Upchuck and the Rotten Willy

by Bill Wallace

  “Only Jimmy didn’t like Chuck, right?”

  “Right,” I nodded. “Every time Katie talked about Chuck, Jimmy would give off this mad smell and his eyes would kind of scrunch up. If I was around, or if Katie wanted me to come so she could pet me or scratch behind my ears, she’d call, ‘Here, Chuck. Here, Chuck,’ and Jimmy would get mad. Every time he so much as looked at me, he’d give off that mad smell.”

  “And you threw up on him, so he changed your name to Upchuck?”

  “No!” My lips curled back so my teeth showed, and I hissed at him. “I didn’t throw up on him. It was his convertible. And it wasn’t my fault. When they came home from a date, he always parked it next to the carport. In the evenings, I like to sit on the roof. It was easier to jump to the car, then to the ground. So I’d wait for them to come home. It was kind of fun to sit on the roof until my Katie and Jimmy were hugging on one another or playing kissy-face—you know, when they weren’t paying attention. Then I’d land on the soft, cloth roof of his convertible and they’d both jerk like they’d been shot.

  “But this one day, the Mama changed my food. The new food was really good. So instead of eating part of it at supper time and then coming back for a midnight snack—I ended up gobbling the whole can down in one sitting. Trouble was, the new food really upset my stomach. I was just about to jump down and go eat some grass—you know, to settle my stomach? But right then, Jimmy drove up. Well, I was feeling really bad, so as soon as he stopped, I jumped to his roof. Only he didn’t have the roof up. I mean, I was in midair before I noticed there was no roof to land on. Well, that scared me—and, along with already being sick to my stomach . . . I . . . well, I landed in the backseat. And . . . well . . . the minute I landed, I threw up.”

  “All over his backseat.” Tom licked a paw and smoothed his whiskers.

  “All over his backseat,” I repeated with a sigh. “That’s when he started calling me Upchuck. I didn’t mind him doing it, but when my Katie would tease me and call me that . . . it really hurt.” I noticed that my tail had stopped flipping. I curled it to the side and sat down. “I don’t know why people make such a big fuss about throwing up. I mean, it’s as natural as eating or going to the bathroom or chasing mice. Why do they get so bent out of shape over something that natural?”

  Tom shook his head.

  “People-animals are just weird. I went to my drinking bowl the other day, but my Pat forgot to fill it up. So I went to the bathroom to get a drink from the big drinking bowl. She came running in, screaming and yelling at me. They’re just weird.”

  We laid around, talking about people-animals and how strange they acted. Tom said that when people-animals tease, it means they really like you, and they aren’t being mean. He told me I shouldn’t get so upset about my nickname. We talked about my Katie getting ready to leave for a place called college, and we wondered what that could be. We talked about growing up and chasing mice and all sorts of things. When the conversation finally got around to food, we remembered that we were headed to Luigi’s when the fight started. Suddenly, both of us were starving again.

  Tom leaped to his feet and scampered up the tree.

  “Come on,” he meowed. “Let’s take the shortcut over Rocky’s yard.”

  “I don’t like going over Rocky’s,” I said.

  “Why not? There’s hardly any wind. We can make it.”

  “Let’s go the regular way,” I insisted. “It’s safer.”

  There was a mischievous twinkle in Tom’s eyes. “Don’t be such a sissy. We can make it.” He licked his lips, smiled, and patted the branch beside him.

  “Come on . . . up . . . Chuck.”

  CHAPTER 4

  There was an enormous, old pecan tree in Tom’s backyard. The branches were so long and flowing that they covered most of his yard and spread out over half of Rocky’s yard. Rocky was the Doberman who lived next door. Mr. and Mrs. Edwards lived on the far side of Rocky’s yard. They were retired. That meant they were kind of old and didn’t go to the office. They just stayed home. But the truth of the matter—lately they didn’t even stay home much. That was because they had this huge car thing that looked like a house inside. They were always gone, running around to visit family or just vacationing in a place called Florida or another place called Arizona. (I wondered if Florida and Arizona were like our neighborhood.) There was a big sign in their front yard. But since cats can’t read, I didn’t pay much attention to it. The sign stayed for a couple of weeks, but, like the Edwards, now it was gone, too.

  Anyhow, they also had an enormous, old pecan tree in their backyard. Its branches were so long and flowing that they covered most of the Edwards’ backyard and half of Rocky’s.

  Right over the center of Rocky’s yard, a big limb from the Edwards’ pecan tree met a big limb from Tom’s pecan tree. They were so close that they almost touched. Fact was, if the wind blew really hard from the north, sometimes they did clunk together. If we were real careful, and if the wind wasn’t blowing, we could leap from one branch to the other—kind of like a skywalk to get from one yard to the other without getting near Rocky.

  I chased Tom up his pecan tree. We circled round and round the trunk before he broke clear to the top. I almost got him once, when he reached the small branches. Near the top of the tree the limbs were so little and limber that they bent under his weight. He climbed just a bit too high. When the limb bent, I swatted, but I only got a little tuft of hair from his tail.

  Tom leaped to a bigger limb and came back down the other side of the tree. I was right behind him when he raced out onto the huge branch, made the jump, and raced across the Edwards’ tree. I didn’t even think about how dangerous it was. Not until Rocky jumped against the fence, right under me.

  His roaring bark and the way the board cracked when he threw himself against it made me freeze in my tracks. Claws out, I held onto the branch with my death-grip and looked down.

  Rocky was right under me. Again and again he leaped. White fangs snapped and slashed just inches from my paws. My tail exploded in a puff of fur that was as big around as I was. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe.

  “I got you now, you stinking cat,” he snarled. “If I could . . .” He jumped and snapped. “. . . just jump a little . . .” He jumped again and snapped. “. . . higher, I’d chew you up and . . .”

  Every time he jumped, he made another threat.

  “. . . and eat you for . . . supper . . . I’d bite your . . . tail off and . . . use it to stir my . . . dog food . . . and I’d . . .”

  He must have jumped and threatened ten times before Tom finally came back for me.

  “Quit pestering that stupid dog,” he scolded, walking out to meet me on the limb. “You keep standing here, he’s gonna have a heart attack. Now, come on.”

  I guess I was more scared than I thought. Tom’s words seemed to snap me out of my trance. With one eye on the limb and one eye on Rocky’s snapping jaws and flashing fangs, I followed my friend.

  At the fork in the tree where the branch joined the trunk, I stopped. Guess I held my breath longer than I thought, ‘cause all I could do was stand there, panting and gasping for air. Rocky kept leaping and snarling his threats behind me. Each time he jumped, I could see the tip of his pointy nose and his pointy ears. Since he was on the far side of the wood fence, that was about all. Tom backed down the trunk of the pecan tree. A few feet from the ground he turned, jumped, and headed for the far side of the yard.

  The Edwards had a wood fence like Tom, Rocky, and the rest of the houses on the block. But since they were on the corner, they had a big, double gate on the side next to the road. It was never closed, though. That was because it was where they parked their huge car thing that looked like a house on the inside.

  Still panting, I began licking my paw and washing my face. I noticed the gate was closed. I never saw it closed before, but I didn’t give it much thought. My heart was still pounding inside my chest. Maybe a good face-washing would calm
me—get the fur on my tail to flatten and get my heart to stop thumping so hard.

  Then . . . all of a sudden . . . my heart stopped!

  The breath caught in my throat!

  I had licked my paw and was bringing it toward my whiskers. It stopped, too!

  Everything stopped! Everything froze in that instant of time when I saw it.

  It was EEEnormous!

  A monster! A big, hairy beast! And it was sneaking across the Edwards’ yard, toward my friend.

  Big as a car and black as death itself, the giant moved closer! I opened my mouth to meow—to scream and warn Tom.

  No sound came out!

  My heart started to beat again. It pounded in my chest.

  Watching me, Tom didn’t notice the gate was closed. He didn’t see the huge, black, ugly beast.

  It was like watching a dream. No—a nightmare. There was nothing I could do. The giant animal was close. One lunge and he’d have my friend. One quick move and the nightmare would end. I couldn’t watch. It would be too horrible. Too terrible to see.

  Only, my eyes wouldn’t close. No matter how I tried to force them, they stayed wide.

  Tom stopped. He tilted his head and looked up at me. He swished his tail from side to side.

  The beast stopped. He leaned forward.

  In my mind’s eye, I could see those white fangs. I could picture the gaping cavern of his mouth—those powerful jaws snapping shut on my friend. The huge monster leaned closer. Closer.

  Then . . .

  CHAPTER 5

  Then . . .

  He sniffed.

  That’s it—he just sniffed.

  The beast’s nostrils were so wide, his sniff made the hair stand out on Tom’s side. If Tom hadn’t flipped his tail in the other direction, it would have been sucked into the powerful wind tunnel of the monster’s nose.

  Tom, feeling something, twitched and gave a little shudder. The monster sniffed again. More hair stood out on Tom’s side.

  Irritated, he glanced over his shoulder.

  • • •

  I’ve never heard a cat scream.

  I’ve heard cats meow, snarl, hiss, spit, howl, and yowl. But I’ve never heard a cat scream.

  • • •

  Tom screamed. The instant he saw the colossal monster, his eyes popped wide and he screamed. He screamed when he saw him. He screamed when he spun and raced toward the tree. He screamed as he passed the branch where I sat, frozen and watching the entire scene. He never stopped screaming—not even after he raced to the top of the tree and hung, dangling by one paw, from a tiny branch at the very tip.

  The little limb was barely big enough to hold the single pecan that grew at its end. Still, Tom managed to hang on to the thing as it bent, almost double, beneath his weight.

  The monster’s mouth flopped open. (Guess he’d never heard a cat scream, either.) His ears arched up. His brow scrunched down. His head tilted to the side and he sat on his stubby tail.

  I raced to the top of the tree to help my friend. It took a lot of talking and pleading to get Tom to let go of his limb and climb to join me on a bigger, more sturdy one. It took a lot more time before his fur began to smooth. For a while, Tom was more than twice as big as Tom. I never saw anybody puff up like that. Even after he began to calm down, there was still a ridge of hair from his shoulders to his tail that stood on end and wouldn’t relax.

  “What was it?” he gasped, finally.

  “Don’t know. I never saw anything like it.”

  We looked down. The beast sat watching us. He still had his head cocked and that confused look on his face.

  “I think it’s a dog,” Tom wheezed.

  I shook my head so hard my ears flopped.

  “Can’t be a dog. It’s too big. It must be a bear.”

  “What’s a bear?”

  “It’s a dog, only bigger. They’re wild and they live in the woods. They eat honey and fish.”

  “Not cats?”

  When I swallowed, my throat made a gulping sound. “I don’t know.”

  We eased over to a bigger branch. Then, claws out and our hold tight, we moved down the trunk of the pecan to an even larger limb.

  Inch at a time, Tom moved out on the branch that hung over the Edwards’—I mean, the monster’s yard. He didn’t walk on the branch, he lay on his tummy and wrapped his front and back arms around the limb as he crawled forward.

  “What in the world are you?” Tom called down to the monster.

  The beast’s mouth tightened to a tiny grin.

  “I’m Willy.”

  “What’s a willy?”

  The beast cocked his head in the other direction.

  “Huh?”

  “What’s a willy?” Tom repeated.

  “Willy’s not a what, it’s a who. That’s my name. Willy.”

  Clinging to the same branch, I crawled on my tummy. With my claws out and my arms wrapped around the limb, I scooted up behind my friend. I peeked over the side.

  “You’re a bear, right?”

  “No!” His brow scrunched down and his ears almost folded over his face. “I’m a Rott.”

  My tail flipped. It tried to get hold of the branch, too.

  “A rotten what?”

  “A Rotten Willy,” Tom whispered from in front of me.

  “A Rotten Willy?”

  “I think that’s what he said.” He looked down. “Did you say a Rotten Willy?”

  The beast flopped his head so hard, his jowls made a popping sound.

  “No! A Rott. It’s short for Rottweiler.”

  “What’s that?” Tom and I both asked at once.

  “It’s my breed. I’m a Rottweiler.”

  “But what’s a Rottweiler?”

  “I’m a dog. A Rottweiler dog. And my name is Willy.”

  Tom stood on the branch. He turned to me, curled his tail under, and sat down. “That’s no dog! I’ve seen a lot of dogs in my life, and that thing isn’t a dog. No way does a dog get that big.”

  “I am a dog,” the plaintive voice came from below us.

  Tom shook his head and looked me square in the eye. “I went with Louie one time over to Farmer McVee’s place. They got this horse called a Shetland pony.” He glanced down at the beast below our branch. “This thing is as big as a horse. No way does a dog get as big as a horse.”

  A little whimpering sound came from below.

  “But I am a dog. Honest.”

  Tom leaned close to my ear.

  “I don’t know what he is, but he’s not a dog. You don’t think Rotten Willies can . . .”

  Tom stopped right in the middle of his sentence. His eyes got real wide. We both peeked over the branch. The gigantic monster—the Rotten Willy—sat there, looking up at us. Tom’s eyes got even wider.

  “Can what?” I asked, hoping he’d finish what he was about to say.

  Suddenly, Tom took off. He leaped clear over me.

  I jumped to my feet and turned. “Rotten Willies can what?” I called after him.

  Tom raced across the limb. Rocky charged from his bed on the back porch. He roared and barked his threats when Tom leaped from the Edwards’ pecan tree to his own tree.

  I felt trapped. The Rotten Willy stood beneath my limb, looking lost and confused. Rocky leaped against the wood fence on Tom’s side of the yard, roaring and barking his threats. I was stuck here, with no idea what had made Tom take off like he did.

  “What if Rotten Willies can what?” I called one last time.

  Tom stood in the fork of his pecan tree. He was all fuzzed up again. His eyes were big, and he was panting for breath.

  “I just had a terrible thought,” he called to me. “What if Rotten Willies can climb trees?”

  CHAPTER 6

  It was a terrible thought.

  I looked down at the bulky monster beneath the tree. He was black as night, with brown around his belly and mouth—a mouth full of teeth, with powerful jaws. What if he could climb? If he really was a dog, like h
e said, there was no problem. It’s common knowledge that dogs are too stupid to climb trees. But what if he’d lied to us? What if he really wasn’t a dog? What if he was some strange thing called a Rotten Willy? And . . . what if Rotten Willies could climb trees?

  A chill raced through me. It started around my ears and crawled down my back, clean to the tip of my tail.

  Carefully, one step at a time, I worked my way along the branch. With almost every step, I would pause and glance down at him. The Rotten Willy just sat there with his head cocked and watched me.

  One false move and . . .

  WHAM!

  My eyes flashed when I looked around. Rocky leaped against the fence, right beneath my paws. I heard the loud wham again.

  “Got you now, you stupid . . . cat . . .” He leaped and snarled his threats. “I’m gonna chew . . . you in half. And . . . I’m gonna mush you up . . . into little pieces . . . and . . .”

  The fur puffed up and stood out straight where every chill bump had been. I couldn’t move.

  Behind me was the Rotten Willy. For all I knew, he was already climbing the tree—already closing in for the kill. Beneath me was Rocky. The limb from the Edwards’—I mean, the Rotten Willy’s tree—swooped lower and lower before it crossed the big branch to Tom’s tree. One slip and I was a goner.

  “Come on, Chuck,” Tom called from his tree.

  “I can’t. I’m scared.”

  “You can make it,” he encouraged. “Rocky can’t get you. He’s just making noise.”

  “But what if I slip? What if I miss the jump?”

  Tom arched his back.

  “Quit being such a wimp. Come on.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t be a sissy,” he hissed, cutting me off. “Go for it. Just keep walking.”

  I felt my legs tremble beneath me. Inside my head I told them to move, but they wouldn’t.