by Bruce Hale
In the end, it took only about one human hour for them to catch me, dress me in diapers, and strap me into the baby-carrying device.
Fish bones and fur balls. The insults I suffer to save the world.
We drove past the gate guards, no problem. The dogs barked, but they were safely penned up behind their fence.
Walking from the car to the shoot, Zeke slouched and pulled his hat low.
“Relax,” said Hector. “Those movie guys will never recognize you.”
“They’re not the ones I’m worried about,” said Zeke.
When some curly-haired child called to Stephanie, “Hey, who’s your girlfriend?” Zeke turned so red, he looked more like a tomato than a girl.
Not that I was much happier.
Stephanie was pushing me along in a wheeled baby carrier. Covered in blankets and a frilly cap, I felt itchy, hot, and cranky. How do humans ever stand wearing clothes?
My throat tickled, and a sudden cough racked me. “Cah-cack-coff!”
“Catching a cold, Fitzie?” said Hector.
Zeke smirked. “Diaper rash, more likely.”
My eyes narrowed, and my tail twitched. “Just you wait, girlie boy.”
Caitlyn told us where she’d be and threatened the kids with great bodily harm and sudden death if they didn’t check in with her. Then she left.
The hillside pulsed with humans and their many odors. Two-legs were everywhere, filling the wide field below the water tower, setting up the lights, handling various movie-making machines, and waiting for the fun to start.
Plenty of chaos. Perfect cover for a sneaky spy cat.
We searched for a private place where Steph could remove my disguise. A nice clump of bushes would do the trick…
“Hey,” I said, pointing. “Over there!”
Stephanie lowered the carrier cover and rolled me toward the bushes. We were almost there when a figure in black blocked our way. A familiar stink tickled my nose.
Rotten Egg Man.
“Vell, vell,” he said. “Vhat have ve here?”
Stephanie cleared her throat. “It’s my, uh, baby brother.”
“How sveet!” The fake director cooed. “I love babies. Cootchie cootchie!”
He bent forward to look at me.
Just then, my throat seized up again. “Ack-cacka-caff!” I coughed.
“Stay back,” said Hector. “He’s got, uh…”
“Swine flu!” blurted Zeke.
Von Breif backed off a step or two. “Really?” he said. “Und who are you?”
Zeke tugged his hat lower.
Stephanie gave a nervous giggle. “She’s my, um, cousin. Bertha.”
“I see.” The director looked from Stephanie to Zeke and back. “Tell your…cousin she has a perfect face for a career in radio.”
And with that, he clicked his heels, turned, and marched off, saying, “Enjoy ze show!”
“Think he recognized us?” hissed Zeke.
“Definitely,” said Hector.
I struggled under the blanket. “Then let’s not sit here like lumps of liver!”
Stephanie wheeled me to the bushes, and the kids took off my baby clothes.
Free at last, I leaped from the carrier. “Keep your nose to the wind and your eyes on Rotten Egg Man!” I called, melting into the crowd.
“People, people,” came an amplified voice. “Settle down and find your places. We’re almost ready to begin.”
The crowd quieted. I hopped onto a table and scanned the grounds. If I were an evil genius, where would I hide my sinister machine?
Food tent? No. Trucks? Possibly.
A tall blue box over by the water tower caught my eye. Hmm.
I worked my way through the forest of people as the crew adjusted the lights and the actors gathered. The workers wore yellow raincoats, like they were expecting a storm.
Odd. I smelled no rain.
Standing beneath the water tower, I looked up. A thick hose snaked its way from the water tank into the side of the blue machine. A double row of faucets lined the front of it.
Call me a curious cat, but I couldn’t resist investigating.
A set of stairs led up the side of the machine, which stood nearly as high as the tower. On a ledge at the back, two workmen were tinkering with it.
“Move ze crane!” boomed a deep voice.
“Nearer!”
Crouching at the top of the stairs, I peeked around the corner of the machine. Rotten Egg Man’s platform on its mechanical arm dipped closer to the workers on the ledge.
“Open ze tank, und I vill make ze final preparations,” said Von Breif. He pulled something from his pocket and circled his fist in the air three times. He chanted:
“Immity brommit und zammity zink
Vallhoose und grommet ze shrinkety shrink!”
Then the director flung his hand open, and a fistful of red sparkles arced through the air onto the machine.
The workers looked on, slack jawed. Everything was quiet.
And in that moment, something tickled my throat.
Desperately, I clamped my jaw and bit my lip, but the tickling got worse. And then…
Ka-hocka, ka-hacka, ka-haugh!
I hacked up a hair ball.
“Eew,” said Rotten Egg Man. Then his eyes widened in recognition. “You!”
CHAPTER 13
Stunt Cat
Von Breif wasted no time. “Grab ze cat!” he cried.
Before I could spring from the ledge, the nearest worker seized me and wrapped me in a jacket.
I bit and clawed and wriggled. But the big man, who reeked of spicy meat sandwich, held me in a firm grip.
“Bring it onto ze crane,” said Rotten Egg Man.
Meat Sandwich carried me onto the director’s platform. Rotten Egg Man gave some orders and the crane rolled toward a nearby structure.
“Vhat luck,” said Von Breif. “Ve have found a kitty to replace our missing animal actor.”
“Get your paws off me, human!” I yowled.
Rotten Egg Man chuckled. “Ooh, it has spirit! Even better.”
At the other structure, Meat Sandwich handed me off to another workman. This man strapped me into a seat in the rocket ship, which waited on its platform.
I bit his hand in thanks.
“Yeoww!” he cried. “Stupid cat!” And he slammed down a see-through hatch, sealing me inside.
“That’s no vay to talk to ze new stunt cat, Harry,” said Rotten Egg Man.
Harry shook his sore hand. “Let’s hope he has better luck than the last four cats. Maybe the danged ejector seat will work this time.”
The cramped space stank of paint and chemicals. I wriggled and bit at the straps holding me down. They loosened a whisker’s worth.
Von Breif stepped back onto his crane. He picked up a cone and held it to his mouth. “Let’s make ze movie magic,” he told the crowd. “This scene is dedicated…to ze little people.”
The crane pulled away. Harry placed his hand on a lever.
I twisted and writhed, and this time the straps gave. Sliding out from under them, I stood on the seat and looked out, resting my paws against the see-through hatch.
Nearby, the two workmen stood on the blue machine. The crowd and actors looked so small below me.
Little people…
Something about their size reminded me of the Undies, which made me think of the crouching man I’d glimpsed in Von Breif’s trailer.
What if he hadn’t just crouched down after being splashed? What if he’d actually…shrunk?
My whiskers tingled.
Holy claw clippings! Was Rotten Egg Man planning to shrink the whole crowd, using the magical water from the blue machine?
I looked for Hector, Stephanie, and Zeke, and spotted them at the edge of the crowd. “Hey!” I cried. “Stop the blue machine! Stop it!”
But they couldn’t hear.
A voice roared, “Lights…camera…action!”
Actors in silver suits r
an onto the field. They grappled with other actors dressed in green, hairy suits that made them look like giant outer-space monkeys.
I slammed my body against the hatch—once, twice, three times—but it didn’t budge.
I was stuck, like a sardine in a can.
Was this any place for a self-respecting cat?
My silver tube began to shake. Harry pulled the lever, and—Ba-pow!—it blasted off the platform and into the air!
Soaring high, I had time to think. So this is how birdies feel? Sweet.
But then the tube’s nose dipped and my stomach dropped.
Get me out of here!
As my prison plummeted, I hopped onto the panel at the front of the chamber. Buttons and levers covered its surface. Some had writing below them.
What a time to not be able to read.
Frantically, I batted buttons at random. Nothing happened. Then I hit a fat red one and—Pa-foomph! Off blew the hatch.
The ground zoomed up to meet me. I crouched on the seat.
Closer, closer…
At the last second I leaped as high and far as I could.
Ka-tchoom! The tube crashed.
I sailed through the air.
And I landed, claws out, on the moon-faced actor’s head.
“Wowie-wow-wow!” he screamed. “Get-this-cat-offa-me!”
His hands beat at me. Other actors were looming near.
I gathered myself and jumped again—onto the ground and away in a blur.
“Stephanie! Hector! Zeke!” I yowled. “Quickly—to the blue machine!”
This time they heard me. As I streaked toward the device, the kids pushed forward to join me. But would we make it in time?
Suddenly, two figures barred our way, and I smelled the sharp odors of onion and garlic. The spies held out their hands. “Hold up, children!” said Onion Breath. “What’s going on here?”
“No time to explain,” said Stephanie.
On top of the blue machine, a workman grabbed a wheel. Only seconds left.
I zipped around the spies and tore up the stairs.
The water tower hose caught my eye. Hmm…If I cut off the water supply, maybe Rotten Egg Man couldn’t shrink people.
I launched myself onto the hose, biting and clawing at it.
Sometimes, I daydream that I’m panther-sized. Right then, I wished that daydream had come true. My efforts had no effect.
“Get your tails up here!” I cried to the children.
Stephanie noticed what I was trying to do. “Come on!” she yelled, dashing up the steps. “Let’s disconnect that hose!”
“You’re interfering with a movie shoot!” said Onion Breath. “Come down here at once!”
“Now!” growled Garlic Breath.
Zeke and Hector helped me pull at the hose, while Stephanie twisted a ring where it attached to the machine.
Finally, a workman noticed us. “Hey, you kids! Get offa there!”
Von Breif’s amplified voice rumbled, “Cue ze veather machine…und…action!”
Frantically, we tugged and twisted. And finally, as the workman turned the wheel…
Fooosssshh!
The hose pulled away from the machine, and water spurted out, drenching the kids and me.
Eeyuck. I hate getting wet.
We had cut off the water supply. But a weak stream of bluish water still sprayed from the front of the machine—right onto the spies, who stood beneath.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then Onion Breath and Garlic Breath began to shrink. Not like a flower closing at nighttime. They shrank down, down, down…until these two grown men were as short as children—as short as Zeke.
“Aahh!” screamed Onion in a high voice.
“What’s happening to me?”
“I’m little!” shrieked Garlic.
The crowd oohed and aahed and clapped their hands. “How did they do that?” asked a lean security guard. “It looks so real.”
“Cut!” roared Von Breif. “Cut, cut, cut!”
I shook myself all over, showering the kids with droplets.
“Hey!” said Hector.
“My hair!” cried Stephanie. Which was funny, because her hair was the least wet part of her. But I knew how she felt.
Onion and Garlic pounded up to the foot of the steps. “You did this to us!” cried Onion. “You and your magic!”
“Not us,” said Zeke. “The UnderLord. He’s responsible.”
Garlic Breath put his little fists on his little hips. “Where is he?”
I scanned the area for the crane and director.
No sign. Once again, Rotten Egg Man had abandoned the scene at the first hint of trouble.
He was a little like a cat that way.
CHAPTER 14
An Unexpected Visitor
Caitlyn couldn’t decide whether to praise us or punish us.
“On the one hand, you, like, majorly blew that shot,” she said, waving a hand at the chaos around us. “But on the other hand, you little dorpweezils made for some totally Tuckahoe special effects.”
In the end, she let the kids go with a never-ending lecture.
The little-bitty spies stomped off to their car after failing to find Rotten Egg Man. I had a feeling we’d be seeing them again real soon.
Back at home, the kids petted and praised me and served up the fancy moist cat food with fish eggs on top.
“That was so cool, Fitzie,” said Hector. “The way you jumped out of that rocket before it crashed—wicked cool!”
“More,” I said.
Stephanie scratched behind my ears. “And you figured out the UnderLord’s plan and helped us stop him. I’ve never known a cat like you.”
“Go on,” I purred.
Even Zeke got in on the action. “I have to admit, fur ball, we couldn’t have done it without you.”
Eyes half closed, I leaned into Stephanie’s petting. Maybe my acting a little human wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
Especially when I got to reap the benefits in a thoroughly catlike way.
The next day, while the kids were off at school, I lay in one of my favorite napping spots in the front yard and pondered. I know, to human eyes it looks like we’re napping. But you never can tell with us cats.
After a long, long pondering session a familiar smell came to me. I yawned, stretched luxuriously, and licked my whiskers.
What was it? Not dog, not postman, not garlicky spies.
Sniffing the air, I crossed the street to Zeke and Stephanie’s house. The scent was stronger. But it was something I didn’t normally smell on this street.
I followed my nose down the sidewalk. Much stronger here.
As I stood tasting the air currents, a gate creaked nearby.
Footsteps.
I crouched beside a bush, half hidden.
The owner of the footsteps emerged from the construction site, stopped, and put his hands on his hips.
“’Ullo, cat,” said Alf of Underwhere. “We’re in a bit of a pickle. Can you lend us a paw?”
I gazed up at him and swished my tail.
Would I help? But of course. It’s the only human thing to do.
About the Author and the Illustrator
BRUCE (charming cheetah) HALE spends much of his time pouncing on pesky balls of yarn and raiding his neighbor’s catnip garden. To relax, he perches himself in his living room window and basks in the rays of the sun in Santa Barbara, California. To find out more about his feline fancies and the more than twenty books he’s written and illustrated, purrr-use www.brucehale.com.
SHANE (meowing marvel) HILLMAN is the illustrator of the Underwhere series as well as the creator of many comic strips on the web and in print. You’ll find him ruffling his whiskers and taking many, many baths in Houston, Texas. For a look at Shane’s hiss-terical high jinks, visit www.shanehillman.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Als
o by Bruce Hale
Prince of Underwhere
Pirates of Underwhere
Flyboy of Underwhere
Credits
Jacket art © 2009 by Shane Hillman
Jacket design by Jennifer Heuer
Copyright
FAT CAT OF UNDERWHERE. Text copyright © 2009 by Bruce Hale. Illustrations copyright © 2009 by Shane Hillman. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition May 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-185796-6
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