A Tail of Two Kitties

by Tom Watson

  “We’re not going,” he said to Edith. “It’s just a rhetorical question.”

  “You mean, there’s no bridge? We’re not going to jump?”

  “No, not today,” Stick Cat said.

  “Bummer,” Edith muttered. She seemed honestly disappointed. Then her voice picked up a bit, and she asked, “Maybe tomorrow? Or maybe some other day?”

  “Umm, sure,” Stick Cat answered. He was beginning to contemplate the jump from his ledge to Mrs. O’Mahoney’s. “I guess.”

  This seemed to satisfy Edith enough for the time being. Stick Cat, meanwhile, tried to determine if he should push off with two legs or four legs. And he calculated how much room he would need to slide and stop himself.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” asked Edith. She had backed to the far corner of Mrs. O’Mahoney’s ledge now and motioned for Stick Cat to jump. “Get your tail over here.”

  There was something in the way she said it that made Stick Cat jump. It was as if there was no doubt that he would make it. It was just an accepted fact. She had complete faith that he could do it. And this instilled a great deal of confidence in Stick Cat himself.

  Without looking down, he jumped. He pushed off with his back legs, stretched his body long, and kept an eye on his target area. He landed with all four paws on the nearest part of that concrete ledge and then slid across before bumping a bit into Edith.

  “Careful there, buster,” she said, and pushed him back a smidgeon. She licked herself where they had made contact. “You’re going to mess up the way my fur is lying.”

  “Sorry,” Stick Cat said.

  He looked into the neighbor’s window and was happy to see that Mrs. O’Mahoney wasn’t in the kitchen. Comfortable with that fact, Stick Cat turned to look at the apron on the clothesline. It was a few feet out, and just a little farther was a bag of wooden clothespins. Thankfully, the line was within easy reach, and he could reel the apron right up to the ledge. He was about to do so when Edith spoke.

  “So, we need to hop into that apron? Into the pocket? To ride across?”

  “That’s right. We need to—”

  But before Stick Cat could finish his sentence—or even finish his thought—Edith leaped from the ledge and dove into the pocket of the yellow apron.

  It happened so quickly that Stick Cat wasn’t even sure Edith had made it into her intended target. He was afraid to look down—afraid he might see Edith plummeting to her doom.

  Instead, he stared at the apron. It moved and jostled, but Stick Cat couldn’t tell if it was caused by the wind blowing—or by Edith squiggling around in the pocket.

  He waited.

  It was only a few seconds, but it felt much longer than that.

  Edith poked her head out of the pocket, stroked the fur on her left cheek, and smiled at him.

  “Stop doing that!” Stick Cat exclaimed. He reached out to the line and began to reel the apron closer. He shook his head.

  “Stop doing what?”

  “Just jumping and doing dangerous stuff without even thinking about it.” Stick Cat sighed. “I was still talking when you jumped. It scared me like crazy.”

  As Stick Cat pulled the apron closer, it began to swing, and Edith clearly enjoyed the motion. She began to rock her body back and forth in the pocket to magnify the swinging effect.

  “Whee!” she yelled. “Swing me harder, Stick Cat!”

  Stick Cat did change his reeling technique. He pulled the line a little faster. He wanted to get into that pocket and calm Edith down. And he wanted to get across to Mr. Music. He still wasn’t sure how he would help him once—if—they got across.

  When the apron brushed up against the ledge, Edith stopped swinging back and forth, and Stick Cat climbed into the pocket, digging his front claws into the cotton material for a very good grip. After securing himself in the pocket and waiting for the apron to balance out, he slowly stretched his head out enough to see.

  “Want to do something really cool?” Edith asked, staring right at him. She was clearly more comfortable being twenty-three floors up in the air than Stick Cat was.

  “Like what?”

  “If you lean your head out and look straight down to the ground, it makes your stomach feel like it’s upside down or something. It’s a really funny feeling!”

  Stick Cat nodded.

  “Go ahead,” Edith encouraged. “Try it!”

  “No thanks.”

  “Come on. It won’t kill you to try it.”

  “I’m not sure that’s entirely true,” Stick Cat whispered. Edith didn’t hear him though.

  “Come on. Just one peek!”

  Stick Cat leaned his head out and over the edge of the pocket and looked downward. Edith was exactly right: it did make his stomach feel like it was upside down.

  It was not a good feeling.

  He quickly pulled his head back into the pocket.

  “Neat, isn’t it?” Edith asked.

  Stick Cat emerged a bit and nodded his head nervously. He managed to get his body as secure as he could in the bottom of the pocket and stretched his front legs out to reach the other clothesline. It was made of rope, and he could easily press his claws into the braids to make it move.

  And that’s exactly what he did. He wanted to get across the alley—and out of this apron—as quickly as possible.

  It took approximately two minutes to get all the way across.

  Edith enjoyed the trip immensely. She looked down to the alley several times and giggled and talked about how funny her stomach felt. She shifted her weight back and forth to make the apron swing on the line. To satisfy her curiosity, she stretched out of the pocket to look into the bag of clothespins that hung next to the apron.

  When they got to the piano factory window, Edith hopped out to the ledge. Stick Cat maneuvered the apron as close to the window as possible and climbed out too.

  Edith looked back across at the way they had come. It was as if she was remembering every second of the trip as she looked. “That was awesome,” she said. “I can’t wait to do it again. How about you?”

  “Sure. Yeah. You bet,” Stick Cat said with considerably less enthusiasm.

  Stick Cat reeled the apron and clothespin bag back across the alley. He couldn’t risk Mrs. O’Mahoney wondering what her things were doing so far away. It didn’t take long—it was much easier now that he and Edith weren’t along for the ride.

  When he was finished, Stick Cat jumped down from the ledge and onto the piano factory floor. He was so happy to have something firm and still under his paws.

  He turned his head to see Mr. Music with his arms still stuck in that piano.

  And Mr. Music stared right back at Stick Cat.

  Chapter 9

  P-H-A-T

  Mr. Music appeared quite startled to see Stick Cat and Edith come through the open window. But in an instant he recovered from the surprise and called to them both, “Here, kitties!”

  Stick Cat hurried to Mr. Music and rubbed up against his pants legs to demonstrate that he was a friend and there to help.

  “You’re a nice one,” Mr. Music said. He rolled his shoulders and lifted his feet off the ground in turn, attempting to keep the blood flowing through his body. He had been in this position for some time and had grown quite stiff. He looked down at Stick Cat and said, “My arms are stuck in this darn piano, and I can’t get them out. I don’t know what happened. There was a big crashing sound and then the piano lid slammed down onto my arms.”

  “It was thunder,” Edith said as she came closer too. Of course, Mr. Music couldn’t understand her, but she felt obliged to explain what happened all the same.

  “I used to have a cat,” Mr. Music said, and glanced up at the ceiling. It was decorated with tin tiles that seemed to catch and reflect all the light in the room. “His name was Felix. He was almost all black but had white fur on his paws. Felix and I used to love to read the paper in the morning and watch the evening news together. He was quite up to date on c
urrent events.”

  Stick Cat liked the sound of Mr. Music’s voice—almost as much as he liked the sound of Mr. Music playing the piano. There was a certain serenity in his voice. And it was easy to tell that he missed Felix very much. Not in a sad way, but more in a happy and memorable way.

  Stick Cat was even more determined to help Mr. Music out of his predicament.

  He jumped to the piano bench, sprang to the side of the keys, and then walked across the top shelf of the piano above the keyboard. He carefully stepped over and between Mr. Music’s arms.

  “Coming closer, are you?” whispered Mr. Music. “Well, you’re a brave boy, I can tell. I could use the company. Usually my songs keep me company. But I can’t exactly play right now.”

  Stick Cat paused, looked at him, and purred, but he did not stop. He kept moving past until he reached the open crack of the piano top. He could see that it had several hinges. He flattened himself as much as he could and stuck his head and shoulders inside the piano to investigate and try to devise a rescue plan. He could see Mr. Music’s elbows, forearms, and hands inside the piano. They were smashed tightly between the lid and some cross braces inside. There was absolutely no wiggle room.

  Stick Cat knew he would have to lift the piano lid. If he could move it a few inches somehow, Mr. Music might have just enough space to wriggle free.

  With his head and shoulders inside the piano, Stick Cat searched for a place to put his front paws. All he could reach were the metal piano strings. He pressed his paws against them as a test. They cut into his paw pads quite a bit, but he thought they would be plenty sturdy to hold his weight for a few seconds. He felt around and found footing for his back paws too.

  Stick Cat prepared to push his back up against the bottom of the lid. He took several deep breaths. Right when he was ready to arch his back and push with all his strength, he banged the top of his head against the lid.

  He didn’t bang his head against the lid because he slipped.

  He banged his head against the lid because it was at precisely that moment when the piano came alive with disturbing and deafening sound.

  A series of loud, banging, off-key notes echoed from inside the piano. Stick Cat backed himself out as fast as he could. His ears rang, and he fell backward off the piano. He was able to right himself in midair and land on all four paws, but the impact still hurt.

  He looked up at the piano.

  Edith was walking—well, really bounding—left and right on the keyboard. Her paws landed between black and white keys, making an ear-splitting cacophony of sound.

  “Edith!” Stick Cat yelled. He rubbed his ears.

  She heard him between notes and made a final pounce in the middle of the keyboard—a sort of grand finale of badness.

  “Yes, Stick Cat,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  “What are you doing?!” Stick Cat yelled. He had not removed his paws from his ears fully—uncertain whether she might bounce up and down on the keys again.

  “I thought you might like some musical accompaniment for your rescue,” Edith said. “This is kind of a big deal, you know. Cats don’t usually rescue humans. It’s all quite dramatic. So I thought some really stirring music would add a bit of flair to the whole affair. You know, add a little tension and excitement to the entire situation.”

  By this time, Edith had hopped down from the piano, and Stick Cat felt comfortable enough to remove his paws from his ears.

  “That was very thoughtful of you” was all Stick Cat could think to say. “But I really don’t need any more tension or excitement right now.”

  “Are you sure?” Edith asked. “Remember, I come from a long line of musical performers. Would you like it more if I sang along instead of playing the piano?”

  “No,” Stick Cat answered immediately. “What I would really like is some help lifting this lid up a few inches so Mr. Music can slide his arms out.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Edith said. After a moment of consideration, she added, “Maybe I could play something after the big rescue. Something real loud and celebratory.”

  “Maybe so.”

  With that, they both hopped up to where Stick Cat had been before.

  “Once I squeeze inside and get into position, you come in right next to me,” Stick Cat instructed. “Together, maybe we’ll have enough strength to lift the lid up for Mr. Music to get his arms out.”

  Stick Cat climbed into the piano and got into the same position. He called back to Edith, “Okay, I’m good! Now you come in next to me.”

  Stick Cat was sandwiched in there pretty tightly himself—almost as tightly as Mr. Music’s arms were. So he really couldn’t turn his head and see Edith as she came in.

  He did hear some panting and grunting.

  “Are you coming?” he called.

  He felt her push and nudge herself against his side outside of the piano.

  “How’s it going out there?”

  There was no answer from Edith. But there was more panting and grunting.

  “Can you hurry? This sure isn’t very comfortable.”

  Then total stillness and total silence.

  “Edith?”

  After a few seconds, she answered. “Yes, Stick Cat?”

  “Are you coming?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t fit, all right?” she huffed. “I’m too chubby.”

  Stick Cat could not help but smile. He had never heard Edith say anything about herself that wasn’t totally flattering. But now, in this tough situation, she had to admit this fact to herself.

  “You are not,” Stick Cat said. “Don’t even think such a thing.”

  “I am.” She sighed. Her voice now quavered a bit. “I’m fat. P-H-A-T. Fat!”

  Stick Cat knew he had to deal with Edith’s self-doubt issues now. But he also knew that he had to help Mr. Music most of all. He thought for a second or two and then spoke.

  “I won’t hear any more of this, Edith. I really won’t,” he called back to her from inside the piano. “You might be a little big boned is all. And besides, if you weren’t a little bit bigger, you wouldn’t be able to project your voice so nicely when you sing. And that would really be a shame for all of us within hearing distance. A terrible shame.”

  Edith did not respond.

  “To not be able to hear that voice come out loud and clear from your big-boned body—why, that would be just awful,” he added. “If you were just some skinny fur-and-bones feline, you couldn’t sing as loud as you can now. Imagine depriving the world of that sound. Just imagine! That would be awful.”

  There was still more silence.

  But only for twelve seconds.

  And then Edith said, “That really would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, it certainly would.”

  “Humph!” Edith grunted. “I like my big bones. And I like my singing voice!”

  “Good for you.”

  “You made me feel so much better, Stick Cat,” she said. There was true gratitude in her voice. “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” answered Stick Cat. “Now scoot back a bit. I’m going to try to lift this by myself and then—”

  “You know what I’m going to do, Stick Cat?” Edith interrupted. “Just as a thank-you to you?”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to sing something really inspirational right now,” she declared. “Something to give you real hope and joy as you push that piano lid up. That’s what I’m going to do!”

  “No! No!” Stick Cat exclaimed quickly.

  “That’s okay. Not now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Umm,” Stick Cat said, and paused. “I want you to save all your singing stamina for when we get home after this successful rescue. That’s when we’ll need a great victory song.”

  Again there was silence behind him for a few seconds.

  Then Edith said, “Sounds like a plan.”

  Stick Cat took a
few deep breaths and twisted his paws to make sure he had a firm footing.

  “Are you going to push now or what?” Edith called. “I’m getting kind of bored out here.”

  “Yes,” Stick Cat called. “I’m going to push now.”

  He gathered his strength, took a deep inhale of air, and pushed with all his power. He pressed his back up against the bottom of the piano lid as hard as he could.

  It didn’t budge.

  Chapter 10

  EDITH SITS DOWN

  Stick Cat pushed up as hard as he could a second time.

  And a third time.

  The piano lid did not move at all.

  Realizing it was no use, Stick Cat withdrew himself from the piano. His back hurt terribly for a moment. He twisted and stretched to try to loosen his muscles.

  “I can’t lift it,” Stick Cat whispered. He was exhausted from the effort. “We’re going to have to think of something else.”

  “Are you sure an inspirational song by yours truly wouldn’t help?” asked Edith. “I promise to sing as loud as I possibly can.”

  “No,” Stick Cat said quickly. The stretching had helped. He started to feel better. “Even something as unique as that sound wouldn’t be able to make a difference. It’s just too heavy.”

  “It almost seemed like you were trying to help me,” Mr. Music said to Stick Cat. He looked weary from standing so long in one position. His eyes were sad and tired. And his voice sounded weak and raspy. “Is that what you were doing? Or am I starting to hallucinate from all of this? You are real, aren’t you?”

  Stick Cat came closer and rubbed his side against Mr. Music’s right bicep.

  “Good,” Mr. Music said, and smiled at Stick Cat. “I don’t know if you were trying to lift that lid or not, but it’s no use. That thing weighs over two hundred pounds. I can barely prop it up myself sometimes.”