Cat Found
Page 10
Salome leaned over the chapel railing and watched the townsfolk admire the renovations. Gradually people climbed the stairs to join her in the choir loft. The winter light streaming through the stained-glass window colored the art nailed to the walls. The charcoal drawings were framed in bright red. A price tag hung from each corner.
“Those cats look real enough to give me allergies,” someone declared. “I hear the proceeds from this sale will be donated to cat rescue.”
“The artist is a real credit to her grandmother,” a friend agreed.
“Congratulations!” said Officer Jean to Salome. “I’ll buy this one.”
Salome nodded. It was her favorite. A cat curled around blank space. There was no way to tell if it was alive or dead, sated or hungry, warm or cold. It slept mindlessly between heaven and earth.
“Your drawings might be worth a pretty penny someday,” Officer Jean went on, as Salome wrapped up the little picture. “But I don’t care about that. This is a darned good piece. I’m glad you decided to put your talent to work instead of sneaking in and out of other people’s places.”
“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Davies. She gave her granddaughter a hug. “Salome was good company last summer. She never caused me a moment’s worry. Even her folks say she’s a changed girl. The whole family’s coming to stay for Christmas.”
“Humph!” Joxie sniffed quietly. She took the picture of a pregnant cat off the wall. “This one will go in my shop.Maybe it will remind customers of the true meaning of the season.”
Two of the councillors wandered through the choir loft. One of them said, “These drawings look familiar. I feel as if I’ve seen them before.”
“Beats me,” said the other. “I don’t know much about art. The girl is good. That’s about all I can tell you.”
The mayor called out, “It’s time to dedicate Clydesdale’s newest project.” He led the people through the double doors and down the alley. His hand swept across the chapel yard.
“Somebody shrank the town,” the man with the red face snorted.
It was true. A tiny copy of Main Street stretched along the back fence. Joxie’s pet store was there. And so was the apartment building. Even Corky’s and the Lebanese restaurant had a place.
There was a sign affixed to the mulberry tree:
CAT HAVEN
“Nice job, Walt,” said Joe Close. “That little apartment looks so real, I expect Mae to peek out of a window.”
“Billy and I followed directions,” Billy’s father said. “The town planner is over there.” He pointed at Luke. “That young man is going places. All he needs is a haircut.”
Luke stood behind the picket fence fixing the latch to the gate. A lady in a fancy feathered hat reached over to shake his hand.
The cats were outside their shelters, eyes drowsy, tails slack, smudging their coats with their raspy tongues. A name hung over each door. Scat’s manger filled up the City Hall. Pickerel, Perch, and Pike had the apartment rooms. And Mac and Cheese, and Nosey Parker, took the others. As for the gray tom, he sat in the doorway of the miniature chapel, a wreath of snow wrapping his neck.
He gave the people a haughty stare.
“That’s a big tom,” said the lady in the feathered hat. “What’s his name?”
“He doesn’t have a name right now,” said Billy. “There’s a suggestion box by the tree. Just fill out one of the papers.”
The lady pulled a pencil stub from her pocket.
The mayor made his way to the front of the crowd. Cameras snapped. It was his finest moment. “Clydesdale extends a warm welcome to all you folks from near and far who have come to share in our celebration!” he exclaimed. “The reopening of the Main Street Chapel has signaled a fresh start for Clydesdale. And Cat Haven is a reminder of our civic responsibilities. It shows what we can achieve together.”
He pointed skyward. “The town is looking up!”
People looked up as the boards covering the chapel tower were pulled away. Lucie Morton gasped. She blinked away the snow melting in her eyes. “Praise be,” she whispered. “That’s the Redemption Bell. They found it. They found our bell.”
The bell rang out across the town.
Billy left the crowd. He pelted down the chapel alley.
He raced the sound through the deepening dusk.
TWENTY-NINE
The chapel bell was ringing in Christmas.
The chiming carols carried across the chapel yard and into shops and houses. All throughout Clydesdale, women dropped their books. Men scratched their heads. Gradually doors and windows were flung open to let in the glorious noise.
Conga’s kittens didn’t pay any attention. One of them was in the mayor’s bedroom, asleep in his fleece slippers. One of them lapped cream from atop Mrs. Davies’s fancy dining room table. One of them played with Wiggins. The white one curled up in the lap of Billy’s cat-fearing neighbor.
“Gracie,” the neighbor said. She stroked her new companion. “My ears are ringing again.”
Billy hit the back stairs of the apartment building as the last chime sounded. “Conga!” he cried. He burst into the kitchen. “Conga, do you hear that?” He slid to a stop at her feet. “That’s the bell. And you’re the one that found it!”
Conga regarded him lazily from the floor by the warm radiator. When Billy got down beside her, she stretched. Her paw mussed his hair.
After a while, the kitchen fell quiet. The last deep tones of the bell had faded away.
Conga listened to Billy breathing. She listened to the silence of each snowflake settling on the sill. Then she stuck her rose-petal nose into Billy’s ear and hummed.
“Conga,” Billy murmured. He could hardly stay awake. “Conga, thanks. Thanks a lot.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Iwould like to acknowledge the help and support of Jane Oates, who gave shape to my ramblings, and to Phoebe Sheppard, librarian extraordinaire. My thanks also extend to the volunteers of Homeless Cat Rescue in Toronto, for generously providing information about the feral cat.
About the Auhor
INGRID LEE is a writer and a schoolteacher. Her first novel, Dog Lost, is based on a true story about her own pit bull. Lee lives with her family in Toronto, Canada.
Copyright
Text copyright © 2010 by Ingrid Lee
Cover art © Karenmassier/Istockphoto and Enrique De La Osa/Corbis
Cover Design by Elizabeth B. Parisi
All rights reserved. Published by Chicken House, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, CHICKEN HOUSE, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc. www.scholastic.com First published in the United Kingdom in 2010 as Dustbin Cat by Chicken House, 2 Palmer Street, Frome, Somerset BA11 1DS www.doublecluck.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lee, Ingrid, 1948–
[Dustbin cat] Cat found / Ingrid Lee. — 1st American ed.
p. cm.
Summary: In a town where cats are tormented, eleven-year-old Billy finds Conga, injured and unappealing, and hides her in his bedroom to recover, then begins a crusade to stop the cat killers and find a safe haven for strays.
ISBN 978-0-545-31770-2
[1. Feral cats — Fiction. 2. Cats — Fiction. 3. Animal rescue — Fiction. 4. Animal shelters — Fiction. 5. Fathers and sons — Fiction. 6. Family life — Fiction. 7. Community life — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.L51249Cat 2011
[Fic]—dc22
2010054230
First American edition, October 2011
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the r
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eISBN: 978-0-545-38799-6