Catalyst

by Sarah Beth Durst

“That would be bad,” Surita agreed. “I’ve heard Nessie isn’t much of a talker.” Her eyes got even wider. “Do you think Nessie could really exist? If there’s a giant cat . . . It could all be real. Vampires. Werewolves. Yeti.”

  “Transformers,” Harrison supplied helpfully. “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles—”

  “Guys,” Zoe cut in. “Focus.”

  Both of them apologized.

  Pipsqueak lay down beside the garage, and Zoe climbed her fur and swung her leg over the cat’s back. It was a little tricky with her backpack stuffed full of camping supplies and cat food, but she managed. She leaned forward toward the cat’s neck, and her arms sank into fur elbow-deep. Harrison climbed up behind her, and then Pipsqueak stood. Zoe clung to the fur.

  It was not at all like the pony rides she’d begged her parents for when she was smaller. For one thing, Pipsqueak was wider. Zoe felt as if she were trying to do a split. For another, fur was vastly different from a leather saddle. Fur was amazingly soft. It also smelled like a mix of cat food and litter rather than horse sweat and leather. Oh, wow, this is awesome!

  “If I absolutely promise never to sell or even show it to anyone, can I take a photo?” Surita asked. “I want my future self to believe it’s real.”

  “I think it’s better if you don’t, for all the reasons you said to keep her secret,” Zoe said, though she wished she had a picture of this too. I’m riding a cat!

  “And you’re sure I can’t come with you? I mean, I know I can’t. I’m your cover at camp. I’ve an important job to do, blah blah blah, but . . . ugh, it’s not fair. I’ve spent my entire life wanting a magic moment, and you get one instead of me. You never even wanted this, either of you!”

  She’s right, Zoe thought. She’d never wanted an adventure, and Harrison might talk about Everest a lot, but in reality, he liked video game adventures where you could respawn after a mistake. I wanted a quiet summer, with no packing for college or renovating a laundry room or anything different at all.

  But she’d chosen to rescue a lost kitten, chosen to keep it, and chosen to protect it.

  Pipsqueak twisted her head toward Surita and then laid a paw, claws in, on her back. She began to clean Surita’s face with her broad, sandpaper tongue. Surita shrieked and leaped backward. “What are you doing?”

  “You were upset, and it was ruffling your fur,” Pipsqueak said. “I fixed you.”

  “Oh, uh, cool. Thanks,” Surita said, wiping her cheek. “You need to go now. Be careful! Don’t let anyone see you! Don’t let anyone catch you! And don’t let anyone stop you! Keep her secret, keep her safe!”

  With Zoe and Harrison clinging to her back, Pipsqueak trotted toward the road, across it, and into the thick patch of bushes and trees on the opposite side. Holding on tight, Zoe forgot to wave.

   Chapter 10

  THE PROBLEM WITH RIDING a giant cat through a neighborhood was . . . Okay, Zoe thought, there are a lot of problems with riding a giant cat through a neighborhood!

  They stuck to backyards, on the theory that staying away from the street was smart, but backyards were full of distractions. Fences to hop over. Barbecue grills to sniff. Pets to accidentally terrify. Ten minutes into their journey they came to a house with an above-ground swimming pool. Tiptoeing up to the pool, Pipsqueak peered into the water. She smacked at it with her paw, and a few drops splashed out. “Ooooh!”

  “Pipsqueak—”  Zoe began, “why are you—”

  Scooting away from the drops, Pipsqueak sat down.

  Zoe and Harrison slid down the slope of her back, calling, “Pipsqueak!” They grabbed at her fur until she stood again, and then they crawled up to her neck.

  “It’s liquid,” Pipsqueak explained.

  “Yes, we know,” Harrison said. “It’s a pool. I thought cats didn’t like water.”

  “I’m not going to doggie-paddle around, if that’s what you’re asking, but it’s fun to splash. And I’ve never seen so much of it!”

  She had always loved splashing milk, starting from the day Zoe had met her. She’s still that tiny kitten inside, Zoe thought. She watched for a second as Pipsqueak swatted delightedly at the surface of the pool. “We need to keep going. There could be people around.”

  Pipsqueak let out a murp-like meow. “Oh! Sorry!”

  The second distraction occurred at the end of the block, when they had to cross the street. They crouched behind a detached garage and waited for a moment when no cars were passing. Looking both ways, they urged Pipsqueak forward.

  They got about halfway across when she stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” Zoe asked.

  Pipsqueak stared at the blinking yellow traffic light. She was saying something, but Zoe couldn’t make out what it was. Crawling forward onto Pipsqueak’s neck, Zoe tried to hear . . .

  Pipsqueak was murmuring, “Bright, dark, bright, dark . . .”

  This is definitely not like a pony ride, Zoe thought. “Pipsqueak, if you cross the street, I promise that when we get back home, I’ll borrow Mom’s laser pointer and shine it around for you to chase. Red, shiny dot. You’ll love it.”

  Pipsqueak’s ears twitched.

  “Just cross the street. Please. Before a car comes!”

  “At this rate,” Harrison said, “this is going to be the shortest journey in all of adventuring.”

  Pipsqueak heard that, and she ran forward across the street and up a driveway to dive behind a mass of greenery. Her ears poked up through the branches.

  A car drove by on the street behind them, but it didn’t stop.

  Zoe exhaled in relief.

  “Sorry,” Pipsqueak said again. “I just have never seen anything like that before. Can we go back and play with the blinking light again? The car is gone.”

  “This is never going to work,” Harrison said.

  “All we have to do is reach the school,” Zoe said. “It’s not far. Lie low for a couple hours, and then we can really begin.” Urging Pipsqueak forward, they trotted through the few remaining yards, crossed one more street, and emerged near the school.

  Their old elementary school was a squat brick building with a gym on one end and a cafeteria on the other. A few of the classrooms were used for summer activities, but that was just during the week. Only one car sat in the parking lot.

  “Funny how much smaller it looks now,” Harrison said.

  “You are only two inches taller than you were in fifth grade,” Zoe said. “How much smaller can it possibly look?”

  “Fine. Never mind.”

  Though she wasn’t going to admit it out loud, Zoe thought it did seem smaller and emptier without all the arts-and-crafts projects filling the windows the way they did during the school year.

  A toddler and his mother were on the playground, using the swings, so Zoe, Harrison, and Pipsqueak crept behind the bushes, past the playground, to the gym. Harrison slid off the cat’s back and opened one of the double doors. As Surita had predicted, it was unlocked. “All clear,” he whispered.

  Glancing around to make sure the woman and her kid hadn’t seen them, Zoe slipped inside.

  Pipsqueak pushed her head through sideways, and Zoe and Harrison quickly yanked open the second door. Pipsqueak sauntered in as if she hadn’t almost gotten stuck. She licked her fur, flattening it again.

  The gym was dark, lit only by narrow windows near the ceiling, on a level with the top of Zoe’s nemesis, the climbing rope. The basketball nets looked even taller in the shadows. It was eerily quiet, and Zoe realized she’d never heard the school completely silent. There were always kids talking and laughing somewhere, and you could always hear the squeak of sneakers on the hallway floors.

  “Okay, we’re here,” Zoe said as Pipsqueak ducked under a basketball net. “Now we just have to keep out of sight until dark, when we can travel without being seen. Or at least travel without being so easy to see.” Once they made it out of town, they’d be able to hide in the clumps of trees that lined nearly every New England road. They would
follow the roads to keep from getting lost. So long as they stayed out of the beams of car headlights and skirted around any towns, they should be fine. I hope, she thought.

  Pipsqueak began trotting toward the hallway.

  Zoe and Harrison hurried after her. “Where are you going?”

  “If we’re safe, I want to explore!” Pipsqueak said. “Is there any food here?”

  “We used to eat in the cafeteria,” Zoe said. “Up ahead.” She pointed toward the wall of windows at the end of the corridor. “But you have to be careful that no one sees you—”

  Filling half the width of the hallway with her fluff, Pipsqueak loped toward the cafeteria. Flyers on the walls rustled in her wake.

  “You know it’ll be empty,” Harrison predicted.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Zoe said. Surita had thought it was safe, but what if a janitor were here already, preparing to close the school for the night?

  “Certainly will be empty of cat food.”

  “Shepherd’s pie looks like cat food. Also Salisbury steak.”

  Harrison shuddered. “I wouldn’t feed Salisbury steak to my dog.”

  Pipsqueak’s giant paws were silent on the hall floor. Zoe’s and Harrison’s shoes squealed on it, sounding like mice. Glancing back, Pipsqueak shot them a look, and they tried to walk more carefully.

  By the time Zoe and Harrison caught up to her outside the door to the cafeteria, Pipsqueak was grooming herself. Her tail swished from side to side, whacking against the walls. “It smells funny in there,” she complained.

  “Of course it does,” Zoe said. “It’s a school cafeteria.” She took a step inside and then reeled back. It smelled as if someone had rinsed the room in lemon juice and cleaning supplies. The janitors had been very thorough in ensuring that there was no trace of leftover food or kindergartner germs, as if they’d tried to erase even the memory of everything that had happened here by dousing it with antiseptic. “Sorry, Pipsqueak.”

  On the plus side, at least there weren’t any people.

  “Not hungry anymore. Are there any boxes to play in?” Pipsqueak stretched up against a bulletin board next to the cafeteria door, scratching it. Her claws cut long slices through the construction paper decorations. “What is this place?”

  “It was our school,” Zoe said.

  “Yeah, try not to destroy it?” Harrison suggested.

  Pipsqueak retracted her claws. “Oops. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Harrison said. “I don’t think anyone is going to see that and automatically think, Must have been a giant cat. But less damage is better.”

  “We learned how to read and add and stuff here,” Zoe said. “And we played a lot. Mostly played. This is where we met.” She pointed down the hallway toward the kindergarten rooms. “I didn’t have any green crayons, and Harrison had every color invented, each crayon labeled with his name.”

  “I believe in being prepared,” he said. “Also my dad let me use his label maker.”

  “I wish I could go to school,” Pipsqueak said. “I think I would like it.”

  “Cats don’t go to school,” Harrison said. “No matter what size they are.”

  “Unfair.”

  Pipsqueak started exploring again, and they followed. They passed Zoe’s second-grade classroom, and she peered in through the window. Harrison really was right—things did look smaller. The desks were half the size of the ones at the middle school. Zoe had forgotten she once fit into those tiny desks.

  “What’s that?” Pipsqueak asked, squeezing her face next to Zoe.

  Zoe saw something move inside the classroom. “I saw it too.” Opening the door, she stepped inside. Everything was quiet except for a soft scratching sound.

  On the windowsill was a hamster cage.

  Tilting her head sideways and wriggling her body like a snake, Pipsqueak squeezed her way through the classroom door. Her fur poofed out as she pushed through. “Oh, is that . . .” Her voice dropped to a reverent hush. “My first real, live mouse.”

  Zoe crossed to it. The poor little thing was huddled in the corner of its cage, next to a water dispenser. “Do you think the teacher forgot about it for the summer?” Zoe asked.

  “That would be horrible,” Harrison said.

  “Or delightful. For me.” Creeping between the desks—and knocking several of them aside—Pipsqueak tiptoed up to the cage and peered in. The mouse froze, its eyes widening.

  “You’re scaring it,” Harrison told Pipsqueak.

  Pipsqueak didn’t move. “I want to chase it, catch it in my mouth, spit it out, and then chase it again. Please, Zoe. Please, please!”

  “Absolutely not. Can’t you see it’s terrified?” She shooed the cat back, and Pipsqueak retreated a few steps, knocking over another chair. “It’s alone, trapped inside a cage, with a giant cat staring at it.”

  Pipsqueak retreated the rest of the way out of the classroom door, and Zoe turned back to the little mouse. Even without the cat nearby, it still looked miserable. “I wish we could set it free.”

  “You can’t let it out just because you think it’s lonely or something,” Harrison told her. “It’ll starve. Or get eaten. At least in there it has its food bowl. Someone’s clearly feeding it.”

  Zoe found a bag of mouse food next to the early-reader books, and she opened the cage and refilled the bowl. The mouse stretched out its neck and sniffed. Gently, Zoe stroked its head between its ears. “You’ll be okay, buddy.”

  Feeling guilty for leaving it, but not knowing what else to do, Zoe headed back across the classroom. She spotted the teacher’s name on her desk, Ms. Marsdell. Once Zoe was home again, she could have her parents call and make sure the class pet was okay. Just in case. I don’t like that it’s here by itself.

  “Maybe we should give it fresh water too before we leave,” Zoe said.

  “I’ll do it,” Harrison volunteered. He trotted back to the cage as Zoe typed the teacher’s name into her phone for later.

  “Uh, Zoe?” Harrison’s voice cracked. “That was a mouse in the cage, right?”

  “Yeah. Why?” She glanced back to see Harrison staring into the cage.

  “Then why does it have wings?”

  “What? It doesn’t—” She hurried to his side. The mouse was still huddled in the corner, but now it had brilliant blue butterfly wings on its back, popping up from its white fur. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow.”

  “Uh-huh.” Harrison’s eyes were bugging out, not unlike they had when he first heard Pipsqueak talk.

  Zoe gawked at it too. It had been an ordinary mouse just a few minutes ago! How had this happened? Why were there suddenly so many impossible creatures all at once? What are the odds that there’s a giant cat, a flying dog, and a mouse with wings in Eastbury? This can’t be a coincidence.

  “Pipsqueak, come see this!” Zoe glanced over her shoulder toward the door, expecting Pipsqueak to stick her head back inside, but the cat didn’t reappear. “Pipsqueak?”

  “Zoe,” Harrison said. “Mouse with wings! And it’s not a bat! What do we do?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a mouse sprout wings.” She called again: “Pipsqueak? You have to come see this!” Why isn’t Pipsqueak answering me?

  “Do you think your aunt has?” Harrison asked. “She said in her letter that she’s met extraordinary creatures. I think we should tell her about this.”

  “I think we should show her.”

  “What?”

  “We should take the mouse with us.” They couldn’t just leave it like this. They had no way of knowing who would find it. She thought of the mess online when the flying poodle was found. This poor mouse didn’t deserve to be the center of that kind of attention.

  “Can’t take the whole cage. It’s too big to carry.” She scanned the room and spotted a shoebox diorama with the solar system inside. Dumping out the Styrofoam planets, she stabbed holes in the lid with a pair of scissors, scooped the winged mouse out of its cage
, and lowered it gently into the shoebox.

  Harrison grabbed the bag of mouse food and shoved it into his backpack. “Does it even eat this anymore, or will it want to eat worms? Is it a bird or a rodent? A bir-dent? A rod-ird? Wait—they’re insect wings, so it should be rod-ect.”

  “No need to classify it right now,” Zoe told him. Holding the shoebox and her backpack, she headed out of the classroom, with Harrison behind her.

  The sooner they could get to Aunt Alecia, the better.

  But first . . . where was Pipsqueak?

  The hallway was empty.

  Running through the halls, they checked the classrooms, the cafeteria, the library, and the gym. Zoe was trying not to worry. And she was failing. What if Pipsqueak had been seen by a stray janitor or a teacher getting something from his classroom?

  “Where is she?” I was supposed to keep her safe! They hadn’t been gone from home for even a night, and already Zoe had lost her. “She was just with us. Where did she go?”

  Harrison pointed to the open gym doors.

  Sticking to the shadows, they peeked out.

  Outside, the mother from the playground was talking on her phone, laughing, and not watching her toddler, who was making kissing faces at a (normal-size) gray cat with a pink collar.

  Zoe spotted Pipsqueak crouched behind a clump of bushes, barely hidden. It looked as if the bushes had sprouted a halo of fur. Her whiskers stuck out on either side of the shrubbery.

  Harrison was freaking out, muttering under his breath, “She’s going to be seen. Caught. Taken away. Experimented on. Put in a cage. Like the mouse. Why the mouse? Why wings? Why not a big mouse? What’s going on?”

  “Deep breath, Harrison. I’ll get her back inside. Stay here, and watch the mouse.” She handed him the shoebox.

  Checking the toddler’s mom one more time to make sure she wasn’t looking their way, Zoe darted out to join Pipsqueak. She ducked behind the bushes, squeezing against the cat’s side so there would be at least some greenery in front of them.

  “What are you doing?” Zoe whispered. “You could be seen!”

  “That cat doesn’t have to hide,” Pipsqueak said mournfully. “Look. It doesn’t have to be afraid of anything. No one thinks it’s terrifying or wrong.”