by Tom Watson
“I forget. Why didn’t you like them?”
“They were pink and it was winter,” Edith explained. She seemed to enjoy Stick Cat’s interest in the subject. “I don’t wear pink in the winter. That’s more of a spring color.”
“Right, right,” Stick Cat said.
“I’ve flushed other things than those booties though.”
“You have?”
“Most definitely,” said Edith. “Ribbons, bows, things like that. She gave me a truly disgusting ribbon last year that I flushed immediately.”
“Why didn’t you like it?”
“It was purple.”
“You don’t like the color purple?”
“I adore the color purple,” Edith said. “But purple things demand glitter and sparkle. Purple things need to be adorned and decorated with little silver and gold highlights. This specific ribbon was just flat and dull. No sparkle whatsoever.”
“It sounds, umm, terrible,” Stick Cat said. “Just terrible.”
“It was hideous.”
“So you flushed it.”
“Yes indeed,” said Edith. “I gave it the old flush-a-roo!”
Stick Cat decided then to hear the rest of Edith’s plan. He still hadn’t figured out how to help Grandma escape from the bathroom. He began to ask, “So, after Grandma flushes herself, what—”
But, apparently, Edith had more to say.
She interjected, “I also flush food.”
“What?!”
“Food,” Edith repeated. “I also flush food.”
“Why?”
“Tiffany is not exactly a master chef or anything,” Edith explained. “If she doesn’t prepare something that meets the needs of my sophisticated palate, down it goes. Flush-a-rama!”
“What food have you flushed?”
“A couple of years ago, I flushed an entire portion of fettucine Alfredo.”
“Why?”
“I could tell that Tiffany had made that cheesy white sauce with milk and margarine instead of cream and butter,” Edith said, and shook her head at the memory. “The real texture and complexity of the dish was lacking.”
“I understand,” Stick Cat said—even though he didn’t understand any of this. He could never act in such ways. But he really needed to keep this moving. “So, after Grandma flushes herself, what happens?”
“She shoots down the toilet and swooshes down all the pipes in our building,” Edith continued. “As she travels down twenty-three floors to street level, she’s swimming, floating, and frolicking in the water. She’s having the best time. It’s like a vacation at the beach! Except she’s not at the beach, she’s in some pipes. And there’s no sun, it’s totally dark. And it’s not wide-open space with other people, it’s more like really tight in those pipes and she’s alone. But, otherwise, exactly the same.”
“Right, yes. Exactly the same,” Stick Cat said slowly.
“Eventually, she shoots out of the pipes and into the river,” Edith continued without pause. “Playfully avoiding the river traffic—you know, tugboats, barges, sailboats, humongous navy destroyers, and aircraft carriers, those kinds of things—she swims to shore. I envision her doing the backstroke and spraying a spout of water high up into the air. Arriving refreshed and relaxed on the riverbank, Grandma walks to our building and takes the elevator up here to the twenty-third floor. She lets herself in and proceeds to do the most important thing.”
“Pick Millie up and make sure she’s okay?”
“No, Stick Cat,” Edith said. “I said the most important thing.”
“Isn’t helping Millie the most important thing?” Stick Cat asked.
“Not at all.”
“What is?”
“Well, flushing herself, swimming down through the pipes, avoiding boat traffic, climbing the shore, walking to our building, and taking the elevator will require a good bit of time,” Edith explained. “By the time she gets here, it will be early afternoon. And you know what early afternoon is, don’t you?”
“What?”
“It’s my lunchtime, that’s what!”
“So, instead of ensuring that Millie is safe and happy, Grandma is going to come in and fix your lunch?”
“I assume so,” answered Edith. “It doesn’t need to be anything fancy, mind you. Some grilled tuna with a peppercorn demi-glace perhaps. Or a simple slice of beef tenderloin with a red-wine reduction. Perhaps a swordfish steak with a mango and red pepper chutney.”
“So, umm, something simple.”
“Right. Something simple.”
Stick Cat nodded his head. He didn’t say anything because, truthfully, he could think of absolutely nothing to say.
This actually worked out perfectly.
That’s because right then Grandma started banging against the bathroom door.
Chapter 9
EDITH TRIES AGAIN
BANG!
“I have to get back to the bathroom, Edith!” exclaimed Stick Cat. He was terribly afraid that Grandma was going to hurt herself. She was, after all, quite old and frail. And that door was heavy, solid wood—and absolutely stuck. Stick Cat was sure that if she rammed into it over and over, then Grandma might break some bones—or even worse.
He took three fast, long steps toward the bathroom, gaining speed rapidly with each paw-fall.
“Wait, Stick Cat!” Edith called.
He stopped as suddenly as he had started.
“What is it?” he asked, snapping his head over his shoulder to look back at Edith. “What can I do for you?”
“I gave you a plan, remember?” Edith asked.
“I remember,” Stick Cat said. “Your plan was for Grandma to flush herself down the toilet. How could I possibly forget?”
“I know,” Edith acknowledged proudly. “Brilliant, right?”
“Umm, totally.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?” Stick Cat asked.
BANG!
“I gave you a genius plan to help Grandma escape from the bathroom,” Edith explained. “And now I’m a bit worried that Millie might cry again—and I don’t want her to do that. She is my new favorite person, after all. Maybe you could give me a plan to keep her from crying.”
“Okay,” Stick Cat said. He took a step toward them. He certainly didn’t want Edith shaking that rattle so menacingly at Millie’s face again. He thought of something quickly.
“Maybe she’s cold. I think babies like to be nice and cozy. Maybe you could make her warmer,” Stick Cat said fast. He looked at Millie lying on that soft pink blanket on the living-room floor. There was plenty of extra blanket on either side of her.
Stick Cat lifted one edge of that extra blanket and allowed it to fall gently over Millie. Immediately, Millie curled and tucked herself into the soft, warm folds of that extra material. She liked it, you could tell. She grew a little more quiet.
“Not a bad idea,” Edith said, noticing how Millie had calmed a bit. “Let me just ask her.”
Edith leaned down toward Millie as Stick Cat watched.
“Would you like me to make you a little warmer?” she asked.
Millie gurgled at Edith and a tiny spit-bubble popped on her lips as she did.
Stick Cat felt a little ridiculous asking, but he asked anyway. “What did she say?”
“First, she mentioned that she really loved the blue bow I’m wearing today,” responded Edith. “Millie said it brings out the blue in my eyes. She said my eyes remind her of brilliant blue sapphires. Then Millie said, yes, she would greatly appreciate me making her warmer.”
Stick Cat smiled and said, “Great!”
Then he sprinted to the bathroom.
Right when he got there, Grandma Cobb threw her weight against the jammed door once more.
BANG!
It didn’t move an inch.
Or a half of an inch.
Or a quarter of an inch.
Nothing.
He heard Grandma moan in pain and sigh in frustration on the ot
her side of the door.
Stick Cat meowed as loud as he could to get her attention. He looked through that doorknob hole and was relieved when, after several seconds, Grandma stooped down and looked back at him. At least she had stopped smashing into the door for the time being.
“I see you there,” Grandma said as she looked through that hole. “I heard you over there too. Did you come to check on me? Did I scare you with those big banging noises? I’m sorry if I did.”
Stick Cat purred loudly.
“It’s almost as if you understand me,” Grandma said. She seemed slightly surprised at the thought of that. She stood up and away from the hole, but kept talking. “I can’t stay crouched down like that for too long. It hurts my back. And now both my shoulders hurt too. I want to get out of here so badly. I’d do anything.”
Stick Cat purred again. He wanted Grandma to know he was still listening—and that he was trying to figure it out.
“I heard Millie cry a few minutes ago. It kills me to hear a baby cry,” she continued. Her voice started to quiver and crack. Stick Cat couldn’t tell, but he thought Grandma might be starting to cry herself. “And when it’s my granddaughter—my only grandchild—that feeling is worse. Way worse. And when I can’t do anything about it, it’s the worst thing in the whole world.”
Stick Cat purred loudly again.
But he wasn’t sure if Grandma could hear him anymore.
Millie had started to cry again.
“What’s happening in there?!” Stick Cat whispered to himself, and yanked his head around to look into the living room—to look at Edith and Millie. When he did—and what he saw—made Stick Cat forget about Grandma entirely.
Stick Cat turned and sprang forward. He landed and raced away from the bathroom and toward Edith and Millie. As he sprinted, Stick Cat observed what Edith was doing to try to make Millie warm.
And he understood why she had begun to cry.
Edith paced slowly in a counterclockwise circle around Millie. Her neck was stretched downward and her head hovered just a couple of inches over Millie’s body and head as she circled.
Edith was blowing on Millie.
She was taking great, deep, gasping inhales of air and then exhaling in sudden, powerful bursts. As she circled, Edith blew those huge gusts on different parts of Millie.
She blew on her shoulders and continued to circle slowly.
She blew on her tummy and circled.
She blew on her knees.
Her feet.
Then up and around to Millie’s other side.
She blew on her knees again.
Then her tummy.
Her shoulders.
And then—much to Stick Cat’s great anguish—on Millie’s head.
When Edith hovered there midstride, she took a deep breath, held it in, and then let it out with humongous force across Millie’s face.
WHOOOOOSH!
He saw Millie’s mouth squeeze shut in a grimace.
He saw Millie’s hair blow back from her forehead.
He saw Millie’s eyes squeeze tightly shut.
And he heard Millie cry even louder.
He bounded the rest of the way to them. When he got there, Stick Cat was happy that he got Edith’s immediate attention. She stopped circling and blowing. She straightened up and looked at him.
As calmly as he could muster, Stick Cat asked, “Edith, what are you doing?”
“I’m trying to make her warm. Just like you suggested—and just like she asked for,” Edith explained simply. “But let me tell you something, Mr. Man-With-a-Plan, this idea of yours is a real stinker. No good at all.”
“I’m sorry,” Stick Cat said quickly. He had noticed that Millie had already quieted and calmed down some now that Edith wasn’t, you know, stalking, hovering, and blowing on her. “What happened?”
“Well, I covered her with some more blanket—and she got more quiet. Not all the way or anything. She was still gurgling and babbling. She made some truly adorable comments about my tail. She admired its fluffy texture and swishing qualities. This girl really knows what she’s talking about.”
“What happened next?”
“Well, I got to thinking,” explained Edith. “And as you know, Stick Cat, I’m one of the world’s great thinkers. I’m, like, really smart.”
“Yes, umm, I know.”
“I was thinking,” Edith repeated. “If covering her with some blanket quieted her down a little bit, then making her even warmer would quiet her down a lot.”
“And?”
“And I thought blowing some hot air on her might just do the trick.”
“So you, umm, circled her and blew on her as hard as you could?”
“Yes.”
“And as close as you could?” Stick Cat asked.
“That’s right,” Edith answered. “Who wouldn’t want to have the sweet-smelling warmth of my own breath breeze across them?”
“I see,” Stick Cat said. He wanted to change the subject—and he knew just how to do it. “So, Millie was admiring your tail. Is that right?”
“What’s not to admire?” Edith asked in loving reference to her own tail.
“It’s quite puffy,” Stick Cat complimented.
“I really think my tail is more fluffy than puffy,” she corrected.
“Your fluffy tail,” Stick Cat amended.
Edith nodded and smiled. She said, “My tail truly is magnificent and fluffy, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he answered, exhaled, and smiled. “It is.”
Edith turned around to face away from Stick Cat. She turned her head over her shoulder and stared at her backside. Edith swished her tail in a smooth, graceful arc. She allowed it to settle to the floor with a final flick.
“Look at it,” she sighed. “Just look at it.”
Stick Cat got the feeling that he would need to watch—and pay homage to—Edith’s tail for a while.
But that was not the case.
Because right then something came falling out of that hole in the bathroom door again.
It wasn’t a two-pound grandma who could now suddenly fit through the hole.
It wasn’t the wooden handle of the toilet plunger.
It was something else entirely.
Chapter 10
MARASCHINO CHERRIES
It was Grandma Cobb’s long purple-and-yellow necklace.
“Here, kitty!” Grandma called. “Here, kitty, kitty!”
“I’ll be right back,” Stick Cat said, and hustled back to the bathroom.
Grandma Cobb’s necklace was extremely long. When she wore it, the necklace wrapped around her neck several times. It hung in five long loops all the way down to her stomach. Stick Cat could tell just how long that necklace was when he arrived outside the stuck bathroom door.
It was bunched in a big loose pile at the foot of the door.
And it was still falling out.
And Grandma called again, “Here, kitty, kitty! Here, kitty!”
Stick Cat meowed to let her know he was there.
“Oh, good! I can hear you,” Grandma said from the other side of the door. “I’m glad you came. Just let me get the rest of this pushed through.”
After fifteen or twenty more seconds, the end of the purple-and-yellow necklace fell out of the doorknob hole and landed with a jangle and CLINK. Grandma Cobb’s eye peeped out from the other side immediately.
“There you are!” she exclaimed upon spotting Stick Cat. “I’m happy you’re here. I heard Millie crying before. Oh, it just bothers me so, so much that I can’t get to her! And then I thought, what would I do if she was crying? And I remembered she loves this necklace of mine. And maybe—just maybe—you would be so smart and take it to her. Maybe it will keep her busy if she gets upset again.”
Stick Cat purred. He knew it was a good idea. He had seen Millie’s fascination with the necklace earlier.
He picked up one end of the necklace with his mouth.
“You are a smart kitty!”
Grandma said happily.
You could tell instantly that she felt a little better knowing that she could help Millie in this way. Stick Cat could hear the joy in her voice. He hurried off to the living room, dragging the purple-and-yellow necklace behind.
“Go, kitty, go!” yelled Grandma.
When he got back to the living room, Edith was smiling at Millie.
“Do you know what her cute, chubby little cheeks remind me of, Stick Cat?”
“No, what?” asked Stick Cat after dropping the necklace.
“Maraschino cherries.”
“What are maraschino cherries?” Stick Cat asked.
“You’ve never heard of maraschino cherries?” Edith asked. She seemed quite surprised.
“No.”
“I’m astonished!”
“What are they?” Stick Cat asked again.
“Maraschino cherries go on top of an ice cream sundae, of course,” Edith answered.
“I know what ice cream is. I’ve seen Goose eat it before,” said Stick Cat. “But what’s a sundae?”
“Let me tell you,” Edith said. Stick Cat could tell she was getting excited. Edith liked to talk about food. “An ice cream sundae is a sweet and delectable dessert. Tiffany gives me a sundae on my birthday! It’s three scoops of ice cream—vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. Then, there’s a huge fluffy layer of whipped cream over that. A warm caramel sauce is then delicately drizzled atop the whipped cream. A smattering and scattering of chopped salty nuts—I prefer finely minced cashews, but almonds or hazelnuts will do in a pinch—goes on top of that. Then finally the maraschino cherry goes on the very tip-top.”
“And that’s the best part?” asked Stick Cat.
“Maraschino cherries are most certainly the very best part,” Edith answered, and continued. “It’s like a regular cherry that has been supercharged with sugar and thick sweetened syrup. It’s the most brilliant, bright, and unnatural red in the world. But that’s not the best part about a maraschino cherry!”
