by John Gordon
of the rope to get Cranky Dunlop’s attention.
“Looks like a flying cat to me. Might be that cat of the Miffins.”
“Hey. Wait till I get hold of him.” Jubal clapped his hands with glee and waved his arms in the air trying to swim himself to reach Marshall.
Marshall was resigned to flying again. Especially since his friend Brandon had hold of the rope from down below. He wasn’t happy about getting close to Jubal, though. He watched suspiciously as Jubal started to wiggle through the air toward him. Suddenly Cranky jerked in the air a few feet away. Marshall hissed at him. A clump of numbers flew off Marshall and zeroed in on the ex-rodeo champ. The new numbers seemed to be dancing or fighting with those already stuck on Cranky. Slowly he began sinking down to the ground.
Jubal had pulled out his slingshot, trying to find something to shoot at Marshall with. But he already used everything to throw at people on the ground. Finally he just threw the slingshot. It whizzed by the floating cat. Marshall hissed an especially menacing hisss. A blanket of numerals covered Jubal and began scrambling to and fro over his plump little body. With a frightened yell he sank slowly toward the ground.
Brandon pulled the rope and drew Marshall gently to him. Everyone watched as Juble tumbled softly from the sky. He was coming down over the other side of the Krumkle’s fence where a garbage truck was trundling along. Juble Krumkle landed ever so softly upside down into a pile of garbage as the truck continued on it’s way to the dump.
The Miffin’s and Brandon couldn’t help laughing as Mr. Krumkle ran down the alley after the truck, calling out “You’ve got my flyonaut. Hey, hold up, my flyonaut’s in there!”
Beside him ran Mrs. Krumkle with a dish of food in her hands, “Juble, Juuuble, come out of there this instant. You come out and eat your supper.”
By now the Air force officer, Colonel Wufbabble, had gone up in his balloon to the Baroness Von Smulkin. It wasn’t a case of love at first sight.
The Baroness was very upset with everyone, so naturally she covered the Colonel with the largest bunch of numbers that anyone had ever seen. If Brandon had seen this sight he would have said the Baroness was so upset she was manufacturing more of his theoretical cast-offs than he even created. The balloon, Colonel Wufbabble and Baroness von Smulkin went floating off somewhere together.
Brandon noticed in the newspaper that a strange group of flying people were sighted over Arabia. He thinks that the Colonel and the Baroness may have worked out how to use the numbers and are starting their own flying country in the sky. He immediately began working on another theorem.
Tiny the bulldog came down easiest of all. He fell asleep after a while floating over the neighborhood. All his emotions began to ease so the numbers became less and less buoyant. At the very last, just above his yard he awoke to find Marshall below him investigating the large bone by his doghouse. He barked and Marshall let out a startled hiss, sending the last numbers at Tiny. They dissolved all the nunbers on Tiny and in the process of settling down he just did manage to get a few hairs of Marshall’s tail fur.
Brandon doesn’t leave his wastebasket uncovered anymore. Jubal won’t do a single prank to Pellomie. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s his mother’s button boy, or his father’s flyonaut.
Marshall, of course, is as picky as ever. But he does miss the Baroness and her broom. Sometimes he’ll flash by her window just to see if she’s come home yet.
He often sits in the yard watching the birds as they sing in a nearby tree. Marshall wonders about his life. He knows he’s here to help his human friends with their own reasons for being here. Does that mean they’ll become cats like him? It really doesn’t matter, does it? For Marshall lets all his concerns roll off his fur, like a bushel of theoretical numbers.
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