by Tom Watson
Hazel climbed back up, stuck the paddle’s bigger side into the pot, and began to stir. Stick Cat noticed that it was an effortless motion for the first minute or so. As Hazel continued to stir, however, it seemed to get harder and harder. It was as if the substance in the pot—the combination of cloud powder and water—became thicker and thicker.
As the pot ingredients thickened, Hazel moved up one step so she could reach farther into the pot. In just a few minutes she was on the third highest step. She bent over the pot, reaching farther and farther into it.
It looked like she was close to done. There was a little smile on her face. She brushed some moist gray hair from her forehead. Stick Cat looked forward to watching the next part of Hazel’s routine—shaping the bagels into circles.
There was something special about Hazel that Stick Cat liked. She seemed so determined—and content—in her work. She liked making bagels. Stick Cat thought there was probably genuine satisfaction in making something that people loved to eat. Maybe there were customers who made special trips across the big city just to get one of Hazel’s bagels. He thought she must take tremendous pride in serving those customers down at the street-level store.
The bagel batter was now thicker than ever, Stick Cat could tell. It seemed to grow more dense as every minute passed. Now Hazel’s arms were tense. He could see her thin muscles flex as she pulled the paddle through the thick batter.
Hazel moved one step higher—the second highest rung on the ladder. She pushed the paddle into the furthest reaches of the pot. She leaned forward. Hazel plunged the paddle deeper and then pulled it toward her.
Then the entire motion turned backward.
Hazel was no longer pulling the paddle toward herself.
It was as if the paddle—mired and stuck and stubborn in that thick bagel batter—now pulled Hazel toward it.
And then Hazel disappeared.
Chapter 6
BEACH BALLS AND FLIPPERS
It took Stick Cat only a few seconds to realize what had happened. Hazel had slipped in the spilled coffee and fallen into the pot.
Stick Cat could feel his heart speed up and thump hard inside his chest. He stood up on the windowsill and pressed against the glass, waiting for Hazel to climb out of the pot.
She didn’t come out.
Stick Cat waited.
She didn’t come out.
Stick Cat couldn’t wait any longer.
“Edith!” Stick Cat yelled urgently. “Edith, wake up! There’s an emergency!”
Only Edith’s eyelids moved. The rest of her body remained perfectly still and calm. It was as if only her eyes had awoken while the rest of her body stayed in a perfect state of slumber. She didn’t speak, but answered simply by shifting her eyes to look at Stick Cat.
“It’s Hazel!” Stick Cat yelled. “She fell into the bagel pot!”
Edith closed her eyes.
“Edith!”
This time her mouth was the only body part that moved. Her eyes stayed closed. She calmly asked, “What is it, Stick Cat?”
“Hazel! Trouble! She fell in!”
“Fell into what?” Edith sighed.
“The bagel pot!” Stick Cat yelled. “She fell off the ladder! She hasn’t come out!”
“Maybe she’s going for a swim,” Edith suggested, maintaining her complete sense of calm and absolute lack of motion.
“A swim?!”
“Sure,” Edith said. “Humans like to swim. I don’t get it, to be honest. It just messes up their hair. It’s like taking a shower or a bath. Why would anyone want to mess up their hair? People are crazy.”
Stick Cat tried to calm his racing heart. He took three deep breaths and exhaled the air as slowly as he could.
“Edith,” he said. “I need you to wake up! Hazel’s in big trouble. I think the stuff in the pot—the cloud powder and the water mixture—is so thick that she can’t pull herself out.”
At this, Edith finally opened her eyes and turned toward Stick Cat.
“Did I miss the cloud powder part?”
Stick Cat nodded.
“I love it when she gets covered in cloud powder!” Edith said, and giggled. “Doesn’t she look totally ridiculous? It’s so funny!”
“Umm, yeah. I guess,” Stick Cat said.
Edith giggled some more as she remembered past times when Hazel had been covered by white powder. “It’s like the cloud just explodes on her!” Edith exclaimed, and laughed even harder. “She instantly looks like a ghost or something.”
“Edith,” Stick Cat said. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation. It’s serious! Hazel’s in danger!”
“I told you, she probably just went for a swim.”
“In a big pot of that stuff?!”
“Sure, why not?” Edith answered. “Let me ask you this, Stick Cat: Was Hazel wearing a bikini when she dove in?”
Stick Cat stared at Edith for a few seconds. “No. She wasn’t wearing a bikini. And she didn’t ‘dive’ in. She fell in.”
“Did she have a beach ball?”
“A beach ball?”
“Yes, a beach ball,” Edith answered. “People always take beach balls when they go swimming.”
“Umm, no. She didn’t have a beach ball.”
Edith stood up on the windowsill and stretched her back into an arch. She glanced out the window at the sky.
“It’s sunny out today,” she observed.
“Umm,” Stick Cat said. “It is, yes.”
“People always go swimming when it’s sunny.”
This had become too much—even for Stick Cat. He tried to compose himself. He took three deep breaths again. He rotated his shoulders a bit in an attempt to release the tension he felt there. As calmly as he could, Stick Cat said, “She’s not swimming, Edith.”
After a moment, Edith conceded.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “Maybe she isn’t swimming after all.”
Stick Cat nodded and smiled a bit. He felt a tremendous sense of relief that Edith had given up on her swimming theory. The whole discussion had taken up precious time.
“Okay,” he began to declare. “Now we need to—”
But he was interrupted by Edith.
“Maybe she’s scuba diving.”
Stick Cat lowered his head and studied the wood grain of the windowsill. He silently counted to five in his mind.
Edith asked, “Was she wearing any oxygen tanks on her back?”
Stick Cat didn’t answer. He counted to five again.
“Or flippers?”
He counted to five again.
“Or a snorkel?”
He counted to five.
“Stick Cat?” Edith asked. “Is something wrong?”
Stick Cat finally—and slowly—raised his head. “I’m fine,” he answered. “And I just want you to know how much I appreciate your thoughts and ideas about what happened to Hazel. I truly believe you’re the only one in the whole world who could come up with such ideas.”
“Well, thank you, Stick Cat,” Edith said. She looked away and smiled to herself. You could tell she took Stick Cat’s words as quite a compliment indeed.
“Great ideas, for sure,” Stick Cat reiterated. Then the spark of an idea came into his mind. He asked, “But since there was no bikini, beach ball, oxygen tanks, flippers, or snorkel, what do you think she could be doing in there?”
“You know what?” Edith said. It was as if an idea had suddenly occurred to her. Her eyes flashed open wider. She leaned closer toward the window and peered across the alley. “Maybe she fell in.”
Stick Cat snapped his head toward Edith. His mouth was agape. “I think you might be right.”
Edith nodded knowingly. She licked the back of her left front paw and rubbed it across her left eyebrow. “Might be right?”
Stick Cat immediately said, “You are right, Edith. I’m sure of it.”
By this time, something had happened across the alley that neither Stick Cat nor Edith had noti
ced.
Two frail, pale, batter-covered hands had reached out from inside the big pot and gripped the rim.
Hazel was trying to get out.
But she didn’t stand a chance.
Not by herself.
Chapter 7
FOR THE LOVE OF LOX
“We have to get over there!” Stick Cat exclaimed.
“Over where?” Edith said, and flopped back down on the windowsill. She wriggled a bit to get into a comfortable resting position.
“Across the alley to save Hazel!”
“Oh, Stick Cat, Stick Cat,” Edith said, and closed her eyes. “We’ve already rescued one person. Don’t you remember? What was his name? Mr. Tambourine Man or something?”
“Mr. Music.”
“Right, right. Mr. Music,” Edith said, and nodded her head as much as she could, considering her chin rested comfortably on the windowsill. “We’ve already rescued him. We can’t go rescuing someone else.”
“Why not?” Stick Cat asked. He snapped his head back and forth between Edith and the window.
“Well, it would just be so selfish, that’s why,” Edith said, and yawned. She appeared to be seriously considering a second nap. “We should let a couple of other cats have a turn.”
Stick Cat knew he couldn’t do this alone. The truth was, he didn’t even think he could do it with Edith. But together, he figured they might have a chance.
A tiny chance.
They had to get across the alley to the other building. And this time there was nothing as convenient as an apron and a clothesline like when they rescued Mr. Music. As scary as that had been, at least Stick Cat could reel the line and move them across and back. There was nothing like that here.
A single black cable stretched between the two buildings.
That was it.
There was nothing else.
He had to think of something—and fast. But first he had to contend with Edith. How could he convince her to help rescue Hazel?
How?
And then Stick Cat squinted one eye for a fraction of a second. He turned to Edith. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t snoring yet.
“Hey, Edith,” he said.
“Mm-hmm?”
“What are those pink things that come with bagels?”
“Lox.”
“Oh, right. Lox,” Stick Cat said. He had now noticed Hazel’s hands—only her hands—on the rim of the humongous pot. Every minute or two she would reposition them. She was hanging on—not climbing out—of the pot. Stick Cat had to get over there. “And what do those lox taste like?”
Edith smiled a bit before answering. She licked her lips. “Like fish. Soft and chewy. Sort of smoky. A little bit salty. And that flavor—that smoky, salty, fishy flavor—lingers in your mouth for a little while.”
“They sound delicious,” Stick Cat said.
“Oh, they’re scrumptious,” Edith sighed. “Just scrumptious.”
Stick Cat waited. He watched Hazel’s hands. She seemed to be holding on for the time being.
“Scrumptious,” Edith repeated, and sighed again.
Stick Cat held still.
And then Edith made the sound that Stick Cat had been waiting for.
It wasn’t snoring.
It was something else.
Edith’s stomach grumbled.
Stick Cat figured the timing was absolutely perfect now. He asked, “Where do you get those scrumptious lox again?”
“They come with the bagels.”
“The bagels that Hazel makes?”
“Yes. Hazel. Lox,” Edith said slowly.
“I wonder where she keeps them,” Stick Cat said.
Edith opened her eyes quickly then. And then she said exactly what Stick Cat wanted to hear.
“Stick Cat, we have to get over there. We have to get some—” she said, and then stopped herself. “We have to help Hazel.”
“You’re right,” Stick Cat said. “How are we going to do that?”
“I have an idea.”
Chapter 8
CRUMBS AND PARACHUTES
“You have an idea to help Hazel?!” Stick Cat asked. He was obviously surprised that Edith had already come up with an alley-crossing rescue plan.
“You betcha,” Edith said.
“Okay, then,” Stick Cat said. “What do we do?”
“We use parachutes.”
“Parachutes?”
“Parachutes.”
Now, Stick Cat didn’t know quite how to address this idea. He knew what parachutes were—big pieces of material that caught air beneath them and allowed the user to float down to the ground with a soft landing.
But Stick Cat also knew a couple of other things about parachutes. First, they tended to float down, not across. If he and Edith used parachutes they would likely drift down to the alley—or, even worse, down and out a bit into the city traffic.
Even more important, Stick Cat knew one vital fact.
Do you know what it was?
I’ll tell you.
Stick Cat knew they didn’t have any parachutes.
“Great idea, Edith,” Stick Cat said after thinking about his response for a moment. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any parachutes.”
“Oh, Stick Cat,” Edith said, and sighed. “Do I have to do everything? Do I have to come up with the excellent idea to get across the alley and get some lox—I mean, umm, try to help Hazel? And do I also have to come up with the supplies to execute my excellent plan? Can’t you do that part at least?”
“I’m sorry, Edith,” Stick Cat answered. “I forgot to bring parachutes with me today.”
Edith said nothing as she stared down at the windowsill. “It’s okay, Stick Cat,” Edith said. “I’ll take care of it.”
And with that, Edith hopped down from the sill and began padding her way across the living room to the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
Edith didn’t even look back when she answered, “To get some parachutes.”
Stick Cat was dumbfounded as he watched Edith disappear into the kitchen.
Could Edith actually have parachutes in the kitchen? It seemed impossible. But she had answered with such complete confidence. He almost believed she would emerge from the kitchen doorway with two parachutes in tow.
He waited.
And waited.
“Edith?” he called.
No answer.
He called louder. “Edith!”
“Yes?” she called back. Her voice sounded kind of mumbly or something.
“Are you coming back?”
“In a minute.”
“With parachutes?”
“In a minute.”
Stick Cat decided to investigate. He hopped quietly down to the carpet and moved across the living room. When he got to the kitchen doorway, Stick Cat stopped and peeked around its edge.
He could see Edith.
Well, he could see most of Edith.
Her four legs straddled the kitchen sink. Her head was out of sight—bent low into the sink. Stick Cat cocked his head a bit to listen. He could hear the distinct sound of a feline’s rough-textured tongue lapping against a dish in the sink.
“Edith?”
She snapped her head up and out of the sink. Stick Cat could see donut crumbs on her lips and scattered about in her whiskers. She must have found some more on the plates in the sink.
“Hi,” was all Edith said when she saw Stick Cat.
Stick Cat tried hard not to smile. Edith looked so guilty. He knew he had to hurry her out of the kitchen and find some way—any way—across the alley to help Hazel.
But this thing with Edith at the sink, he just had to inquire about it for a few seconds.
He asked, “What are you doing in the sink?”
“Umm,” Edith said, and paused. She looked down into the sink. She discreetly licked a crumb from her whiskers—flicking her tongue in and out of her mouth quickly.
“What?”
“The sink,�
� Stick Cat said, and stepped into the kitchen. “What are you doing in there?”
He could tell Edith was having trouble coming up with an answer—or an answer she wanted to share with Stick Cat anyway.
“Speak up, Stick Cat,” she said. She seemed to be stalling for time. “I can’t hear you.”
Stick Cat knew what Edith was up to. He didn’t care. He actually found it amusing. He stepped even closer—and spoke even louder. “What are you doing in the sink?”
Edith looked away. She held perfectly still for three seconds and then her shoulders twitched. Stick Cat could tell that she suddenly had an answer for him.
“I was looking for donut crumbs to give you, Stick Cat,” she said. Edith grinned and licked her lips. “But there weren’t any in here.”
“None?”
“None.”
“Zero?”
“Zero.”
Stick Cat smiled. It would have been fun, he knew, to continue the conversation.
He wasn’t even hungry and he didn’t mind at all that Edith had not shared her crumbs with him. But the vision of Hazel’s pale, frail hands gripping the rim of that bagel-batter pot kept dancing in his mind. He had to get over there. He had to help.
“Well, thanks for checking for donut crumbs for me, Edith,” he said. “That was very kind of you.”
Edith exhaled. She was visibly relieved. Without even noticing she did it, Edith licked the final crumb from her whiskers and said, “Well, I’m all about kindness, Stick Cat.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, and walked closer. “Didn’t you come in here to get a couple of parachutes?”
“Yes,” Edith answered. She pulled herself slowly and delicately from the sink. She might have thought if she went slowly Stick Cat would forget she was in the sink in the first place.
“Where are they?”
