Dear Zoe,
Thank you for reaching out to me! You did exactly the right thing. I have helped many extraordinary creatures, and I can help your cat too. Just bring your cat to my house. I’ll explain everything once you get here.
I know you must be worried, but keep your wits about you and everything will be fine. Your life will be back to normal before you know it.
Come as soon as you can.
And do NOT let anyone see her. That’s very important—her safety depends on your secrecy.
Love,
Aunt Alecia
On the surface, it sounded like the perfect solution: just take Pipsqueak to New Hampshire, and Aunt Alecia would help them. In fact, it was even better than Zoe had dared hope. She could help Pipsqueak! Maybe stop her from growing larger. Or even change her back to her proper size.
But I can’t go to New Hampshire. How would she get there? It wasn’t as if she could say, “Hey, Mom, Dad, can you drive me and my giant cat to New Hampshire?” No, she’d have to write back to Aunt Alecia and ask her to come here. In the meantime, Pipsqueak would be safest hidden in the shed. She was happy there. She had plenty to read, and Zoe was sure she’d be able to keep her family from discovering her before Aunt Alecia arrived.
She calculated how long it would take: two days for her letter to arrive, another for Aunt Alecia to drive down. At most three days. Less, if Aunt Alecia left as soon as she received the letter. It couldn’t be more than a few hours’ drive. I can keep Pipsqueak hidden for three more days.
Unless Aunt Alecia didn’t want to come. She and Mom weren’t speaking . . . What if I send another letter, and Aunt Alecia doesn’t come? So far, Zoe had managed to keep Pipsqueak hidden, but there was a limit to how long the excuses of “my kitten’s shy” or asleep or at Harrison’s were going to work, or how long it would be before someone wanted to fetch something from the shed. Plus, construction on the new laundry room would start soon, and more people would be tromping through the house all day, throwing everything into chaos and glancing out the windows into the backyard, where Pipsqueak was hidden. And even if they miraculously weathered all that, Pipsqueak was still growing. At some point she could outgrow the shed, and then what?
Zoe heard the doorbell ring and then footsteps as someone went to answer it.
“Zoe!” Alex called. “A reporter wants to talk to you!”
A reporter? she wondered. Why would a reporter want me? She thought immediately of Pipsqueak. Surita had predicted reporters would come if they knew about her . . .
Quickly Zoe folded the letter and hid it in her dresser drawer. She hurried downstairs. Mom and Alex were standing at the door, chatting with a woman who had her phone out, her finger poised over the screen. When Zoe approached, the woman smiled politely.
“I thought she was here to talk to Mom,” Alex said. “But she’s here for you.”
“Are you the owner of a kitten named”—the reporter consulted her phone—“Pipsqueak?”
Zoe glanced at Mom. Zoe had never had a reporter talk to her before. Her mom nodded, encouraging her to answer. “Um, yes?” Zoe said.
“And did you bring this kitten to Eastbury Veterinary for a recent checkup?”
Oh no. “Um . . .” She looked again at her mother.
“News 12 is following up on a lead,” Mom explained. “The owner of the ‘flying poodle’ claims she went to the local vet recently, so they’re talking with other pet owners who visited the same day.”
“Alleged flying poodle,” the reporter said. “It was supposedly last sighted a few blocks from here. Did you see anything unusual during your visit?”
Aside from a cat who should have been a kitten . . . “Nothing at all.”
The reporter held up her phone, displaying a photo of a poodle. “Do you remember seeing this dog?”
“No. Um . . . maybe?” She’d seen a poodle in the waiting room. Could it have been the same one? “Yes, there was a dog that looked like that. But it wasn’t flying. It seemed like an ordinary poodle.”
“And did anything unusual happen during your exam?”
The vet didn’t believe me about Pipsqueak. “Nope.”
The reporter made more notes. “Has your cat exhibited any abnormal behavior?” It took all of Zoe’s self-restraint not to glance toward the back of the house. She shook her head. “My kitten’s fine. Totally normal. No problems.” She tried a smile, but it felt as fake as a doll’s smile, so she stopped. Putting her hands behind her back, she twisted them nervously.
“Can I see her?”
No! she shouted silently.
“Ooh, does this mean our photo will be on the news?” Alex asked. “Hey, Zoomaroo, your kitten’s going to be famous!”
The reporter snorted. “Only if your cat sprouted wings.”
Alex laughed, and Zoe joined in halfheartedly. I can’t say yes. What can I tell her that will make her go away? “I’m sorry, but I let her outside after dinner. She’s off exploring the neighborhood somewhere. You know how cats are.”
“She’s not missing, is she?” The reporter perked up. Her finger twitched over her phone, ready to take a note.
“Not missing. Just out playing.”
The reporter studied Zoe for a while, and Zoe did her best to look as innocent as possible. “All right. Well, thank you for your time. Please contact me if you notice anything out of the ordinary, either in your pet or any neighboring animals.” She handed Zoe’s mom a business card.
Alex shut the door as she left.
“Zoe, I thought I told you to keep your kitten in your room,” Mom scolded. “With all the strange animal sightings, it’s not safe to let her out unsupervised.”
“She’s safely inside . . .” Zoe’s mouth felt dry, as if it were coated in chalk. “I didn’t want her getting scared. She’s shy around anyone but me.”
“You could have said that instead of lying to that nice reporter,” Mom said.
“I’m sorry. I just . . . didn’t think she’d understand.”
Mom hesitated, as if she were debating whether this warranted a larger lecture, but instead she asked, “Everything is okay with Pipsqueak, isn’t it? I haven’t seen her since the Christmas cactus incident.”
“I’ve been trying to keep her out of your way,” Zoe said. “Really, though, she’s fine. I don’t know what that reporter was talking about.”
“We should get costume wings and attach them to Zoe’s kitten,” Alex said. “I bet that’s what the dog’s owner did. In a few weeks it’ll be revealed as a hoax, and then she’ll go on all the talk shows . . .” He continued talking as he and Mom drifted back to join Dad in the living room.
Zoe tuned him out, watching through the window as the reporter got in her car and drove away. That was close. She tried to calm her racing heart. But it’s over. The reporter’s gone. So long as no one actually finds a real flying poodle or anything, maybe all of this will die down, and the only people I’ll have to worry about hiding Pipsqueak from will be my family. At least until construction starts next week . . .
* * *
Early the next morning, Zoe’s phone beeped. She’d climbed into bed late at night after stargazing again with Pipsqueak, so it felt extra early. Flopping over, she read the screen containing Harrison’s text: “Check Channel 5 News,” plus a link.
Rubbing her eyes as she sat up, instantly awake now, she clicked on it.
Scrolling through, she read fast: the Unidentified Flying Poodle had been caught, and it was in fact a poodle that could fly, or at least float. Now that the UFP was confirmed as real, fans of unexplained phenomena were pouring into Eastbury along with scientists from across the United States.
Zoe skimmed, looking for what happened to the poodle: it had been taken away for study at an unnamed facility in Boston. “Taken away,” Zoe whispered.
Surita had been right.
As her stomach sank into her feet, Zoe read another article. This one confirmed that the poodle had been traced back to a local
veterinary clinic, just as that reporter had said. “Before we brought Fluffy in,” the owner was quoted, “she was an ordinary poodle. Not ordinary. She’s pedigree! Would have been a show dog, except for her teeth. She has an overbite.” After the clinic, the poodle had disappeared from her owner’s backyard, with no sign of digging free or breaking through the fence, and she’d been caught drifting across Route 20 in Shrewsbury, floating after a terrified squirrel. There were rumors that the poodle had even been talking, but that was dismissed as too far-fetched, especially since there were also rumors that the poodle was bilingual (French and English), able to read, and skilled at tap dancing. It was difficult to tell what was true and what was a hoax. Zoe saw dozens of Photoshopped pictures of flying dogs, cats, and rabbits. She even saw one meme devoted to flying tacos floating through the center of Eastbury.
But if the poodle really could talk (and read), then maybe she was like Pipsqueak, only flying instead of growing.
According to the article, everyone was on the lookout for other animal anomalies. It’s not over, Zoe thought. It’s worse. News of the UFP had spread all over social media. There were dozens, maybe hundreds, more posts about their town and the poodle. And people were debating what it meant, what to do, and what else could be out there.
But even worse were the pictures of the poodle owner’s house. People were camped out on the lawn, pressed against the window, hounding the owner whenever she stepped outside.
If people find Pipsqueak, this will happen to us! Zoe imagined the reporter coming back with a whole camera crew. She thought of Mom and how she’d feel about Zoe being the focus of all that . . . And of course she thought of someone taking Pipsqueak away, and that was the worst thought of all.
She bolted out of her room and out the back door.
“Zoomaroo, where are you go—” Alex called from the kitchen table.
She ran to the shed and threw the door open.
Pipsqueak squawked and dove into the box fort, attempting to hide. It didn’t work. Over the past few days she’d grown too big to fit inside the fort. Half the boxes fell over with a crash, and two-thirds of her fuzzy body was visible.
Zoe sagged against the door. She’s here. No one has found her yet. “Are you all right?”
Wiggling backward, Pipsqueak turned around—no easy task, given her size and the size of the shed. When at last she faced Zoe, she plopped down. “You surprised me!”
“Sorry.” Reaching up, Zoe stroked between her ears, just as Pipsqueak had liked when she was a kitten. Now, though, Zoe used both hands instead of one finger.
Pipsqueak cuddled her shoulder. “Is everything all right?”
“All good. No worries.”
“In that case, there is something I want to talk to you about. I’ve been in this shed a long time, and it gets lonely and boring when you’re not here with me—”
From across the lawn, Zoe heard the back door open. “Zoe? Where did you go?” Alex called. “You know you’re in your PJs, right? What are you doing out there?”
Scooting out of the shed, Zoe slammed the door shut behind her. Everything is falling apart. I can’t keep her hidden much longer! If the reporters and anomaly seekers didn’t find Pipsqueak, her own family would. It was just a matter of time, and thanks to the flying poodle, she had less time than she’d hoped. “Just remembered I’d left my phone in there.” She waved it in the air. “Found it.”
“Good,” Alex said. “You know Mom and Dad won’t get you another if you lose it.”
“Yes. I know I have to be responsible.” She crossed the lawn to the kitchen, willing herself not to glance back at the shed. She had to trust that Pipsqueak would have enough sense to stay out of sight while Alex was in the yard. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her that everything was okay when it’s not.
The grass was wet with dew, and her feet felt soaked by the time she was back inside. She wiped off the stray bits of grass that clung to her ankles.
“How’s Pipsqueak?” Alex asked.
Zoe froze mid-wipe. “Why do you ask?”
“Duh, because she’s your new pet, and like Mom pointed out last night, we haven’t seen her in a while.”
She studied his face. He didn’t look as if he suspected anything. Maybe he hadn’t read the news about the flying poodle being real. It occurred to her that her reaction was suspicious. I’m not good at keeping secrets, she thought. Especially one this big. Literally big.
“She’s great,” Zoe said, forcing herself to smile. “Shy. Hides from everyone except me. It would be best if you left her alone until she feels secure.” She wished she could tell Alex. But he’d want to tell their parents, and they’d want to call Animal Control. Or someone official. She was certain her parents wouldn’t understand she’d promised to keep Pipsqueak safe. They were more interested in keeping Zoe safe, which was nice, but she wasn’t the one who would be thrown into a government lab or locked in a cage to be gawked at. Pipsqueak trusts me to keep her safe. And my family trusts me to be responsible.
“You know,” Alex said as he poured her a bowl of cereal, “I was thinking about what Mom was saying—you know, about you going to camp. It might be a good idea. You could have your own adventure! You’re ready for more independence, and maybe if you went, it could help you understand, at least a little, why I’m ready for my new adventure.”
This was a horrifying conversation for so many reasons. Zoe wished she had thought to climb out her window and avoided this. “Really can’t go to camp right now. I have a new kitten. Responsibilities.”
“I could take care of her for you.”
“You’re off at work all day. So’s Dad. And you know how Mom feels about animals. Pipsqueak would be lonely.”
“Then you could find a pet sitter for her to stay with. Or board her at the vet if you think that would be better. Maybe not the vet with the flying poodle incident.”
She had to cut this off before her parents overheard and got excited about the idea. “There’s just too much to do here. Like with your party planning! I’m going to help more with that.” She cringed inwardly as she said that. She’d rather poke her eye out with a barbecue fork than plan for Alex’s going-away party.
He looked concerned. “You don’t have to help with that if you don’t want. In fact, if you go to camp, you’ll miss at least some of the planning. I know this has been hard for you. That’s why a distraction—”
Looking out the kitchen window behind Alex, Zoe saw the shed door open. “Oh, I’m plenty distracted. Um, I . . . may have left my phone charger in the shed too. Excuse me.” She darted out the door, waving frantically at Pipsqueak.
Pipsqueak ducked back into the shed.
As she reached the shed door, Zoe hissed, “What are you thinking? My brother’s by the kitchen window! He could look outside at any moment!” She darted in and shut the door behind them.
Pipsqueak drooped, chastised. “I was worried about you. You ran off.”
“Just distracting my brother,” Zoe said. “We can’t let him, or anyone, see you!” She realized she was shouting and probably upsetting Pipsqueak, but this was serious. Now there were people looking for her—or others like her!
“But it’s hard, always hiding,” Pipsqueak said. “It’s sunny, and there are birds and dogs and butterflies. And you! I don’t want to be stuck in here forever, away from the world and away from you!”
“I’m sorry, Pipsqueak, but we have to keep you safe!”
“I’m supposed to be your cat, and you’re my person. We should be together!”
This is the worst time for this conversation! “I want that too, but we can’t right now. Look, if you’re unhappy or bored, I can get you more books. Or maybe even a TV. If I get an extension cord and run it to the shed—”
Pipsqueak laid her head down on the shed floor and covered her face with both front paws. “I just feel so . . . so . . . so . . .”
“Restless?” Zoe supplied.
“No.”
“Bored?”
“No.”
“Curious?”
“No.”
“Then what? You can’t be seen! If you’re caught, you’ll be paraded around and gawked at.” Like the flying poodle. Zoe thought of the photos she’d seen plastered all over the Internet and the news. “Curious scientists will poke and prod you. People who are scared of anything strange and different could try to hurt you. Why do you want to risk being caught?”
“Because I already feel trapped!” Pipsqueak cried. “And helpless. And I don’t like it. I don’t know why I’m different. I don’t know why I keep growing or why I can talk and read. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Or who I’m supposed to be! And you don’t know either. I can tell you’re scared too, and that scares me! I don’t want to hide in fear for the rest of my life. I want to be your cat. I want to do cat things. Chase birds. Lie out in the sun. Find more boxes. You keep saying everything will be okay, but you don’t do anything to make it okay! You just pretend that everything will be fine because you want it to be fine. I don’t think that’s enough. I think we have to do something!”
She can’t hide forever, Zoe thought. She’s unhappy, and it’s only a matter of time before she’s discovered.
Without thinking about it first—not even to consider whether it was a good idea, a great idea, or a truly terrible idea—Zoe said, “We’ll go to New Hampshire and find my aunt. She said she knows about extraordinary creatures. Like you. She said she can make everything go back to normal.”
“She’ll make me small again? Make me able to be your kitten again?”
“Yes! She’ll help us. We just need to get to her.”
Chapter 8
AS SOON AS ZOE SAID IT, she knew: This is a terrible idea!
But it was too late to take the words back. Already they floated in the air like balloons. She wished she could pop them.
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