“You mean scared big cats,” Billy corrected. “That is one humongous feline in there.”
“It’s not nice to make fun of anyone’s size,” Billy’s mother said sternly. “Besides, the goats you brought into the neighborhood disrupted this cat’s life. You owe it to her to offer comfort and support.”
“For how long, Mom?”
“At least until she’s back to her old self.”
“So taking care of her is my punishment?”
“It’s an opportunity to practice responsibility,” she said.
Bennett reached out and placed the cardboard box in Billy’s arms. The cat looked up at Billy and let out a not-too-friendly meow.
“Be sure to keep her in your room with the door closed,” Bennett said. “Breeze is highly allergic to cat dander. If that cat is free to wander the house, we’ll have a mucus situation on our hands that no amount of Kleenex can handle.”
There was really nothing more to say after that, so Billy took the box and headed to his room. He did stop in front of the door to Breeze’s room on the way and lingered with the cat box, just to annoy her. He could hear her sneezing as he continued down the hall to his room.
“Hey, Hoove,” he called out once he had kicked the door closed. “Come on out. We have a visitor.”
There was no answer. Apparently, the Hoove was still sulking in the closet, so Billy got busy making a temporary home for the cat. He took her out of the cardboard box and lifted her onto a worn-out plaid flannel pillow he had brought home from Silver Arrow sleepaway camp. After giving her a bowl of water to drink and one of his many unpaired gym socks to play with, he settled down on the floor next to her.
“So what’s your name?” he asked, giving her a little scratch behind the ear.
“Sssssssssssssss,” the cat hissed.
“Starts with an S. Snoopy? Snowflake? Sassafras? Stinky? Stormy?”
The cat hissed again.
“Okay,” Billy said. “Stormy it is. So tell me, Stormy, how’d you get so fat? Or should I say plump? No offense, but you could maybe up your cardio workout.”
Stormy didn’t understand the content of Billy’s speech, but she did seem to respond well to his gentle tone of voice. As Billy continued scratching her head and talking softly to her about baseball and school and video games, she gradually started to relax. She stopped trembling and although she was not what you’d call friendly, she didn’t seem horribly fearful any longer. Billy was exhausted from the excitement of the day, and before long, he nodded off with Stormy curled up on the pillow next to him.
“Hey, Billy Boy! It’s gotten quiet out there. Too quiet, if you ask me.”
When Billy didn’t answer, Hoover floated through the closet door and into the middle of the room, not noticing Billy and Stormy asleep on the floor.
“Hey, Billy, where’d you go?” he called out.
Billy awoke with a jolt, not because of the sound of Hoover’s voice, but because of the sudden change in Stormy’s position. The cat was no longer curled up contentedly next to him, but was standing on all four paws, her back arched and her mouth open, exposing all her teeth. The hair on her back stood straight up.
“Relax, Stormy,” Billy said. “That’s just the Hoove. He’s your new friend.”
Stormy didn’t agree. She let out a long, low hiss and sprang through the air, aiming her body directly at the Hoove. Her ears lay flat against her head and her claws were out. If Hoover had been a real person, she would have landed smack on his chest. But since he was a ghost, she flew right through him and landed on the curtains covering Billy’s window. Hissing and growling and showing her teeth, she clutched onto the curtains, never taking her green eyes off the Hoove.
“She’s really sweet,” Billy said. “Reach out and pet her.”
“No way, Billy Boy. In case you hadn’t noticed, cats hate me. And I’m not a big fan of fur balls, either.”
“But this is Stormy. She’s going to stay here in my room.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s my room.”
“Anyway, you and Stormy are going to grow to love each other, I just know it.”
The Hoove looked over at the cat dangling from the curtains, batting the air with her outstretched claws and baring her razor-sharp teeth. This sure didn’t look like love to him.
“Hey,” he said to Stormy. “Looks to me like somebody’s been going hog wild on the cat chow. They should change your name to Jelly Belly!”
“She’s not fat,” Billy said. “She’s plus-size.”
“Let’s call it like it is, pal. That cat looks like she swallowed a cow. Maybe the whole herd.”
Just for emphasis, the Hoove puffed himself up with air until he, too, looked like he had swallowed a cow. Stormy’s eyes grew wide with terror. She arched her back again, twitched her tail aggressively, and snarled at the Hoove.
“That does it,” he said. “The cat leaves now. End of discussion.”
“She can’t leave,” Billy said. “My parents say I have to look after her, to prove to them that I can be responsible to others.”
“Sounds familiar,” the Hoove said. “All too familiar.”
“It’s my punishment for letting the goats run wild in Mrs. Brownstone’s garden.”
“Aw, my heart breaks for you.”
The Hoove raised his arms like he was pretending to play a sad song on the violin. The sudden movement alarmed Stormy, who leapt from the curtains onto Billy’s bed and immediately assumed an attack position.
“Okay, okay. Don’t get your tail in a twist,” the Hoove said. “I wasn’t coming after you. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
“Try petting her,” Billy said. “She’s had a bad scare, so she needs a little love.”
There was a knock on the door and since no one came barging in, Billy knew it wasn’t Breeze.
“Bill,” Bennett called from the hall. “We’re about to sit down to dinner. Leave the cat in her box and join us.”
“No, thanks, Bennett. I think I’ll skip dinner.”
“It’s pot sticker night. You have to come right now or the dumplings will actually stick to the pot.”
“I’m really not too hungry, Bennett.”
“This isn’t about eating, Bill. This is about quality family time. Engaging in the fine art of conversation. Now hurry up.”
Billy turned to the Hoove, who was still hovering in the middle of the room. He and Stormy were in a standoff, each glaring at the other.
“Are you two going to be okay?” he asked.
“How do I know? All the cat does is stare, like it’s watching air move.”
“I’ll eat fast and be back as soon as I can. I’ll bring a treat for Stormy.”
“Better make it something low calorie,” the Hoove said. “Very low. She doesn’t need any more poundage or we’re going to have to push her around in a wheelbarrow.”
After Billy left, the Hoove floated slowly over to Billy’s desk and draped himself over the chair, never taking his eyes off Stormy. Stormy stared back.
“So what’s up with you and me?” the Hoove finally said, having realized you can’t stare down a cat. “We can be friends or enemies, you take your pick.”
Stormy cocked her head and listened carefully to Hoove’s voice.
“You can hate me, but you’d be the only one,” he went on. “Come on, I look good. I smell good. And if you like citrus, I’m your guy. Oh, and I tell a good joke. Ever hear the one about …”
Stormy squinted her green eyes at the Hoove.
“Okay, I’ll save that one for later.”
Stormy’s ears stood at attention. She must have sensed that the Hoove was in a friendlier mood, because her body relaxed a little. Even her tail stopped twitching up and down and started moving side to side.
“But, hey, I can’t resist a good cat joke,” the Hoove said, putting his hands behind his head and thinking. “You’re going to love this one. What does a cat like to eat on a hot da
y? You give up? A mice cream cone!”
The Hoove let out a laugh, and Stormy’s ears really perked up. She stretched to her full length, letting the tension out of her body, and meowed.
“All right, I detect a little progress,” the Hoove went on. “Okay, here’s another winner. Did you hear about the cat that swallowed a ball of wool? She had mittens.”
The Hoove laughed again, and this time, Stormy purred softly.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” the Hoove said. “This next one’s going to have you meowing up a storm. Or maybe I should say meowing up a stormy. The Brownstone creep would like it, too, although I hope you never have to encounter that bag of wind. Here goes. How do cats keep law and order?”
Stormy stared at the Hoove. It wasn’t a hostile stare like before, but a curious one.
“Claw enforcement!”
The Hoove howled with laughter and this time, Stormy sprang off the bed and jumped into his lap. She snuggled up next to him and lay her head down on his nonexistent knee.
“Whoa, look at us,” the Hoove said, giving her a chilly pet down the length of her back. “Aren’t we getting cozy?”
Stormy shivered as Hoover stroked her, but stayed exactly where she was, purring happily.
Out in the kitchen, dinner was taking much longer than Billy expected. It was a Chinese meal, and Bennett insisted that everyone use chopsticks to eat. He was quite good at using them since he had developed excellent fine-motor skills picking plaque off people’s teeth. Billy and Breeze, on the other hand, spent almost an hour stabbing at their dumplings with their chopsticks and only succeeded in sending them flying off their plates and across the table. Three times Billy asked if he could be excused, and three times his mother said no.
The Hoove didn’t care that dinner was a long affair. He had stopped counting the minutes until Billy’s return. He sat contentedly on the chair, just stroking Stormy’s back and listening to her purr. He felt peaceful. Even the sting of never getting to say good-bye to Grady and Beatrice didn’t feel so bad when Stormy was on his lap. He could have gone on like that for hours.
But after awhile, Stormy became less content. Her purring, which had been soft and gentle, became louder and faster.
“What’s wrong, Storms? A tornado coming?” the Hoove asked, looking a little concerned.
Stormy jumped from his lap onto the floor. She paced around the room nervously until she found the newspaper sports section, which Billy kept by his bed. She pounced on that newspaper like it was a tasty mackerel and started to tear it into strips.
“What’s gotten into you?” the Hoove asked. “I’ve heard of reading the sports section, but shredding it seems a little extreme — and that’s coming from a sports fan.”
He bent down to pick Stormy up, but she resisted him. Picking up the shreds of paper in her mouth, she carried them in little piles over to the cardboard box and dropped them inside.
“You’re not a bird,” the Hoove said to her. “So why are you building a nest?”
When the bottom of the box was covered, Stormy let out a loud, urgent purr and got inside. The Hoove sat down next to the cardboard box to watch her. He waited and watched, and within five minutes, he knew why Stormy was building a nest. She was having kittens.
The Hoove’s eyes grew as big as flying saucers.
“Hey, wait a minute!” he yelled. “You’re having mittens! I mean kittens! You can’t do that! I don’t know the first thing about delivering mittens … kittens … little cats.”
But Stormy didn’t need the Hoove’s help. Her motherly instincts were perfect, and she knew just what to do. One by one, she delivered her babies, and when it was all over, there were three little kittens in the box, a gray one, a spotted one, and a white one.
The Hoove reached out and petted their wet, newborn heads.
“Hey, little fellows,” he said softly. “Welcome to the world.”
Stormy reached out and licked his nonexistent hand with her sandpapery tongue. By the time Billy came back from dinner, the Hoove was grinning from ear to ear, like a proud new father.
“Billy,” he said. “I have amazing news.”
“You got ungrounded?” Billy guessed.
“Even better,” the Hoove answered, his voice full of emotion. “We have mittens!”
Billy and the Hoove sat on the floor by the cardboard box for a long while, watching Stormy take care of her brand-new kittens. They were so tiny and weak, but even though their eyes were closed, they still were able to snuggle up right next to their mom.
“So I guess this explains why Stormy was so fat,” Billy said.
“Plump,” the Hoove corrected. “And might I mention, you would be, too, if you had three whole animals inside your belly.”
“I’m going to tell my mom and Bennett,” Billy said, but the Hoove shook his head.
“Let’s name them first. I think we should call the gray one Thunder, the white one Lightning, and the spotted one Raindrop.”
“That’s pretty weather oriented, Hoove.”
“Well, her name is Stormy, so if you ask me, I think it’s perfectly appropriate.” He reached out and stroked the little white one, who squeaked like a tiny mouse. “Although maybe I should name this one Penelope, after my goat. She looks like a Penelope.”
“Hoove,” Billy said gently. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea to name the kittens.”
“Why not? We can’t just keep calling them Hey You.”
“Well, when you give something a name, you get more attached to it, and then when we have to give them away, we’re going to feel really bad.”
The Hoove’s head actually spun around three times on his neck.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “What you just said made my head spin. Why do we have to give them away?”
“Well, for one thing, Breeze is allergic to cats.”
“Fine, we’ll give Breeze away.”
“We can’t have four cats here. That’s just crazy. There’d be cats running all over. And there’d be no one home to take care of them. It wouldn’t be responsible of us to keep them if we can’t take good care of them.”
The Hoove got up and started pacing around the room.
“Responsibility,” he grumbled. “That word just won’t leave me alone. It’s getting on my nerves.”
The Hoove floated back over to the kittens and leaned down to stroke their heads. Then he sighed a big, ghostly sigh, flew to the closet, and went inside, slamming the door behind him.
“You okay?” Billy asked through the door.
“It just stinks, that’s all. Go get your parents. Do what you have to do.”
Billy went and got the rest of the family. His mom and Bennett were thrilled to see the new kittens, and even Breeze said they were pretty cute … until she got a sneeze attack so bad she nearly blew herself down the hall.
“I was hoping we could keep them,” Billy said to his mom and Bennett, even though he knew what the answer would be.
“They can stay with us until they’re old enough to leave their mother,” Mrs. Broccoli-Fielding said. “That will be about six weeks. Then we’ll try to find them good homes.”
“Couldn’t we just keep Penelope?” Billy begged.
“Who’s Penelope?” Bennett asked.
“The white one. She’s named after someone very special.”
Billy’s mom reached out and gave him a hug.
“You’re a sweet boy, Billy Broccoli. And you’ve got a big heart. I love that about you. We’ll tell whoever gets her that her name is Penelope.”
When his parents left, Billy went to the closet and opened the door. The Hoove was lying on the top shelf, just staring up at the ceiling.
“I tried, Hoove,” Billy said.
“Yeah, I heard.”
“At least we can have them for six weeks. They’ll have to stay in our room because of Breeze, so you can have lots of time to hang out with them.”
“Would you mind closing the door?” the Ho
ove said. “I’m thinking here. No offense, but you’re blocking my brain waves.”
Billy closed the door and got ready for bed. After he brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas, he went to the box to check on the kittens one more time. All three were cuddled up against Stormy, and she was licking them from head to tail. Billy turned out the lights, got in bed, and fell asleep to the sound of Stormy’s happy purring.
Even though the next day was Sunday, Billy woke up early. There was a commotion in his room, and he rubbed his eyes to focus on the Hoove hunched over his desk, deeply engrossed in some kind of art project. There were large sheets of paper laid out all over the floor, and every one of Billy’s markers was spread over the desk top.
“What’s going on, Hoove?”
“Making signs,” the Hoove answered. “If we have to do this, I’m going to see to it that we do it right.”
He picked up one of the sheets of paper and held it up for Billy to see. It said:
FREE KITTENS!
ONLY AVAILABLE TO GOOD, LOVING HOMES!
WE MEAN IT!
The signs were written in different colors, with drawings of cute little cats around the edges.
“I thought about this all night,” the Hoove explained while he completed a cat border in navy blue. “We’ll plaster the neighborhood with these signs. People will come and check out the kittens, which will give us time to observe them and pick the best families. I don’t want my kittens going to just anyone, you know.”
When Billy showed the signs to his parents, they were very pleased.
“This is an extremely responsible thing to do,” his mother said.
“How about if I get out my trusty, surefire staple gun,” Bennett said, putting a supportive hand on Billy’s shoulder. “We can go out and staple these up around the neighborhood. And, Bill, as a special reward for your responsibility, I’ll let you squeeze the staple gun trigger. Trust me, it’s a thrill.”
“I wish I could bring a friend,” Billy said, feeling a little guilty about getting all the credit for something the Hoove had done.
How to Scare the Pants Off Your Pets Page 9