Jill frowned. “I’m sure that was Silky.”
“But isn’t Silky white?” I said. “All those cats were yellow. And they were flying. Does Silky fly? You didn’t mention it on your poster.”
“Well, she doesn’t usually,” said Jill, “but one of those cats was Silky. I’m sure of it. I’d recognize her anywhere. And you two know something, I can tell. You’d better start talking...and fast.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but it wasn’t my fault! It was Terry. He painted Silky yellow and turned her into a canary—well, a catnary, I guess—and then she flew away! I’m really, really sorry.”
“A catnary?” said Jill slowly. “Terry turned Silky into a catnary?”
“Yes, and like I said, I tried to stop him...”
“But I’m so glad you didn’t!” said Jill.
“Huh?” I said. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all!” said Jill. “In fact, it’s fantastic! I’ve been really wanting to get a canary but I was worried that Silky would eat it. Having a flying cat is like having the best of both pets! Thank you, Terry!”
“You’re welcome,” said Terry. “If you’d like any of your other animals converted, you know where to bring them.”
“Thanks,” said Jill. “I’ll definitely think about it. Meanwhile, I’d better get home and put out some birdseed for Silky and her new friends.”
After she left, Terry clapped his hands together. “Well, that all turned out pretty well, don’t you think?”
“I guess so,” I said, “except for one small thing.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s no need to shout, Andy,” said Terry. “Just relax. It will all be okay.”
“In what sense can I possibly relax and how can it all possibly be okay?” I said. “We still have no book and it’s due in tomorrow. How are we ever going to think all the stories up in time, let alone write and illustrate them?”
“Easy,” said Terry. “We don’t have to think anything up. We’ve just lived through a really interesting day. All we have to do is write it all down, draw some pictures, and we’ll have our book!”
You know, I’m much smarter than Terry, but sometimes I get this really weird feeling that he is actually much smarter than me.
“That’s a crazy idea,” I said.
“Oh,” sighed Terry, disappointed.
“So crazy,” I said, “it just might work!”
“What are we waiting for then?” said Terry. “Let’s get started!”
And so we sat down and wrote and drew...
and drew...
and wrote...
and wrote...
and drew...
and drew...
and wrote...
and drew...
and wrote...
and wrote...
and drew...
and drew...
until exactly 4.45 p.m. the next day.
“We’ve done it!” I yelled.
“But it’s quarter to five,” said Terry. “How are we going to get it to Mr. Big Nose on time? Our deadline is five o’clock...we’ll never make it!”
“Oh yes we will,” I said.
“But how?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “but we’ll think of something.”
That’s when we heard it.
A jingling noise.
Terry jumped up. “It’s Santa Claus!” he said. “Quick, get the stockings, hang them up, and pretend we’re asleep!”
“But it’s not Christmas Eve,” I said. “In fact, it’s not even Christmas!”
We went to the edge of the deck and this is what we saw:
Jill was flying through the sky toward us in a pram drawn by Silky and the other flying cats.
“Check out my flying-cat sleigh,” she said as she hovered in mid-air beside us. “Want to come for a ride?”
“We can’t,” I said. “We’re busy. We’re trying to figure out how to get our book to Mr. Big Nose in the city by five o’clock.”
“I could take you,” said Jill. “These flying cats are really fast! Come on! Climb aboard!”
And so we did.
And that’s how we got the book to Mr. Big Nose on time...
and then he published it...
and it was delivered to bookshops...
libraries...
digital e-reading devices...
and even transferred direct into people’s brains via direct-to-brain information-delivery technology helmets*...
and then you read it and we all lived happily ever after!*
THE END
Andy Griffiths lives in a 13-story treehouse with his friend Terry and together they write funny books, just like the one you’re holding in your hands right now. Andy writes the words and Terry draws the pictures. If you’d like to know more, read this book.
Terry Denton lives in a 13-story treehouse with his friend Andy and together they write funny books, just like the one you’re holding in your hands right now. Terry draws the pictures and Andy writes the words. If you’d like to know more, read this book.
Watch out for
THE 26-STORY TREEHOUSE
Coming soon!
Visit Andy and Terry in their newly expanded treehouse, which now features 13 brand-new stories, including a bumper car rink, a skate ramp, a mud-fighting arena, an anti-gravity chamber, an ice cream parlor with 78 flavors (run by an ice cream-serving robot called Edward Scooperhands), and the Maze of Doom—a maze so complicated that nobody who has gone in has ever come out again. . . .Well, not yet, anyway. So, what are you waiting for? Come on up!
Get ready for more
LAUGH ATTACKS
Written by Andy Griffiths
Illustrated by Terry Denton
Thank you for reading this FEIWEL AND FRIENDS book.
The Friends who made
possible are:
Jean Feiwel, Publisher
Liz Szabla, Editor in Chief
Rich Deas, Creative Director
Holly West, Associate Editor
Dave Barrett, Executive Managing Editor
Nicole Liebowitz Moulaison, Production Manager
Lauren A. Burniac, Editor
Anna Roberto, Assistant Editor
Find out more about our authors and artists and our future publishing at mackids.com.
Our books are friends for life
A FEIWEL AND FRIENDS BOOK
An Imprint of Macmillan
THE 13-STORY TREEHOUSE. Text copyright © 2011 by Backyard Stories Pty Ltd. Illustrations copyright © 2011 by Terry Denton. All rights reserved.
For information, address Feiwel and Friends, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available
ISBN: 978-1-250-02690-3 (hardcover)/978-1-250-04239-2 (ebook)
Feiwel and Friends logo designed by Filomena Tuosto
Originally published as The 13-Storey Treehouse in Australia by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
First published in the United States by Feiwel and Friends, an imprint of Macmillan
First U.S. Edition: 2013
mackids.com
*Direct-to-brain information-delivery technology is a direct-to-brain information-delivery system so technologically advanced that Terry and I haven’t even invented it yet.
*Unless, of course, your life was tragically cut short as a result of having your brain fried by one of our prototype direct-to-brain information-delivery technology helmets.
The 13-Story Treehouse Page 4
