TJ and the Cats
Hazel Hutchins
Copyright © 2002 Hazel Hutchins
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data
Hutchins, H.J. (Hazel J.)
TJ and the Cats
Electronic Monograph
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 9781551433912(pdf) -- ISBN 9781554697601 (epub)
I. Title. PS8565.U826T62 2002 jC813’.54 C2001-911750-7
PZ7.H96163Tj 2002
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001099445
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support of our publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Department of Canadian Heritage, The Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.
Cover design by Christine Toller
Cover & interior illustrations by Kyrsten Brooker
In Canada:
Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 5626, Station B
Victoria, BC Canada
V8R 6S4
In the United States:
Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 468
Custer, WA USA
98240-0468
www.orcabook.com
04 03 02 • 5 4 3
Special thanks to Dr. Sylvia McAllister, DVM, for providing story consultation in addition to expert pet care on so many occasions; my brother Lawrence for starting the whole thing with the “fact” that cats gain weight as they sleep across one’s feet at night; and my husband Ted, who has always felt that life is just that much better with a cat (or two) in the house.
Chapter 1
My name is TJ Barnes and I don’t like cats.
I don’t like the way they stare. I don’t like the way they slink. I don’t like the way they race under your feet, slash without warning and wash their behinds in public. Cats give me the creeps.
If I’d remembered all these details when my grandmother phoned, it would have saved me a whole lot of trouble.
“TJ,” said Gran, “I’ve got a problem.”
It was early Monday morning. Gran wasn’t supposed to be on the phone. She was supposed to be on a plane to Hawaii.
“What happened?” I asked her. “Was there a tidal wave? An earthquake? Did the plane get hijacked?”
Gran had been looking forward to her trip to Hawaii forever.
“Worse,” said Gran. “I’m about to leave for the airport and my cat sitter has canceled. Can you fill in?”
“Sure,” I said, the words just flying out before I could stop them. “Sure, I can help.”
“Thanks, TJ,” said Gran. “I’ll send them right over by taxi.”
An awful feeling slid along the little hairs on the back of my neck and trickled down the top of my spine.
“Here?” I asked. “You’re sending them over here?”
“My house is too far for you to come every day,” said Gran. “Keep them in your laundry room until they get used to the place. Thank you, thank you, TJ. Aloha.”
“Aloha,” I said, but Gran had already hung up.
I stared at the phone. What had I done? I thought I was agreeing to go over to Gran’s house to drop a few kibbles in a cat dish. I didn’t want all four cats to come and live at our place!
I picked up the phone and dialed Mom and Dad at the store. The line was busy. It was always busy these days. I hung up. I walked around in a circle.
My Gran was the world’s greatest grandmother. She could build models, fly kites, devise secret codes and open locks without a combination. She deserved to go to Hawaii.
I’d almost convinced myself that things were going to be okay when the taxi arrived. I went out to meet it. The driver was a mess. His eyes were wild. His shoulders were covered in cat hair. There were scratches all over his arms.
“Watch out for little old ladies asking favors,” he said. “And take this one into the house right away. It knows how to escape.”
He handed me a carry-box painted with jungle vines. Out of a hole at the side curled a long, sharp claw and a tuft of black fur. The funny little chill trickled down my spine again. I remembered the name of Gran’s black cat. Killer.
I carried the box into the house and set it in the laundry room. I went back outside. The taxi driver was setting three more boxes and all sorts of cat gear on the sidewalk.
Yeowl. Meeowl. Hiss, said the boxes.
The driver shuddered with each howl.
“She really is the world’s greatest grandmother,” I said.
“She owns the world’s most miserable cats,” said the taxi driver. “Aloha.”
He jumped back in the cab and drove off. I stayed on the sidewalk with three howling cat boxes.
The first box was painted with swirls of color and silver stars. The name Cleo was painted over the door. Cleo had long fluffy hair all gray and white and salmon-colored. Gran thought she was the most beautiful cat in the world.
The second box was painted like the fun house at the fair. Kink said the name. He was the orange one with a bent tail. Gran called him a clown.
The last box was twice the size of the other two and had fancy gold paint. That had to be Maximilian the Emperor — Max for short.
Yeowl. Meeowl. Hiss.
I began to leapfrog the boxes and gear up the sidewalk to the house. Cleo and Kink howled all the way. Max got heavier. I’m sure he got heavier.
Just as I was nearing our side door, the neighbors’ dog got wind of what was happening. He rushed the house.
Cats! he barked. Catscatscatscats!
I tossed the boxes into the entrance, leapt in after them and banged the door shut behind me. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. It took me a full minute to figure out the thumping was my own heart, panic-beating in my chest.
I took the boxes and the cat gear to the laundry room. I set food and water at one side of the room. I set clean kitty litter at the other side of the room. I tried not to think about dirty kitty litter. One by one I opened the boxes and looked in.
Cleo’s green eyes peered out of the first box.
Kink’s yellow eyes peered out of the second box.
Max’s blue eyes peered out of the third box — actually Max’s eyes didn’t peer, they blazed brilliantly from a heap of white fur. The emperor was furious.
I reached down to open the last box. It was already open. That funny little feeling was sliding down my spine again. Killer had set herself free.
She wasn’t in the laundry room. She wasn’t in the hall. I didn’t find her in the rest of the house. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I put an extra tray of kitty litter and some food in the hallway. I was feeling stranger and stranger about having cats in the house. Cats give me the creeps.
I phoned my friend Seymour.
“Hurrah!” he said. “The school burnt down!”
That’s what he always says if I phone him before school.
“No such luck,” I said. “I have to ask you something. Do you like cats?”
“What’s there to like?” asked Seymour.
“Exactly,” I said.
“Is that all?” asked Seymour. “You don’t have any news about the school mysteriously dropping off the face of the earth?”
“That’s all,” I said.
“Rats,” said Seymour.
For the second time that morning someone hung up before I had time to say goodbye.
As I left for school I remembered a story about a sailor who couldn’t sw
im but didn’t tell anyone. He fell overboard and no one tried to rescue him. He drowned.
That was the way it was with me and cats. Gran didn’t know they gave me the creeps, and I’d been too slow to tell her. Now I was about to drown.
I had to find some way to keep my head above water. I had to learn to float or dog paddle or grab onto a passing log.
Sometimes just being alive drives me crazy.
Chapter 2
Our teacher, Ms. Kovalski, is a witch.
She’s not a horrible witch, just the sort of witch that knows things. I was sitting in science class staring at an open book, but she knew I wasn’t really reading. Teachers like that shouldn’t be allowed.
“That’s enough daydreaming, TJ,” she said.
I wasn’t daydreaming. I was being haunted. Every time I looked at the page, all I saw were one pair of green eyes, one pair of yellow eyes, one pair of furious blue eyes and Killer’s long, curved claw. It had been like that all morning. If I didn’t do something soon I really was going to drown.
“What subject have you and Seymour chosen for your report?” asked Ms. K.
“Cats,” I said.
It just slipped out, but right away it looked like a rescue log floating by.
Seymour began waving his arms around. He almost hit Amanda Baker in the head by accident, except she’s good at ducking. Actually, Amanda’s good at everything.
“No we’re not!” said Seymour. “We’re doing dinosaurs!”
“I changed it,” I said.
“You can’t change it!” said Seymour.
“Yes I can,” I said. “You chose for the last report. This time it’s my turn.”
“You already chose,” said Seymour. “You agreed on dinosaurs!”
Seymour has done dinosaur reports three years in a row. He should have been glad to change.
“Excuse me, Seymour,” said Ms. K. She is very polite for a witch. “TJ, if you’re doing a report on cats, why are you pretending to read a book about dinosaurs?” “That’s why I’m only pretending to read,” I said. “May Seymour and I go to the library and get books on cats?”
Ms. K. looked at Seymour. He was scowling — hard.
“That would be an excellent idea,” she said. “Please work things out on the way.”
Seymour is not very good at working things out.
“I don’t want to do a report on cats!” he said in the hall.
“Know your enemy,” I said.
“They aren’t my enemies,” said Seymour. “We just don’t get along. I told you that on the phone. What’s there to like about cats?”
“Exactly,” I said.
“What do you mean, ‘exactly’?” said Seymour.
“People always do reports on things they like,” I said. “We should be different. We should do a report on something we don’t like.”
I was feeling too strange about the cats to tell Seymour about them outright.
“Weird,” said Seymour.
It was just weird enough for him to be interested. Seymour’s that kind of kid. Besides, we managed to use up the entire period in the library. That’s a lot more fun than sitting in class.
“Do you want to get together after school and try the cat report? When it doesn’t work, we can go back to dinosaurs,” said Seymour as we carried the cat books to class.
“Not tonight,” I said. “I have to clean my room tonight.”
Seymour stopped, looked at me in horror and fell down in a dead faint in the middle of the hall.
“Seymour!”
He just lay there.
“The principal’s coming!” I said.
“No she’s not,” said Seymour, but he jumped to his feet anyway. “Wait, I get it! It must be opposite week. We do reports on subjects we don’t like. We clean our room. We eat broccoli. We refuse to watch TV. We could drive all sorts of adults crazy this way.”
“Sure,” I said. “It’s a great idea.”
“Count me out,” said Seymour.
“Seymour!” I said.
“All right, I’ll do the cat report with you,” said Seymour, “but forget about the rest of it. All the adults I know are crazy enough already.”
Chapter 3
Every once in a while Seymour is right on the mark. His statement about adults being crazy described what it was like at our house these days.
“The store was busier than ever today,” said Mom as she came flying into the house with groceries.
“You should have seen the size of the paint order that came in, TJ,” said Dad as he began to organize supper. “Even then they forgot half of it.”
“I forgot to phone the suppliers,” said Mom. “I’d better leave a message on their answering machine.”
“I’ve got to call Pete’s Painting tomorrow,” said Dad.
Mom picked up the phone and began to dial. Dad took out his pocket recorder and began to leave messages to himself while he cooked. It was as if they’d suddenly vanished from the kitchen. Their bodies were there but their brains had been stolen by hardware aliens. I went down to the laundry room.
The cats were still in their boxes. As far as I could tell they’d been in their boxes since morning. Whether I liked them or not, I was getting worried.
I tapped Cleo’s box. I tipped Kink’s box. I rocked Max’s box back and forth. No luck. All they did was peer out at me — one pair of green eyes, one pair of yellow eyes, one pair of furious blue eyes.
“TJ? Are you in here?” My dad looked in the door. “What are you … ?”
He looked surprised and stepped into the room. Mom peered around the door behind him.
“What’s…” she began. “My goodness, those are the boxes for Gran’s cats!”
I told them about my morning phone call.
“Then the cats are in these boxes?” asked Dad.
“Yup,” I said. “I’m taking care of them. At least, I will be taking care of them once they come out.”
Mom and Dad peered in the boxes.
“Maybe they think they’re at the vet’s,” said my mom.
“Maybe they have Crazy Glue on their feet,” said my dad, tipping Kink’s box.
“This one looks like it’s jammed,” said my mom.
She was looking in Max’s box. Max truly is a very large cat.
“What about that one?” asked Dad, pointing to the fourth box.
“Escaped,” I said.
“In the house?” asked Dad.
“Somewhere,” I said.
Right then the phone rang, the doorbell bonged and supper began to burn. Mom and Dad began running around like crazy people again.
I rescued my burnt supper and took it downstairs to eat in front of the TV. I practiced the things Mom and Dad should have said.
“Taking care of Gran’s cats? Why TJ, how responsible of you!”
“You’re really growing up, son!”
“And you don’t even like cats! Now that’s really doing something for your grandmother!”
I figured I might as well practice on myself. No one else seemed to be talking to me.
I stayed in the basement watching TV. The cats stayed in their boxes — they must have come out once or twice because I saw loose crunchies on the floor, but whenever I was in the room they were back in their boxes.
Just before I went to bed I made one last attempt to lure them out. I put out fresh food and water. I tossed their toys around the room. I made all sorts of “kitty, kitty, kitty” noises.
The cats sat in their boxes and stared at me. One pair of green eyes. One pair of yellow eyes. One pair of blue eyes. Cats give me the creeps.
That night I had a nightmare. I dreamed I was in a dark, dark room with a million cat eyes peering at me. I tried to get out but I kept tripping over things. I kept bumping into things. Paint cans. Hardware store shelves. I began to run. This way. That way. I was finding my way to safety. I was sure of it. This way. That way. My feet carried me faster and faster.
But I was
finding it harder and harder to breathe. Something was squeezing my chest. I stumbled and fell. The squeezing became a weight upon my chest. The weight became heavier. An enormous rumbling sound filled my ears. I couldn’t breathe!
Wake up, I told myself, wake up!
My eyes snapped open. Something was pressing heavily on my chest. Its form was dark as midnight, and out of that darkness stared two horrible, glowing eyes — insane, crazed, cat’s eyes!
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.
There went my heart again.
“Killer?” I whispered hopefully into the darkness. My voice sounded terrified even to me. “Killer? Is that you?”
It was her all right. She was sitting on my chest, looking into my face and rumbling. It was big rumbling — big and vibrating like giant, earth-eating machinery. I didn’t know cats purred like that! It was so strong that I was vibrating too.
I thought hard. If she was purring she must be happy. I didn’t want to end up scratched to pieces like the taxi driver. I had to keep her happy.
“Nice kitty,” I whispered. “I’m not going to move. Nice kitty.”
Killer went on sitting and rumbling. I went on lying there. Even when I felt myself falling asleep again, I willed myself not to move.
In the morning every muscle in my body ached from lying in one place all night. Killer was nowhere to be found.
“You awake, TJ?”
My mom was standing at the door. My mom looks especially nice when I’ve spent the night with a living nightmare. I would have told her about it too, but she was already pulling on her coat.
“Your lunch is in the fridge. Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
“And TJ?”
“What?”
“Don’t forget about the cats.”
Forget about them? How could I forget about them? I’d been tortured by one all night long!
But I almost did forget them. The next time I woke up it was ten minutes until school and I had to run around the house like crazy. It was only at the last minute that I remembered the laundry-room cats. They hadn’t made so much as a sound all morning. Maybe they’d stared themselves to death!
Tj and The Cats Page 1