of the downstream side.”

  “Oh,” said the raccoon. “Good idea, sir. Wonder why I didn’t think of that?”

  “Because,” said the hippo, “you were too busy being mad at the beavers to think up a sensible compromise. Next case?”

  The katt and dogg families pushed their way to the front of the room. A clump of reporters and camera people pushed forward with them.

  “Your honor, sir,” said Oscar’s father, Duke. “Pardon my pun, but we got us a real kattastrophe on our hands here.”

  “Oh, go step in a poodle,” hissed Boomer, Molly’s father.

  “My wife’s part poodle!” snapped Duke.

  “Fine,” sni
ffed Boomer. “Step on her.”

  “Why, I oughtta…” Oscar’s dad balled up his paw into a fist.

  The hippo hammered his gavel. “Enough! You’re the families of the two missing children, correct?”

  “That’s right, chief,” said Duke. “And that lame hawkowl ranger you people have working at your Western Frontier Park hasn’t done diddly to find my son.”

  “However,” added Boomer, “she’s done an even worse job locating my lost daughter!”

  “We need money to continue the search,” said the dogg. “We have to pull out all the stops, and organize the biggest rescue effort we can. Will you give us what we need?”

  The hippo gave him a stern look. “The rangers are doing all they can to help locate your child.”

  Oscar’s father growled. “We need double the helicopters and triple the people to find Oscar!”

  “What about Molly?” demanded the katt.

  “Ah, nobody cares about her.”

  “What? How dare you, you poop-sniffing excuse for an animal being!”

  The hippo banged his gavel some more. “Order! Order in the court.”

  “I’ll take a tuna burger with a side of salmon fries,” shouted Blade.

  “You see how, like, totally stupid these katts are?” huffed Fifi.

  The paparazzi—the news crews and freelance photographers who followed the katt and dogg families everywhere they went—snapped pictures and filmed video clips. The ferret reporter was jumping up and down with glee. She’d have some excellent dogg-versus-katt action footage for that night’s tabloid TV show.

  The dogg and katt families kept hurling insults at each other. Then they started throwing punches. Pretty soon, teeth and claws were involved.

  “Good thing I’m a nurse!” shouted both of the mothers at the same time.

  The hippo banged his gavel again. Nobody paid attention to him. The doggs and katts were at one another’s throats. The fur was flying!

  “You katts and doggs are impossible! Request denied!” shouted the hippo over all the barking, hissing, snarling, and screeching. “Bailiffs! Clear the room!”

  Five burly guards—four big gorillas aided by an elephant—came in and broke up the dogg and katt fight.

  There would be no last-ditch rescue mission.

  Oscar and Molly were, officially, on their own.

  Chapter 48

  Well, here we are, dude and dudette!” said Momsy, the blubbery polar bear. “The Mighty Big River. Your so-called civilization is right over there on the other side.”

  Oscar slid down the bear’s white fleecy fur and landed on the ground. Molly slid down after him. On the far shore of the churning, choppy water, they could see a road and buildings. They were so close to going home!

  “The river’s too broad,” said Oscar.

  “Nah, man,” said Momsy. “It’s just mighty and big.”

  “That water is at least a half mile wide!” said Molly.

  “For sure,” said Momsy.

  “We’ll never make it across,” said Oscar. “I can’t doggy paddle that far with a katt on my back. Not through raging rapids!”

  “Probably not, man,” said Momsy. “But then, again, why would you want to?”

  “Because,” said Molly defensively, “we’re kind of, sort of on this journey together.”

  “That’s right,” said Oscar. “We’re temporarily, kind of, sort of helping each other. A little.”

  “I can dig it,” said Momsy. “But, I mean, why would you want to go back there, man? There’s nothing on the far shore but haters. Dogg hates katt. Katt hates dogg. And so on and so on and doo-bee-doo-bee-doo.”

  “Whaaat?” said Oscar.

  “Nothin’, dude. Just a song we sometimes sing out here in the Park. It’s also the reason why I never want to set paw in the city. Yours or hers.”

  “But how do we get across this river?” asked Molly.

  The bear shrugged. “Don’t know. Never tried to do it because I never wanted to do it. Ciao, for now. You’re on your own, kids. I’m outta here.”

  The big bear lumbered away, singing, “‘Many rivers to cross…’”

  “We’re just worried about this one!” Molly shouted after her.

  The bear kept walking away, singing her song, tossing a two-finger peace sign over her shoulder.

  “Thank you for the ride!” Oscar shouted. To Molly, he said, “She’s wrong. We are not on our own. We’re together.”

  “Correct,” said Molly. “Because we’re stuck together on this side of the river when we want to be on that side!”

  “Well,” said Oscar, nervously wagging his tail, “we just need to figure this thing out.”

  “Fine.” Molly started licking her paws.

  “Um, what are you doing, Molly?”

  “Licking my paws. It helps me think.”

  “Good idea.” Oscar hunkered down into a prone position. “I do my best thinking in pre-pounce mode.”

  The two of them stared at the river. And the far shore. And the logs and branches whizzing downstream in the roiling rapids.

  “If only we had a raft,” said Oscar.

  “Yeah,” said Molly.

  Just then they saw a beaver floating down the river, riding on a log.

  Molly looked at Oscar. Oscar looked at Molly.

  “We need help!” they said together.

  “But it’s wild,” Molly said.

  “That didn’t stop Momsy or Granny from helping us,” Oscar pointed out.

  Molly nodded and they waved at the beaver, jumping up and down on the riverbank.

  Then, together, they screamed: “Help!”

  Chapter 49

  Hey, buddy!” Oscar barked at the beaver. “Over here!”

  The buck-toothed drifter floated closer to the shore.

  “Oh, my,” he said in a funny, nasal voice. “A dogg and a katt? Together? That’s hysterical!”

  “It’s temporary,” said Molly.

  “Yep. Sure it is,” said the beaver. “Yep, yep, yep.”

  He let go of his log and scampered up the riverbank to join Oscar and Molly, where he gave his wet coat a hearty shake to dry off.

  “Ewww,” said Molly, when dirty beaver water splattered all over her formerly white fur.

  “Sorry about that,” said the beaver, flopping his tail up and down. “So, you folks need help?”

  “Yeah,” said Oscar. “And logs. Lots and lots of logs.”

  “We want to build a raft,” said Molly.

  “Interesting,” said the beaver. “Never built one, myself, but I’ve seen ’em. I mostly build dams and other infrastructure projects.”

  “Well,” said Oscar, “maybe if you can cut down some trees, someone else will help us lash them together?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure. That could happen. Yep, yep, yep. On this side of the river, anyways. Over here, we’re still in the Western Frontier Park where everybody goes along to get along. We keep the peace. Over there in civilization? Not so much. Stand back. You folks want logs, I’ve got some chewin’ to be doin’.”

  The beaver attacked a stand of medium-sized trees with his buzz-saw mouth. Sawdust and wood chips went flying everywhere.

  “Tim-berrr!” hollered the beaver. Trees toppled like falling dominoes.

  “How many logs you folks need?” the beaver asked with a toothy grin after the fourth tree crashed to the ground. He had wood chunks between his front teeth.

  “Um, how about one more?” said Oscar.

  “Sure. No problem. Chew it down in a jiffy.”

  “But how are we going to tie them all together?” asked Molly.

  “Easy peasy,” said the beaver. “You just need a monkey.”

  “Huh?” said Oscar.

  “A chimp,” said the beaver. “They swing on vines around here all the time.” He whistled through his teeth. Two long blasts followed by two short tweets.

  A monkey came swinging out of the forest behind them.

  “What’s up?”
asked the monkey.

  “Chewin’ wood. Helpin’ some strangers. Same old, same old.”

  “I’m down with that,” said the monkey, turning to Oscar and Molly. “What do you folks need?”

  “Some ropey vines,” said Oscar. “To tie these logs together.”

  The monkey nodded his head. “Makin’ a raft, huh?”

  “Yes,” said Molly. “We’re lost and need to go home.”

  “And home’s on the other side of the river,” added Oscar.

  “Kattsburgh? Doggsylvania?” said the monkey, as she started yanking ropey vines out of the trees.

  “That’s right,” said Oscar.

  “I have a cousin in Baboonville,” said the monkey. “Visited once. Didn’t like it. The baboons hate the monkeys who hate the gibbons who hate the chimps. If I were you two, I’d stay over here in the Park. We’re a lot more chill over here.”

  “But over there is home,” said Oscar.

  “Whatever,” said the monkey. “Grab some vine, kid.”

  The two of them dragged the vines over to where the logs were lined up next to one another.

  “Now we need someone good at lashing.”

  “I can do that,” said Oscar. “I’m a Dogg Scout.”

  “I’ll help,” said Molly. “I’m good at playing with yarn.”

  Oscar and Molly wove several strands of vines up and under and up and around the logs. The monkey tied the ends into knots. The beaver trimmed off the dangling end pieces.

  In no time, the four of them had built a raft.

  “Now you just need a riverboat pilot,” said the monkey.

  “Yep, yep, yep,” said the beaver. “You need Old Jim.”

  He whistled through his teeth. A long-short-long-short tweet.

  An ancient otter surfaced in the river. “Someone call my name?”

  Chapter 50

  You two lookin’ to slip over to the other side?” asked Old Jim the otter.

  “We need to go home,” said Molly, dramatically. “I’ve been in the wilderness so long, my fur looks like something the katt dragged in!”

  “I miss my mother!” said Oscar, before he could catch himself. “And, you know, my whole family.”