Fat Cat of Underwhere

by Bruce Hale

  “Never you mind. Just build ze machine ze vay I’ve told you.”

  Their silhouettes showed against the window-shade—one tall, one short.

  “But I don’t see how it fits with our movie,” said Bony Man.

  “You don’t see?” The short silhouette held up a coffee cup. “Who is ze director? Who is ze big man on set?”

  “You are, VB.”

  “That’s right!” Von Breif tossed the contents of his cup onto Bony Man—sspissh! “Und don’t you forget it!”

  The taller man seemed to shrink, lower and lower, to his boss’s height. “Sorry, VB, sorry!” His voice piped, like a child’s. “You’re the boss.”

  My whiskers tingled. Something was fishy here, and not in a good, fishcakes-for-dinner kind of way. What was going on? I edged closer.

  Okay, in hindsight, maybe I should’ve kept up my guard a little better. But that’s what happens when cats act like humans.

  A volley of barks broke my concentration. “Rowf, rowf, rowf!”

  Fidos!

  I whirled. Every hair on my back stood up.

  A pack of huge, snarling dogs was galloping straight at me!

  Fish bones and fur balls!

  I leaped onto the railing and tried to scale the metal box.

  Screeee! My claws slid down its side. The bird-blasted thing was solid metal.

  I dropped back onto the stairs with a thump.

  “Cat, cat! Bad cat!” the dogs bayed. They were almost upon me.

  “Kitties ruuule!” I yowled, launching myself into space. I landed lightly on the lead dog’s back, scampered across it, and jumped onto the next dog and the next.

  They tried to turn and bite me, but the stupid Fidos were moving too fast.

  Wham! They slammed into the stairs in a great heap.

  “Adios, butt sniffers!” I cried.

  I didn’t wait for applause. I took off at a dead run.

  Past the big metal boxes, past the empty food table I flew.

  “Ground! Cat on ground!” The dogs clamored behind me.

  I risked a glance back.

  They were gaining fast. The lead Fido wore an especially mean look on his ugly muzzle; I didn’t like the size of those yellow fangs.

  A surprised workman stepped into my path. “Wha—?”

  I dodged around him.

  “Nice doggies?” he cried just before the pack swept into him.

  A loud thump sounded behind me.

  Eyes open wide, I scanned the night for shelter. A bush? Too flimsy. A cart? Too low.

  Two trucks loomed ahead.

  “Slow cat!” barked the lead dog. “Din-din.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I flinched. He was only a few steps behind.

  I zigged for the bush, then zagged for the cart. Yellow Fang was almost on top of me.

  Fresh out of options, I ran right onto the cart. The dog followed, and his weight made it roll.

  “Woofa?” he growled, planting his paws for balance.

  The cart kept rolling toward the truck. Just a little farther…

  Fimf! Light as kitten fur, I leaped from the cart onto the hood of the truck.

  Whonk! The cart slammed into it. Yellow Fang tumbled.

  Instantly the Fidos surrounded the truck, baying wildly.

  I jumped up onto the roof of the truck, and from there to the top of the high box behind it. Safe for the moment, I gazed down on the pack.

  “Looking for someone?” I asked.

  “Dead!” barked Yellow Fang. “Dead cat!”

  The other dogs echoed his sentiments.

  “The only dead thing I smell is your breath,” I said. “Whooee, you stink.”

  And while they barked their fool heads off, I calmly gave myself a thorough tongue bath.

  At times like this, it’s sweet to be a cat.

  The long night passed with many threats but little action. Growls and snarls were my lullaby.

  When the morning came, two humans who smelled like coffee rounded up the dogs and dragged them away. When they were gone, I left my perch.

  The film crew was stirring, preparing for another day’s work. In all the hustle and bustle, I slipped through the gate and sauntered down the road.

  The sun rose higher. I passed my time hunting birds. At last, Hector and his friends rolled up on their two-wheelers.

  “Fitz!” called Hector. “There you are. I was worried about you!”

  I trotted over to them. “Worry about yourself,” I said. “I found the real Rotten Egg Man, and he’s planning something.”

  Stephanie held up her hand. “Hang on. Before you get all mrow-mrow-mrow with us, just tell me: Did you learn anything last night?”

  I nodded.

  “Do we need to know about it soon?”

  I hopped into her bicycle basket and nodded again.

  “Then what are we waiting for?” said Zeke. “Underwhere, here we come!”

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  Catnapped

  We passed back through the portal with a slim whisker of hope and a harebrained scheme that would never work. We were going up against savage mice, a vicious dino dog, and an evil wizard.

  If I’d been a smart kitty, I would’ve left the humans to it and taken a long nap on a warm window seat.

  But for some strange reason, I couldn’t.

  I was thinking like a human.

  The children hopped onto their two-wheelers, and I rode in Stephanie’s basket. Because we’d emerged from a different portal than usual, they had to cycle quite a way to reach my territory.

  Back on our home turf, the kids trudged off to do their chores. I wanted to revisit the movie set, but Hector and his friends couldn’t run me out there until they had raked leaves, picked up clothing, and cleaned dishes.

  I sometimes wonder how humans came to rule so much of this planet.

  Since no self-respecting cat would clean anything but its fur, I toured the front yard. The breeze carried so many interesting smells—trash spills, baby sparrows, strange dogs, gophers, fresh-mown grass, and a host of other scents.

  I followed my nose and wandered. At the sidewalk’s edge, I stopped to watch the sparrow tree. Never know when one of those little birdies might tumble out. (A cat can hope, can’t he?)

  But oddly enough, I wasn’t thinking about birdies. I was thinking about Rotten Egg Man.

  Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice the invader. One minute I was pondering. The next minute, leaves crunched, the ripe smell of unwashed boy attacked my nose, and someone pinned me to the ground under a dark cloth.

  “Gotcha!” said my attacker.

  “Reeow!”

  I struggled, but he was ready. He flipped the sack over, dropping me onto my back. Then he tied the top of the bag and heaved me—oof!—into a wire box of some sort.

  “That’ll teach those losers,” he muttered. And I knew from the voice and the overpowering smell that I was in the clutches of B.O. Boy.

  Melvin.

  I writhed and clawed and twisted.

  No use. The sack held.

  Well, tug my tail! This was a fine mess.

  A sudden rush of movement, and the box jostled and bounced. We were on Melvin’s two-wheeler, I guessed, headed for who knew where.

  One bumpy ride later, the two-wheeler stopped. I smelled dead grass and ripe trash. Melvin lifted my bag into the air and banged it against the two-wheeler’s basket.

  “Watch it, birdbrain!” I growled.

  “Oopsie,” said B.O. Boy. “Poor widdow kitty go bonk.” He laughed.

  I gritted my teeth as I swung helplessly in the bag. I heard a door open and close, then another one.

  This room smelled like stale pizza, unwashed socks, and over it all, the stink of Melvin’s armpits. Yuck. Too ripe, even for me.

  The top of the sack rustled, and suddenly my bag was upended.

  “Hey!” I twisted in midair, landing on my feet in a cage.

  Before I could escape—Ba
m!—B.O. Boy slammed the cage door. He fiddled with the latch.

  I threw myself against it, but the door held.

  “Nice try, kitty,” said Melvin. “But you’re staying with me awhile.”

  “Noooooo!” I caterwauled.

  The blond boy put his face close to the bars.

  “Keep that up and you won’t get any pizza.”

  I hissed, and he backed off.

  Pizza? This lump had obviously never served a cat of my refined tastes. I sniffed. The cage stunk like bird doots.

  “Woooah,” I moaned again.

  “Tough noogies, cat. You’re living in that parrot cage until I’ve paid back Zeke the freak and his friend.”

  Just then, the doorbell rang. B.O. Boy picked up a white ball and a leather glove. “That’s Darryl. Stick tight, kitty.” And he slammed the door of his room behind him.

  I scanned his space. Piles of clothing, comic books, and broken toys dotted the landscape. A listless lizard sat in a glass-walled box on the desk.

  “So what are you in for?” I asked the lizard.

  It flicked its tongue at me. About what you’d expect from a reptile.

  Pacing the small cage, I tried to think. I had to stop Rotten Egg Man and get the Scepter. But how could I do all that stuck in a cage?

  I sniffed again. My nose told me other humans lived in the house.

  “Heeyyy,” I yowled. “Huuuumaans!”

  No answer.

  I paced some more. When I realized help wasn’t coming, I did the only practical thing a cat could do.

  I napped.

  The long night passed in a series of insults. Stale pizza and water for dinner. No litter box for afterward. And B.O. Boy snored.

  The next morning, I stared balefully at Melvin as he got ready for school.

  “You,” I growled. “Your ears are puny and your fur is all funky.”

  B.O. Boy snickered. “Oooh, little kitty’s got a mad-on.” He whacked the cage. “Now you know how I feel. Better hope your master apologizes soon.”

  Now I knew this kid was a moron. Cats have no masters.

  After he’d gone, I started caterwauling again. Someone was bound to hear.

  Sure enough, after a while, the door creaked open and a little girl’s face peeked through. “Wassamatter, kitty?” she said.

  “What’s it look like?” I said. “I don’t have a thing to wear to the big dance.”

  The girl wiped her nose. “Sorry, I don’t speak pussycat.”

  Hmm. This would take a gentler approach. I mewed and gave her the huge, sad kitten eyes.

  “Aw, poor kittycats,” she said. “Do you want out?”

  I nodded.

  The girl sniffed and wiped her nose again. “I’m not s’posed to be in here. Melvin would cream me.”

  I gave her the saddest of all sad eyes.

  “But Melvin is a poopy-head,” she said. “I’m setting you free!”

  And with that, she unlatched the cage, reached inside, and took me out.

  Freedom!

  I was so grateful, I wound around her legs and purred.

  She patted me with clumsy hands. “Will you come to my tea party?”

  At this point, a normal cat would’ve insolently wandered off. But she looked at me with such sad eyes of her own, I felt my resolve weaken.

  “Okay, but just for a minute,” I said, nodding.

  The girl clapped her hands. “Yay! My name’s Trudy. What’s yours?”

  “Fitz,” I said as she led the way. “But my real name is Savage Backyard Warrior.”

  “I’ll call you Miss Kitty,” she said.

  The kid really needed a biology lesson, but I let it pass.

  It turned out her toy ponies and stuffed bears were also invited to our tea party. The party involved very little tea and very much talking about family.

  Still, I kept my ears open for my chance. And when a car door slammed outside, I trotted into the front room.

  “Wait, Miss Kitty,” Trudy called. “I’m gonna make expresso.”

  Heels clicked on the stone outside, and I caught a whiff of female human. When she turned the doorknob, I was crouched and ready.

  “It’s just Mommy,” said Trudy, entering the front room. “Don’t worry.”

  When her mother pushed the door open, I made a break for it.

  “Trudy, what are you doing out of—ahh!” said the woman.

  I shot past her legs and outside.

  “Miss Kitty!” called the girl.

  And with a flick of the tail, I hit the road.

  CHAPTER 10

  Riding with Mothball Man

  Sucking in great lungfuls of fresh air, I scampered like a kitten across the dead lawn. Free at last!

  I felt a brief twinge of regret over Trudy. But it soon passed.

  Now, to find my way home. Just one problem: Which way was it?

  Nothing in B.O. Boy’s neighborhood seemed familiar. I prowled down the sidewalk, sniffing for smells from my wild bike ride.

  No luck.

  Still, I trusted my nose. I headed out. Something would turn up.

  Before too long, something did. A car.

  It stopped at the curb just ahead, and the door popped open. The powdery scent of mothballs emerged, followed by a white-maned head.

  “By Mercury’s flaming shoelaces!” Prufrock boomed. “It’s Hector’s cat! Lost your way, little one?”

  I nodded.

  His blue eyes widened. “Jupiter’s mouthwash! They told me you could talk down there, but…you comprehend English?”

  “Like that’s hard?” I said.

  Mothball Man nodded. “I can tell you said something with attitude, even though I can’t understand you. Remarkable!”

  I padded over to the curb.

  “Care for a ride home?” he asked, patting the seat.

  In answer, I hopped up into the car.

  As we put-putted down the street, Mothball Man looked over at me. “I’m so glad to have a sympathetic ear,” he said. “And since you can’t really talk back, you can listen to everything I have to say.”

  “Oh, great,” I said.

  He smiled. “I’ll presume you just said ‘go ahead.’ You see, cat, I’m worried. If that dinosaur dog has passed through from Underwhere, that means the portal is getting wider.”

  “I figured as much,” I said.

  “‘Brilliant deduction,’ you say?”

  I rolled my eyes. Since he was supplying my half of the conversation, I decided to clean the stench of B.O. Boy’s house from my fur.

  Mothball Man waved a hand about. “There’s more: If the portal gets any wider, soon, bigger things could come through. Soldiers, for example, or…”

  I stuck out my front paws stiffly and made a deranged expression.

  “Or zombies,” he said. “Precisely! The UnderLord could conquer our world.”

  A chill trickled down my spine. This was worse than I thought.

  I growled.

  Mothball Man nodded. “You catch on quickly. I’m glad we had this chat.”

  For the rest of the drive, I stared out the window as he rambled on about his other concerns. But I paid no attention.

  Rotten Egg Man had to be stopped—and quickly. And I was just the cat to do it.

  When at last the children got home from school, I was pacing up and down the sidewalk. Being catnapped by Melvin had put me two steps back. My fur was practically standing up with urgency.

  As the kids strolled down the street, I dashed up to them.

  “Let’s go!” I cried, tail lashing. “Time’s a-wasting!”

  As usual, they totally misunderstood me.

  “Fitzie!” said Hector. He kneeled down to hug me. “I was so worried.”

  “Where were you?” said Stephanie, petting me.

  “We were looking all over.”

  Even Zeke seemed relieved. “Welcome back, Meow Muffin.”

  I twisted free of Hector. “Don’t you get it? Chop-chop, hurry-hurry
, time to go!” I cantered down the sidewalk, then turned to look back at them.

  “Hector, I think your nutty cat wants us to join him,” said Zeke.

  “We will,” said Stephanie. “Right after we change and have a snack.”

  “Now!” I yowled.

  Hector held up his hands. “Okay, okay. We get the picture.”

  The kids dumped their books on the front porch of Zeke’s house. Then they hustled back down the driveway to join me.

  I streaked into the construction site, past the stacks of lumber and piles of sand. Still leading the way, I headed for the special corner room of the half-built house.

  “What’s the hurry, Fitzie?” called Stephanie.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” I said.

  And with that, I hopped into the hole that led down, down, down to Underwhere.

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  Bad Hair-Ball Day

  We made it through the portal and over to Zeke’s house in record time. But there we met with an unexpected challenge.

  Not from Cousin Caitlyn. It wasn’t hard for the kids to convince her to take us back to the movie shoot. What was hard was talking Zeke into wearing his disguise.

  “Remember, genius?” said Stephanie. “They banned you from the set.”

  Caitlyn crossed her arms. “Seriously, runt. Either you, like, put on this dress, or I’m leaving your sorry-o bucket at the curb.”

  “But I’ll look like a girl,” Zeke whined.

  “That’s the whole idea,” said Stephanie. “They’re watching for a boy, but they won’t give an ugly girl a second glance.”

  Hector chuckled. “Just think, Zeke: You’ll be giving yourself cooties.”

  Zeke glowered. But he entered his room and changed into the floppy hat and pink dress.

  When he reappeared, I couldn’t help but grin.

  “What are you smiling at, you furry meatloaf?” he said. “You’re next.”

  I backed up. “What do you mean?”

  “We have to get you past the dogs and the director,” said Steph. “So you’re going under cover too. Sorry, Fitzie.”

  The kids closed in from both sides.

  I crouched and growled. “You’ve lost your tiny minds.”