A lady walking a chubby dachshund wearing a big bow around his neck went by. Franz and New Dog perked up and sniffed the dachshund; the dogs pranced around one another and got their leashes tangled.
“What adorable kittens,” the woman said, looking inside the box.
“They’re up for adoption,” Laney said.
“Are you the ones that put up those flyers I saw?”
“We did!” Laney said. “Do you want to adopt one?”
“No, but I took one of the flyers in case I think of anyone who might want to,” the woman replied.
“Oh good!” Isa said. “We were trying to find all of the flyers and were just missing one. Apparently it’s illegal to put them up. We got fined four hundred twenty-five dollars.”
“That’s outrageous!” the woman declared. “You should write the city and tell them you’re kids and you shouldn’t get fined.”
“That’s a good idea,” Jessie said. “Thanks.”
The Vanderbeekers went back to looking at the storefront while the woman admired the kittens.
“Isn’t there something about this place that makes it feel like home, in a way?” Hyacinth asked her siblings while trying to untangle Franz’s leash. “Like, I can picture it as Mama’s bakery with a pretty awning and big glass-paned windows. I see her baking inside, and people ordering cakes for their weddings and for birthday parties. We can have café tables where people can hang out and chat.”
Isa recognized the faraway look in Hyacinth’s eyes: it was the same one she got when she was dreaming up her next knitting project. Laney was doing a little dance with her broom. Jessie was scrutinizing the store, probably estimating the dimensions and calculating how many tables could fit inside.
“You’re a nice family. Good luck with the kittens,” the lady with the dachshund said, observing them, “and the fine.”
“Thank you!” they said, and they waved as she continued on her walk.
Isa looked at the storefront, and something flashed across the top of the awning. Along the tree branch walked an adult tuxedo cat—it looked as if it could have been the mom of the kitten in their wagon—and it stared at them with large, solemn eyes.
“That looks just like Tuxedo!” Laney exclaimed.
“Oh my gosh,” Oliver said, his eyes wide.
“What?” Isa asked him.
Oliver looked at his sisters with a broad, satisfied grin. “The best idea I’ve ever had in my whole entire life just popped into my brain.”
* * *
Oliver looked from the tuxedo cat sunning itself on the tree to his four sisters. The sun glittered overhead, giving the storefront an ethereal glow.
“What’s your great idea?” Jessie asked, nudging him.
“It’s not like the time you suggested we build a big foam pit in the backyard, right?”
Oliver took a breath. “It’s an even better idea. Angie was telling me about this cat café in Brooklyn that has adoptable cats roaming around—”
Hyacinth interrupted. “We can bring the kittens there!”
“No, I thought—” Oliver began.
“Don’t let anyone adopt Tuxedo!” Laney squeaked.
Jessie shook her head. “We really need to get the abandoned animals adopted. We’ve stressed out Mama enough.”
“So my idea—” Oliver began again.
“But I love Tuxedo! We can’t give her away!” Laney said.
“Laney, Mama was really clear,” Jessie said.
Oliver couldn’t take it any longer. “WILL EVERYONE BE QUIET AND LISTEN TO MY GREAT IDEA?”
There was a long silence.
Oliver took a deep, calming breath, just like his fifth-grade teacher had taught his class to do after PE and before math class. “I don’t think we should bring our kittens to that café.”
“You don’t?” Laney asked.
“Nope.” Oliver looked out at his siblings and grinned. “I think we should open our own cat café.”
Twenty-Seven
It was decided: the Vanderbeekers needed to go to Brooklyn for research.
First they stopped off at home, where they found Mama asleep at the dining room table, her head on her accounting book. They tiptoed around her, dropped off the animals, picked up their MetroCards, and headed out the door toward the subway.
They reached the station and descended underground. After everyone had swiped through the turnstiles, they got onto the number three train to Brooklyn and settled in for a long ride.
Laney didn’t know why Oliver disliked the subway so much. She always thought that the longer the subway ride, the better. That day, Laney chose a seat at the end of the group because she liked the possibility of sitting next to a yet-to-be-met friend. It turned out to be Laney’s lucky day, because when the train stopped, a man wearing a cape and a tall stovepipe hat entered their car, rolling a large wooden box of balloon animals sticking out in all directions. And of all the empty seats in the whole car, he took the one right next to Laney!
“Hi,” Laney said at once. “Did you make all those balloon animals by yourself?”
“I did,” he replied. He started poking around his bin, pulling balloons out and piling them on Laney’s lap. “Ladybug! Heart wand! Monkey holding a banana! Octopus! Clownfish!”
Laney laughed as the balloon animals overflowed off her lap. Jessie grabbed some of them before they fell to the ground.
“I’ll teach you how to make a dog,” the man told Laney.
Laney considered their destination. “How about a cat?”
The balloon artist pretended to be put out. “Fine.”
Another lucky thing was that he was going to Brooklyn too. He had to stay on the subway all the way to Rockaway Avenue, which was even farther than their stop. He passed out balloons to riders and taught them how to twist them into cats, and the subway was soon filled with felines of all colors. It made the time fly by, and before they knew it, they had reached their destination and had to say goodbye. Armed with a dozen cat balloons, the Vanderbeekers went in search of the Brooklyn Cat Café.
* * *
The café was everything the Vanderbeekers could ever have hoped for. There was a bit of a line to get inside, and when they finally entered, they found a space with lots of natural light, a display case full of cupcakes, a cappuccino machine, and about ten cats roaming around. There were special climbing shelves built into the walls for the cats, and elaborate trees with hidey holes. On the walls were descriptions of the cats—all rescues up for adoption—including detailed information about their personalities and preferences.
“‘Jeep,’” Hyacinth read out loud from one of the flyers. “‘This three-year-old tabby was found under a Jeep in Astoria. He is a total love bug and gets along with cats, dogs, adults, and children. He’s looking for a forever home with a sunny window spot and lots of love.’”
“We could adopt him,” Laney suggested.
“No,” said Jessie and Isa.
“We can’t go home with more cats,” Oliver said. “That defeats the purpose!”
“We need to get our kittens adopted,” Isa said gently.
“Except for Tuxedo,” Laney said.
No one responded.
“Can I help you?” A teenager wearing a knit hat, skinny jeans, and a ripped T-shirt that said “Park Slope Cat Café” on the sleeve waved to them from behind the counter.
“Do you have chocolate sea salt caramel cookies?” Oliver asked.
“Nope. Only cupcakes here,” the teenager answered.
Oliver frowned while Isa gave the teenager two dollars so they could buy one cupcake to share.
“Are you the owner?” Laney asked.
The teenager laughed. “No, but she’s here if you want to meet her.”
“We do,” Laney said solemnly, then held out a purple cat balloon. “And this is for you.”
“Thanks.” The girl took the balloon, then turned her head and yelled, “Molly!”
A few seconds later, a woman wear
ing a dress printed with cats emerged from the back room.
Laney immediately ran to her, gave her a green cat balloon, and unzipped her jacket to show off her unicorn-themed outfit.
“I can already tell we’ll be friends,” Molly said. “I’m Molly.”
Laney introduced everyone, and then Jessie went on to explain why they were there. Molly listened, then put five cupcakes on a plate. “These are on the house. Let’s sit down. Do you have a notebook? I have lots of advice.”
Jessie pulled out her science notebook from her back jeans pocket and scribbled furiously while Molly spoke about getting sponsors like cat food and litter companies, pairing up with a cat rescue organization, what an ideal café layout would be (a place to prepare food separate from the café area, a place for the cats and customers to interact, and a place for the cats when they need a break from people), and the state permits and licenses they’d need.
“How are cats allowed in a café?” Hyacinth asked. “Mama lost her home processor’s license because there were pets in our apartment.”
“The kitchen and the customer area must be clearly separated,” Molly told them. “The Department of Health is very strict about that. You’ll have to submit architectural blueprints to show them that food can be prepared safely without cross contamination.”
By the end, Jessie’s hand ached from the six pages of notes she had taken.
“I think it’s a fabulous idea to open a cat café in Harlem,” Molly said. “So many cats languish at the Animal Care Center because no one sees them. If they’re in a café, at least they get a fair chance of being seen and eventually adopted.”
Oliver had finished his cupcake and was now holding a cat that had taken a liking to him. “It looks like it brings in a lot of business,” he said, nodding at the line going out the door.
Molly whistled. “We’ve been filled to capacity every day since we opened last year. Honestly, I would be happy if you took some business away from me. We can’t keep up with the demand.”
Since there were customers waiting for a table, the Vanderbeekers thanked Molly, promised to keep in touch, and headed out the door.
“Well?” Oliver said as they left the café and made their way back to the subway. “Did I have the best idea ever or what?”
The Vanderbeekers didn’t hesitate for even a millisecond: “Yes!”
Twenty-Eight
The five Vanderbeekers managed to not let one hint about the cat café slip past their lips at dinnertime, and afterward they went into the backyard with Franz, New Dog, and the kittens.
Stretching out on the grass, they watched the animals play. It was eight o’clock, and the chickens had already retreated to their shed to roost. Because Uncle Arthur had finished the treehouse early the day before, he’d had time to install a roosting bar in the shed that sat in the backyard. Jessie had helped him clear out all the old junk, and they spread sawdust on the ground and put some chicken feed, water, and kitchen scraps inside. They also set up wooden apple crates in case these chickens were of the egg-laying variety.
“I’ve been thinking,” Jessie said, “that we need to make a business plan.”
“What’s a business plan?” Laney asked.
“It’s a document that sets out a business’s objectives and strategies for achieving them,” Jessie said.
“Business objective: to not ruin Mama’s life,” Oliver suggested.
“Business objective: to create a neighborhood bakery that has the best cookies in the world,” Isa said.
“Business objective: to help rescued kitties find forever homes,” Hyacinth added.
Jessie wrote everything down except what Oliver had said. “Okay, now we need strategies. Basically everything Molly said this afternoon: Partner with a local animal-rescue organization. Obtain sponsors for cat care. Get licenses from the Department of Health. Create a website. Raise money for renovations. Bake Uncle Arthur lots of muffins in exchange for help with the renovations. Ask Allegra to design a logo. Create a menu.”
“Ooh, we can put cat-puccinos on the menu!” Hyacinth said. “And serve them in a cat mug!”
“For the cats?” Oliver asked, puzzled.
“No, for the customers,” Hyacinth explained. “And we can make cupcakes and call them cat-cakes!”
“Those are for the cats, right?” Oliver said.
Hyacinth huffed. “Oliver, of course not! It will be a cat-cake because Mama can put a cat footprint in the frosting.”
“Not a real cat footprint, right?” Oliver asked. He imagined holding up a kitten and pressing her paw into the frosting. “That doesn’t sound so sanitary.”
Hyacinth didn’t bother to respond.
“Just make sure Mama has chocolate sea salt caramel cookies on the menu,” Oliver said, pointing at Jessie’s document. “Write that down.”
“I think a well-researched plan will make a big difference,” Jessie said, pretending Oliver hadn’t spoken. “Mr. Huxley is a businessman; he won’t put personal feelings ahead of making money. Herman said his dad makes three percent of the lease amount as long as Mama keeps renting the space from him.”
“You write the business plan,” Oliver told Jessie as he stood up and brushed the grass from his pajama pants. “I’ll do another night of surveillance. We still need to find out who’s leaving these animals!” He went inside the brownstone to grab supplies, then made his way up the ladder and into his treehouse. A moment later, his flashlight flickered on and the treehouse glowed with warmth.
Hyacinth replayed the day in her mind: the arrival of the chickens, the disastrous inspection, and the trip to Brooklyn. Something else had happened that day that could help with the cat café idea, but the thought was elusive and ran away every time she was close to touching it. Hyacinth lay down in the grass and stared at the clear sky, hoping the cosmos would help her remember. Stars were a rarity due to New York City’s light pollution, but after a few minutes of looking into the inky night, a star emerged! Hyacinth remembered the nursery rhyme about wishing on the first star, so she closed her eyes, made a wish, and breathed it out into the universe.
* * *
In the treehouse, Oliver was more prepared for the second night’s reconnaissance. He had brought up an extra blanket earlier that day to make sleeping on the wood-plank floors more bearable, and he plugged the video camera into the long power cord that Jessie had set up for him. No way would the battery run out on him tonight.
Oliver flicked his flashlight on and scanned the treehouse bookshelves for something to read. He wasn’t in the mood for anything suspenseful or new; he wanted a story where he knew everything would turn out all right. He scanned the titles, and his eyes landed on that familiar beige spine with the block-print type. It was exactly the story he wanted, and he pulled it from the shelf, settled into his sleeping bag, and began to read.
Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy.
The comforting words, which had been read to him at least a dozen times, relaxed him so much that he was asleep before he finished the first page.
* * *
With all that had happened that week, Isa had had much less practice time than anticipated. To make matters worse, the incident at the Huxleys’ apartment had unmuted New Dog’s voice. She barked hysterically anytime Isa practiced her violin that day.
Jessie was hunched over the computer, typing out the business plan, when Hyacinth entered the room. Isa was reading the flyer-violation email from the City of New York on her phone.
“This is a disaster,” Isa said. “I don’t know how to respond.”
“Oh, I can help you. Apologizing is easy,” Hyacinth said.
Isa raised an eyebrow.
The second Jessie got off the computer, Hyacinth pointed to the desk chair. “Isa, sit down and I’ll tell you what to write. All you have to do is imitate the best apologizer ever: Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables. ”
To: The City of New York
&nb
sp; From: Isa Vanderbeeker
Subject: Re: Violation of §10-119 of New York City’s Administrative Code
To Whom It May Concern:
It was with great sorrow that we received your email dated April 3 regarding the fine we incurred for putting up flyers about pet adoption in Harlem. When we received the attached notice about the fine, we were devastated, not only because we cannot afford to pay you $450 but because we are law-abiding citizens and would never want to break a city administrative code. We are just kids, and we did not know any better. Now that we are well informed about that law, we will certainly follow it. If you can find it in your heart to forgive us (and also not charge us $450), we would be forever grateful.
Sincerely,
Isa Vanderbeeker, age 13
Jessie Vanderbeeker, age 13
Oliver Vanderbeeker, age 10
Hyacinth Vanderbeeker, age 8
Laney Vanderbeeker, age 6
Hyacinth, satisfied that she had captured the spirit of Anne, said good night to Isa and went back to her bedroom. After rereading it three times to check spelling and grammar, Isa pressed send and swiveled in her desk chair to tell Jessie. Her sister was already asleep, New Dog curled in a tight ball at her feet.
Isa tiptoed past them, hoping New Dog wouldn’t wake up. She really needed to practice and didn’t want New Dog to start barking again. On the way to the basement, she passed Mama, who was sitting at the dining room table with her accounting books.
“Practicing again?” Mama inquired.
Isa nodded. “Mr. Van Hooten is going to call in half an hour to hear me play.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Isa replied. She kissed her mom’s cheek, then headed downstairs.
In the basement, Isa pulled out her battered and marked-up sheet music and reviewed it one more time. She had analyzed each inch of this music for the past four months, and she didn’t want to give the judges any excuse not to accept her. A few measures from the end of the piece, her phone chimed with an incoming video-chat request. She clicked it, and Mr. Van Hooten’s face appeared on the screen.
The Vanderbeekers to the Rescue Page 14