Tj and The Cats

by Hazel Hutchins

I opened the door. All three cats shot out of the room and went galloping down the hall. One … two … three … By the time I followed them into the living room they were nowhere in sight.

  I have a theory. Some houses absorb cats. You know the way sponges absorb water? Well that’s how some houses are, and ours is one of them. Let a cat loose in our house and — slurp — it’s gone.

  As I headed down the street to school I had an eerie feeling — a feeling that I was being watched.

  Chapter 4

  “Listen to this,” said Seymour.

  We were working on our cat report at the back of the classroom. Seymour was reading and I was writing down notes.

  “When a cat died in ancient Egypt, it was mummified and placed in a jeweled coffin,” read Seymour. “The owners shaved their eyebrows to show how sad they were.”

  “They shaved their eyebrows because of a dead cat?” I asked.

  Seymour nodded. “I think we should go back to dinosaurs. No one ever ended up with shaved eyebrows because a dinosaur died,” he said.

  “We’re doing cats,” I told him. “Look up Sponge Theory.”

  “What?” asked Seymour.

  “See if there’s something about cats disappearing.”

  “Ms. K. doesn’t want to hear about the lost-and-found department at the cat pound!” said Seymour. He was waving his hands around again. Amanda was at the front of the room, talking to Ms. K. about her own report, so she didn’t have to duck.

  “What we need are short and amazing facts,” said Seymour. “Tyrannosaurus Rex ate three thousand young children at a single sitting.”

  “People weren’t even around when there were dinosaurs,” I said.

  “I’m just giving an example,” said Seymour. “Here’s something good to write down. Cats can leap five times as high as they are long.”

  “Are you sure that’s important?” I asked.

  “Can you jump five times as high as you are long?” asked Seymour.

  “No,” I said.

  “Exactly,” said Seymour. “Here’s another. Cats walk on their toes.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I don’t believe it either, but that’s what it says,” said Seymour. “Here’s another. Cats spend two-thirds of their lives sleeping.”

  “These ideas aren’t even related to each other,” I said.

  “They’re all related to cats,” said Seymour. “This is a good one. Cats are strictly carnivores and eat only meat.” Seymour looked up at me meaningfully.

  “I know,” I said. “Just like T-Rex.”

  “Let’s change back to dinosaurs,” said Seymour. “They didn’t spend most of their lives asleep.”

  “We’re doing cats,” I said.

  Seymour sighed and turned back to the book.

  “A cat’s spine is extremely flexible and has more bones than a human spine so cats can bend, twist and climb into cramped spaces.”

  Smack — he closed the book.

  “End of report,” he said. “You write it out. I’ll draw the pictures.”

  “We can’t make a report out of just five facts!” I told Seymour.

  “We could if we were doing dinosaurs,” said Seymour. “That’s how I do it. Every year I use my old report and add five more facts.”

  “We aren’t doing dinosaurs!” I told him for the thousandth time.

  “Fine,” said Seymour, handing me the books. “You find more facts. I’ll draw some pictures.”

  “Are you going to draw pictures of cats or of dinosaurs?” I asked.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” said Seymour.

  I hate doing reports with other people, even if they are my best friends.

  The crazy thing is, although I complained about Seymour’s “short and amazing facts,” I found myself writing down exactly the same sort of thing.

  Cats can hear higher and softer sounds than humans can hear.

  Mice sounds? Bird sounds?

  They have thirty muscles in their ears to help them locate the source of the sound.

  I can’t even wiggle my ears.

  With a tiny bit of light, cat eyes can see six times better than human eyes.

  Great — cats could jump higher, hear better and see in the dark better than I could. Not only did they give me the creeps, I was beginning to feel like a lesser being.

  But there was something else about cats’ eyes that really did interest me.

  Because of an extra layer at the back, cats’ eyes reflect light and appear to glow in the dark.

  Maybe Killer wasn’t insane after all.

  I would have read more, but it was time for music. Ms. K. asked us to get out our recorders. Seymour and I took the books back to our desk. He showed me the picture he’d drawn. It was a saber-toothed tiger. I figured he was testing me, so I didn’t say anything. With Seymour, things could go either way.

  “Did you practice your recorder last night?” asked Seymour.

  I shook my head.

  “Neither did I,” said Seymour glumly. “Ms. K. will ask both of us to play for sure.”

  He was right of course. Ms. K. knows things. I don’t know why we even bother trying to fool her. I made such a mess of my song that I promised myself as soon as I got home I’d practice for eight hours straight, or at least fifteen minutes.

  But I didn’t.

  As soon as I opened our front door my heart began beating like crazy again. Something was very, very wrong.

  Chapter 5

  It was exactly like they show on those crime programs on TV — robbers had trashed our house! Stuff was thrown everywhere. I’d watched enough crime shows to know not to go inside. I phoned Mom and Dad from the neighbor’s house.

  Dad drove up ten minutes later. Right behind him came a police car. The police officer went in first. It didn’t take her long.

  “The thieves are long gone,” she said. “If you come in we’ll get an idea of what’s missing.”

  The place really was a mess. Garbage, plant parts, dirty laundry, toilet paper — you name it — was spread across the living room and down the halls. How could people do something like that to another person’s home?

  The funny thing is, nothing was missing. Not the TV. Not the VCR. Not the microwave. Not the money in the cookie tin. It didn’t make sense. Didn’t we have good enough stuff to be robbed?

  The police officer was looking at the sofa. It was covered in toilet paper and plant parts, but there was something else too — clumps of white and orange hair.

  “Do you have cats?” she asked suspiciously.

  It couldn’t be! There hadn’t been anything in the library about cats destroying houses.

  Just then an orange streak leapt out of nowhere, danced through the plants and disappeared again.

  “I’m cat-sitting four of them,” I managed to say.

  “Four of them!” said the police officer.

  She closed her notepad, shook her head and headed out the door.

  I cleaned it up — all of it. I hid the extra toilet paper rolls, found a way to latch the garbage and wedged the potted plants so they wouldn’t tip over. It was the least I could do after calling in the entire police force.

  “It wasn’t the entire police force, TJ,” said my dad. “And I’m the one who phoned them.”

  I still felt like an idiot.

  Dad decided that since he was home anyway, he’d pack a cold supper. He and Mom could get some extra work done at the store that evening.

  “We shouldn’t be too late,” he said, stopping on his way out the door. “Are you going to be all right, TJ? You look funny. Are you feeling sick?”

  Cat sickness, that’s what I had. But how could I tell my dad that when he had places to go and things to do?

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  I sat in the living room and watched his car drive away. The house felt quiet and empty all around me. It had felt that way a lot lately, but now it was worse. This time I knew there was something lurking just bene
ath the silence. Actually there were four somethings.

  I had to find the cats. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I did, but I had to find them.

  I remembered one of Seymour’s short and amazing cat facts. Cats can leap five times as high as they are long. I stretched out my hands as long as a cat and multiplied the length by five in my head. Those cats could jump almost up to the ceiling!

  I began to look up. On top of the fridge? No. On top of the bookshelf?

  I climbed on a table and peered over the top of the bookshelf. A pair of emerald green eyes peered back at me from a cloud of gray, white and salmon-colored hair.

  “Cleo?” I asked. I don’t know why. I knew it was her.

  Merow? she asked back at me. It sounded so innocent I felt like gagging.

  “Brother,” I said.

  I climbed back down. I’d found one of the culprits. Where were the others?

  Behind me I heard a thump. Cleo had jumped down to the end table. All through the house she followed me as I checked high ledges and shelves.

  I had found lots of fur, but no more cats, when Seymour phoned. I knew it was Seymour because who else would play “Hot Cross Buns” on the recorder into the phone?

  “All right,” I told him. “Hold it. Stop. Cut it out.”

  “That makes forty-six times,” he announced. “I figure that’s enough to keep Ms. K.’s witch-radar from locating me for at least a week. Have you practiced yet?”

  “No,” I said.

  “You’d better get started,” said Seymour.

  He was right.

  “And by the way, I took one of the cat books home. I’ve got a bunch more amazing facts and I’ve drawn another picture,” said Seymour.

  I didn’t ask him if it was another saber-toothed tiger. I didn’t want to take the chance.

  After I hung up I got my recorder. I sat on the living-room floor and spread my music in front of me. Cleo sat on my music.

  “Cleo, get off!” I said. I reached out to pull the music away.

  Cleo yawned – a yawn that showed many sharp teeth.

  She stretched – a stretch that sent sharp, curved claws pulling at the carpet.

  I figured I could play from memory.

  Hot cross buns. Hot cross buns. One a penny, two a penny, Hot cross buns.

  Cleo blinked at me and began to groom herself. Lick. Lick. The music wasn’t perfect, but one or two of the notes were right. I tried again.

  Hot cross buns. Hot cross buns. One a p …

  I stopped playing. Something was wrong. I could hear it. I could see it too. It was spooky, but it was happening — our sofa was moving!

  Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

  There went my heart again. The way my life was going lately, if I didn’t drown I was going to die of a heart attack.

  Chapter 6

  Be calm. Be cool. Don’t panic. DON’T call the police.

  Our sofa moving? Naw. Sofas don’t move. It was my imagination.

  Hot cross buns. Hot cross buns. One a p …

  The sofa was moving. One of the cushions was lifting. A pair of orange ears, a pair of yellow eyes and a hairy orange body were squeezing out from beneath the cushions. Kink! He’d been right inside the frame of the sofa!

  Halfway in and halfway out, Kink stopped and looked at me. He was bent and twisted but didn’t seem bothered. I remembered another of Seymour’s amazing cat facts.

  A cat’s spine is extremely flexible and has more bones than a human spine.

  There was a scrabbling sound and Kink used his back feet to push himself free.

  “Did you know he was there?” I asked Cleo.

  Merow, she replied. It sounded like “Yes, you silly twit.”

  Kink sat on the sofa. Cleo sat on my music. They both seemed to be waiting for something. I went back to playing.

  Hot cross buns. Hot cross buns. One a p …

  Reow! said Kink. He leapt from the sofa and ran stiff-legged towards me. He began to bunt and push at my recorder with his head.

  “What are you doing, you dumb cat?”

  Bunt, bunt. Push, push.

  I played a few notes on the recorder.

  Bunt, bunt. Push, push. Prrrrrrrrrrrr.

  I finished my practice with Cleo licking herself on my music and Kink purring and bunting in my lap. Why on earth had I wanted to find the cats anyway?

  Suddenly Cleo began to make noise of her own.

  Gargumph. Gargumph.

  Her whole body began to ripple and heave.

  Gargumph. Gagarumph.

  Panic gripped me. A cat was going into death spasms right in front of me. What was I supposed to do?

  Gargumph. Gargumph.

  I grabbed the phone. I dialed Seymour’s number.

  “Get the cat books,” I told him. “Look up death throes. Look up fits. Look up … gakking!”

  “What?” said Seymour.

  That’s the sound Cleo was making now.

  Gak. Gak. GAK!

  With a final heave of her body she coughed up something lumpy on my music.

  “Barfing!” I shouted into the phone. “Look up barfing!”

  “No,” said Seymour. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Seymour, if you ever want to be my friend for the rest of your entire life you’ll look it up!” I said.

  “You’re nuts,” he said. “No book is going to have the word ‘barfing’ in it. And why do you want to know anyway?”

  He was right. There had to be another word. Gagging. Up-chucking.

  “Vomiting!” I yelled.

  “All right. Don’t shout,” said Seymour.

  “Vomiting is in the index. Now what?”

  “Read it,” I said.

  “Sure. Why not? I love to read about cats vomiting.”

  “Just read it, Seymour.”

  I could hear him flipping to the right page.

  “Cats often vomit to get rid of hair balls.” Seymour paused. “Do I have to keep reading this stuff?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You owe me,” said Seymour. “Hair balls are made from swallowed hair and — oh yuck! — partly digested food.”

  “Keep reading,” I said.

  “Hair balls are harmless and can be avoided by brushing long-haired cats every day,” read Seymour.

  Harmless. Relief swept over me.

  “That’s good,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t you want to hear more?” asked Seymour. “There are pages and pages about cats vomiting.”

  “I’ll call you back if I need more,” I said and hung up.

  Gritting my teeth, I looked closely at what Cleo had left on my music. Yup, it was made of hair and something that might once have been food. I took a deep breath, picked up the music, hurried down the hall and tipped the hair ball into the toilet.

  Cleo and Kink followed me. Kink sat on the toilet tank and peered into the toilet. Closer and closer he peered. It was like he was watching TV in the toilet bowl. There was definitely something strange about Kink, and it wasn’t just his tail.

  Suddenly he jumped straight up, did a double twist off the tank and raced into the hall. Cleo bounded after him. What was going on?

  Two minutes later the front door opened and Mom and Dad came in. Had the cats known they were coming? Did they have ESP? Or did cats have such good hearing they could hear a car turn the corner down at the end of the street?

  “Sorry we’re so late, TJ,” said my mom.

  “Boy, am I beat,” said my dad. “Did you have any more trouble with the cats?”

  They both really did look exhausted. I figured they didn’t want to hear about ESP, toilet watching and hair balls.

  “Not much,” I said.

  “Good grief,” said my mom behind us.

  If my mom’s had a rough day she soaks her feet in a roasting pan she keeps in the bottom cupboard. Max was sitting in the roasting pan.

  “Do you suppose he thinks he’s a turkey or a goose?” asked my mo
m.

  “Looks like a turkey to me,” said my dad.

  It was a pretty good line, but neither of them laughed. People who take over hardware stores lose their sense of humor entirely.

  “I need this roasting pan more than you do, cat,” said my mom.

  She tipped the roasting pan slowly up and down. For a while Max went up and down with it. On the eighth tip or so he must have begun to get the idea. Either that or he began to get seasick.

  He stepped out of the roasting pan, walked across the kitchen floor and sat by another cupboard door. He reached out a paddy paw. Bat. Bat. The door bounced ajar. Max walked in.

  I checked on him just before I went to bed. He was sitting in a frying pan.

  Chapter 7

  “Boy, do you look awful,” said Seymour when I got to school the next morning.

  “I feel awful,” I told him.

  I was crabby. I was sore. I felt like I’d been dragged around the living room and run over by a herd of cats.

  Cleo had lain beside me on the bed and pushed. I don’t sleep well on the very edge of the bed.

  Kink had played midnight hockey with a bottle cap on my bedroom floor — thwack, scrabble-scrabble, thwack. I can’t sleep with someone playing hockey on my bedroom floor.

  And then there was that awful feeling of drowning. Panic and drowning. Why did I keep thinking of that sailor going under for the third time? What was wrong with me?

  At least I knew not to panic as badly when Killer arrived with her glowing eyes at midnight. They only glowed when the hall light caught them at a certain angle. Those eyes weren’t madness; they were science. Everything was science.

  “Do you want to hear my new and amazing cat facts?” asked Seymour.

  Seymour was really beginning to get into the report. That’s the way Seymour is.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Each cat’s nose print is unique,” read Seymour, “like our fingerprints. Neat, eh?”

  “I guess so,” I said. “How do people know these things?”

  “They make them up,” said Seymour.

  “They do?” I asked.

  “Just kidding,” said Seymour. “They must have some sort of harmless kind of ink they use. Here’s another. Cats kill with a sharp bite to the neck.”