Fat Cat of Underwhere

by Bruce Hale

  “Uh-uh,” said Rough Voice. “My turn.”

  Grass rustled. My mouse snack was on the move.

  I sank into a hunter’s crouch, tail twitching.

  Come to Papa, mousie.

  “No way,” Onion Breath whined. “You always get to use the cool gadgets; I never do.”

  “Chief said,” growled Garlic Breath.

  “She always liked you best.” Onion Breath sounded sulky. “Fine. Then, I’ll use the scope, see if I can spot any magical doodads.”

  Uh-oh.

  We had two power objects at the house. If the spies took them, I might never get back to normal.

  While I hesitated, a blur of wings beat the air. A huge owl swooped down and snatched the mouse from under my nose.

  Aw, sparrow guts! Served me right for thinking like a human.

  I snarled. Silently I cursed the big feather head, the Triceradoodle, the spies, and the whole situation.

  Enough. Like a shadow, I oozed behind a tree trunk.

  “Now, where is that night scope?” Onion Breath muttered. Clatters and rustles came from the car.

  I looked around. Somehow I had to distract these spies. But how?

  The funky dog scent teased my nose again, and I smiled. When you need a ruckus, count on a Fido.

  This particular Fido, named Vinnie, was sleeping in his yard two houses down.

  But not for long.

  I zipped along the line of bushes and leaped onto his fence. Carefully I nudged open the gate latch to make things easier for the poor, dumb doggie.

  “Hey, Vinnie!” I called.

  No response. The mutt snored on.

  “Hey, Alpo brains!” I yowled.

  Still no answer.

  When in doubt, go back to basics. I hopped off the fence, trotted up to ol’ Vinnie, and batted his big, ugly nose.

  “Wrrroof!” The shaggy monster bolted to his feet, half awake.

  “You big bag of dumbness,” I said. “You couldn’t find your tail if it was sticking out of your mouth.”

  Finally, Vinnie got the picture. “Cat!” he barked. “Cat, cat!”

  I dashed across the yard and up onto the fence. “Is that the best you got? Come and get me, you great tub of puppy chow!”

  Vinnie’s paws scrabbled in the dirt, and he launched himself in pursuit.

  I jumped down onto the sidewalk.

  Bam! The gate blew open behind me.

  I glanced back. Holy whiskers, he was fast.

  “Cat! Bad cat!” barked Vinnie.

  Tearing down the sidewalk, I reached the spies’ car just as Onion Breath leaned out the window.

  “Coming through!” I cried. And I sprang to the car’s windowsill, scrambling up Onion Breath’s face to the roof.

  “Hey!” he said.

  In hot pursuit, Vinnie flung himself at the car door, smack into the spy.

  “Aaugh!” cried Onion Breath.

  “Roof, roof!” barked Vinnie. “Cat on roof!”

  The spy swatted at the big, hairy bruiser. “Down, you mutt!”

  I sat on the roof and began cleaning my fur. Neatness counts, after all.

  Over and over, Vinnie threw himself at the car, barking madly. The noise drew his owner to her front door. “Vinnie! Here, boy!” a woman called.

  Zeke and Stephanie’s front door swung open too. “What’s going on out here?” called Caitlyn, their older cousin.

  “Whoops,” said Garlic Breath.

  “Time to go,” said Onion Breath.

  “Roof, roof, roof!” barked Vinnie.

  The car engine roared. I gathered myself and eyed the nearby tree. It would be a tricky one.

  Shhcreee! The car rocketed into motion. As it passed the tree, I leaped through space—right over Vinnie’s surprised muzzle—and onto the trunk.

  “Oof!” My landing knocked all the wind out of me. Weakly I scootched a little higher, until I was out of the dog’s reach.

  “Tree, tree!” barked Vinnie. “Cat in tree!”

  And there I clung, until Caitlyn and the kids came to rescue me.

  CHAPTER 5

  Movie Magic

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy all the fuss that followed. Caitlyn and Stephanie petted me, cooed over me, and gave me milk. Hector cuddled me and scratched my favorite spot. Even Zeke was less obnoxious than usual.

  Not that that’s saying much.

  After everything had settled down, Caitlyn announced a special treat. “Listen up, you dorgwollops. I just heard that there’s, like, a movie shooting here in town—directed by some German guy, Lars Von Breif. How’s that for randomly cool?”

  I understand human talk. But Caitlyn talk is a whole other matter.

  Hector smiled. “That’s…random and cool.”

  “So, we are going to pile into the old four-wheel, motor over there right now, and watch the movie magic.” Caitlyn patted my head. “You too, Meow Mix.”

  “But—” Zeke began.

  “Don’t bother thanking me, Dinky Doodle. It’s all done from a deep, deep well of cousinly love.”

  I licked my paw. Caitlyn has about as much love for Zeke as I have for the birds I torment.

  “But we’ve got work to do,” said Steph.

  Caitlyn waved a hand. “Don’t pop a gasket, Junie B. Brain. Your homework won’t, like, turn rancid while we’re gone.”

  “But really—” said Hector.

  Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you zimwats didn’t understand me. We. Are. Going. Now!”

  And with that, she scooped me up and hustled the kids into her little red car.

  Ten minutes later, my ears were ringing from Caitlyn’s nonstop monologue about boys, college classes, boys, her favorite movies, boys, greenhouse gases, and—oh yeah—boys. For the love of mice, that girl can talk!

  I almost wished for a human’s limited powers of hearing.

  At last we drove through a gate and parked by some other cars in a wide field. The moon paled beside the blinding lights the humans had set up. Beyond several huge metal boxes on wheels, a crowd of people had gathered to watch something under the lights.

  Hector pointed to a long, sardine-shaped tube with fins on a high platform. “Cool!” he cried. “A rocket ship!”

  As we left the parking area, Caitlyn rushed over to a girl in green and revved up her mouth even more. The kids fidgeted.

  Then a black bike pulled up. On it sat a big, blond lump who smelled like beans and corn chips and unwashed armpits.

  “Hey, losers,” said B.O. Boy.

  “Melvin!” Zeke gasped, his face turning white.

  The bully smiled like a dog flashing its canines.

  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you tricked me into getting detention.”

  Hector, Stephanie, and Zeke looked at each other. “We, uh…” Zeke began.

  “Just wanted you to know,” said Melvin, “I’m a free man tomorrow.”

  Hector gulped. “You are?”

  “Watch your backs, undie lovers.” B.O. Boy blew a kiss and wheeled away on his bike.

  The kids watched him go.

  “Sheesh,” said Zeke. He stank like fear.

  Stephanie patted Zeke’s arm. “Don’t think about him now.”

  “Yeah,” said Hector. “We’ve got plenty of other stuff to worry about.”

  “Sure,” said Zeke. “But the other stuff isn’t getting ready to cream my face.”

  Just then, Caitlyn rejoined us. “Stay close, you little trolltags. If you cause any trouble, I’ll zelch you deader than a pootblast on a space shuttle.”

  I didn’t know what she said, but I knew what she meant.

  Of course, human rules don’t apply to cats. I found a corner away from the action and began grooming myself. Eternal vigilance is the price of looking this good.

  I had just finished my shoulders and was working on a hind leg, when a familiar smell teased my nose. Bitter, sharp, but oh-so faint.

  The scent led me back into the crowd. I wove amon
g legs as people hurried here and there. Other odors distracted me: flowery perfume, stale bread and cheese, rich loamy dirt, the faint whiff of dogs, a metallic tang.

  But the bitter scent lurked beneath them.

  What was it?

  A deep voice boomed, “Quiet on ze set!” And the crowd fell silent.

  “Cameras rolling?”

  “Rolling, Mr. Von Breif!” a woman replied from her seat behind a machine.

  “Und…action!” cried Von Breif.

  A black box belched out mist. Five humans in silver suits ran onto the field. The woman pointed her machine at the humans, and everyone stared, like this was the opening of a sardine can or something equally important.

  My attention wandered.

  Caitlyn and the children stood with the rest of the people behind a rope barrier, watching the silver suits. I ambled their way, still sniffing the air.

  “Hey,” I said to Stephanie. “Do you smell that?”

  “Shh!” said Caitlyn.

  I wound around Stephanie’s legs. “Seriously, I can’t place the odor, and it’s driving me batty.”

  Caitlyn bent down. “Will you zip it and lock it, fuzz ball?” she hissed.

  Something threw us into shadow, and I looked up. Two people and another machine sat on a small platform at the end of a long metal arm. The arm lowered, and the platform sank a few feet.

  Suddenly the bitter smell hit me stronger than ever.

  A man in silver ran past us and joined the others on the field. “Where’s the transmogrifier?” he said.

  “But…we thought you had it,” a tall blond woman replied.

  Peering out from the human legs, I saw that the new man was short and thick, with a moon-shaped face.

  Stephanie nudged Hector. “That guy,” she whispered. “Remind you of anyone?”

  Caitlyn elbowed her. “Shh!”

  Then two things happened at once.

  Zeke gave a start, and I finally recognized the familiar rotten-egg smell of…

  “The UnderLord!” cried Zeke.

  CHAPTER 6

  ’iddle Bitty Kitty Spy

  “Cut! Cut! Cut!” bellowed Von Breif. “Who said that?”

  The onlookers turned on Zeke. Anger scent bubbled around us like fresh coffee. But the boy was unaware.

  “That’s him!” he cried, pointing at Moon Face.

  “It’s the UnderLord, I’m positive!”

  “You sure are!” Caitlyn pounced like a mama cat on a sparrow. “You’re positively going to get it, runt!”

  But Zeke had slipped under the rope and dashed onto the field.

  “Grab him!” someone yelled.

  Zeke headed straight for Moon Face. “You can’t fool us! We’re onto you!”

  “Who, me?” The man took a step back. “Somebody stop that kid!”

  Three workers converged on Zeke.

  That rotten-egg stench drifted around me, now strong, now weak. Carefully I edged among the human legs, following my nose.

  Von Breif boomed, “Settle down, everybody! Ve must get some verk done.” His platform lowered to human height. “You! Little boy! Leave ze set, now.”

  I squinted up at him, but couldn’t make out much against the lights’ glare.

  “No!” said Zeke, struggling between two men. “You’ve got a dangerous impostor working on your movie.”

  “Impostor?” said the director.

  Moon Face spread his arms. “Of course I’m an impostor,” he said. “I’m an actor. That’s what acting is all about.”

  Some of the onlookers laughed. I slipped under the rope barrier.

  “He’s not an actor,” said Zeke. “He’s the UnderLord, and he’s trying to take over our world.”

  “Someone’s been vatching too much TV.” Von Breif chuckled. “Now, who is responsible for this boy?”

  Caitlyn shuffled forward. “Um, me, if you want to get technical about it. But he’s going to like, totally wish I wasn’t, the little blivet.”

  “Young lady, take him avay. He is banned from this set, ja?”

  Caitlyn grabbed Zeke’s arm. “Oh, ja. Come along, Zekey boy.”

  I worked my way close to Moon Face and took a deep sniff. He reeked of pickle and hamburger, of too much sweat and not enough flowery perfume.

  But no rotten-egg smell—none at all.

  I turned. “Hector, Stephanie!” I called. “This guy’s not the UnderLord.”

  “Und get that cat out of here!” Von Breif boomed. “This is not a zoo.”

  A workman grabbed at me. I scampered out of reach, back into the crowd.

  “Hector?” I called, dodging through the forest of legs.

  “Here, Fitzie,” he said. Hector squatted, and when I trotted up, he scooped me into his arms.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “We wouldn’t leave you behind.”

  I twisted in his grasp. “Don’t be a mouse brain. I want to stay behind.”

  He followed Caitlyn and Zeke, and Stephanie petted my head.

  “You don’t get it,” I said, writhing until Hector stopped and put me down.

  “Do you have to use the litter box?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes. Humans. Slowly and deliberately, I shook my head.

  “Then what do you want?” asked Stephanie.

  I looked back to the movie set.

  “You want to stay?” said Hector.

  I nodded.

  From ahead, Caitlyn bellowed, “Get your meat buckets over here right now, bozinis! If Zeke has to go, everyone goes.”

  Stephanie’s eyes widened. “You want to spy on the UnderLord?”

  I nodded again.

  “Good idea, Fitz,” said my human. “Check it out, and we’ll come get you tomorrow morning.”

  “Now means now,” said Caitlyn. “Hel—lo? Am I like, speaking Norwegian?”

  Stephanie and Hector hurried to join her.

  I slinked back toward the action. Time for this panther to prowl. Nobody can be sneakier than a kitty on a mission.

  Near one of the big metal boxes, I found a place to watch the scene and sniff the air. That rotten-egg odor still lingered. I’d find the evil little man that owned that stench, and when I did…

  “Oooh, what a cute ’iddle kitty!” a bubbly voice cooed.

  A female human descended on me in a cloud of jasmine scent. She was all smiles and curly red hair.

  I gave her the big eyes and a little “Mrrow?” And before you know it, she was petting and fussing over me.

  “Does ’oo want to stay here with me, ’iddle bitty kitty cat?” she said. “Mommy’s got some treats, and ’oo’ll be away from the big, bad director.”

  She carried me over to a cushy seat near the food table and laid out some sardines on a plate. “Comfy?” she asked.

  To the untrained eye, it might have looked like I was being distracted. But as any kitty spy will tell you, it was just a clever way to infiltrate the enemy.

  The crowd had left, and the workmen were shutting off the big lights. Jasmine Lady picked me up and cuddled me as she walked.

  “Mommy’s going to check in with the director,” she said. “Then we can see about finding ’iddle kitty a nice, cozy-wozy sleepy spot. Would ’oo like that?”

  I purred and closed my eyes. This undercover work was okay by me. Even if Jasmine Lady talked to me like I was a moron.

  Up ahead, beside a big metal box on wheels, Von Breif was talking with three workmen. They were taller than he was, and they bent down like his servants.

  “…ready yet?” the director was asking.

  “No, Mr. Von Breif,” said a bony man. “It’s complicated.”

  “I don’t care!” boomed the deep-voiced Von Breif. “Ve must be ready in two nights, understand? Und I vant ze whole town here—everybody.”

  As we drew nearer, my cat sense kicked in. The hairs on my neck stood up, and I twisted in Jasmine Lady’s arms.

  “What’s wong, ’iddle kitty?” she said. “Does ’oo want something?”<
br />
  I growled, “Lady, if ’oo don’t want a ’iddle bite, put me down. Now!”

  Jasmine Lady’s eyes widened, and she set me on the ground.

  Away from her hypnotic petting and coddling, my mind cleared. Taking a deep breath, I caught the reek of rotten eggs, and I knew the truth at last:

  Von Breif was the UnderLord.

  And he was staring right at me.

  CHAPTER 7

  Fun with Fidos

  Quick as a tail whisk, I shot under the big metal box. From the shadows I watched Rotten Egg Man.

  “Vas that a cat?” asked the director. “I hate cats.”

  Not surprising, since I had bitten his butt the last time we’d met.

  Jasmine Lady giggled. “Oh, um, yes, boss,” she said. “But he’s with me.”

  “Keep it far avay from me,” he said.

  “Yes, boss,” said Jasmine Lady.

  They chatted about costumes, and I kept my eyes on Rotten Egg Man. What was this evil munchkin up to?

  He dismissed Jasmine Lady, and she came looking for me.

  “’Iddle kitty? Here, puss, puss, puss!”

  I clung to the shadows under the huge box and kept quiet.

  She moved off, calling, “Pussykins? Don’t ’oo want some num-nums?”

  A normal cat would’ve gone and had num-nums with the nice lady. But thanks to Rotten Egg Man and his magic, I wasn’t a normal cat anymore.

  I waited and watched.

  Von Breif and the bony man climbed the steps of another big metal box. To the second worker, he said, “Turn them loose in five minutes.”

  “Sure thing, VB,” said the man. He hurried off, calling, “Five minutes to lockdown, people! Five minutes!”

  I waited until Von Breif closed the door and settled in with Bony Man. Then, a shadow among shadows, I slinked from my hiding place over to their box. The men’s voices were muffled.

  I crept up onto the steps.

  My nose wrinkled as the stench of charred meat and foul cigars drifted from the box. Holy claw clippings! No wonder humans have such a weak sense of smell—your poor sniffers are overloaded.

  “…don’t know what the big deal is,” Bony Man was saying.

  “Ze big deal?” boomed Rotten Egg Man.