We hadn’t found the relic, but at least nobody else had either. It wasn’t what you’d call a great day, but things could have been worse.
And then things got worse.
Groan.
When El Gato and I finally settled into our shelter, I discovered something important: rain can and will get through a poorly built roof. It will get through all night long, whether it be misting, drizzling, or pouring.
And that night, it did a bunch of all three.
11
Food
El Gato and I were still damp the next morning as we waited with the others to hear what new horror Brock had in store for us. I was shivering so much I missed his sarcastic greeting. But my ears perked up when he said:
“If you want to eat, castaways, you’ll have to gather, hunt, or fish. That is today’s challenge, same partners as yesterday.”
El Gato and I definitely had the advantage now. Building a shelter was not El Gato’s strong point. And maybe she-cats, kittens, and the elderly were more resourceful than I’d bargained for. But when it came to finding food, El Gato was the right cat for the job. “And now,” continued Brock, “will Pickles, Finder of the Relic, please step forward?”
Pickles strode toward Brock and proudly held out the relic. Ugh.
Brock snapped his fingers, and two crew cats came forward with this:
“Cool,” said Pickles. “But I prefer spearfishing. And Bruiser catches fish in his giant paws. Can I give this stuff to somebody else?”
“As the Finder of the Relic,” said Brock, “you may do as you wish.”
“To whom shall I give the prize?” said Pickles. “It’s so hard to choose.”
“So hungry,” I whispered.
“Look how loose my cape is,” said El Gato. “I’m wasting away!”
“Pickles, remember when I made you pancakes?” said Whiskers.
We formed a circle around him. Pickles closed his eyes, pointed one paw, and turned slowly. “Eeny . . . meeny . . . miny . . .”
“Moe!” Pickles’s eyes flew open. He was pointing right at Chet.
“Thanks a million, young ’un,” said Chet. He and Whiskers took the pole and headed toward the beach. El Gato started after them, but I stopped him.
“We’ll make our own fishing pole,” I said.
We would have caught plenty of fish with my rudimentary fishing pole too. But El Gato just couldn’t keep quiet.
Hunger made us delusional. The ocean started to look like a big salad bar.
“I’m going for the cottage cheese and cheddar and black olives!” yelled El Gato.
“Hard-boiled eggs!” I added.
We rushed noisily into the waves, grabbing at everything and nothing and laughing crazily.
El Gato and I left the beach empty-handed and defeated. As we dragged ourselves back to the picnic area, we passed the Producer & Crew Resort. There was a building with a sign that said “Food Shed.” I stopped in my tracks. “El Gato, would it be wrong to . . .”
But he was way ahead of me.
We ate so much, so fast, hobbling back to the picnic area was not easy. When we got there, everybody else had their food set out before them.
“Look at all our fresh seafood!” said Chet and Whiskers.
“We love clams,” said Kitty.
“We got them with our toes,” said Rosie.
“Guava, papaya, and bananas make a lovely fruit salad!” said Pickles and Bruiser.
“Looks like somebody didn’t find any food,” said Brock Showman, as El Gato and I plopped down at a table.
I burped out a loud “True!”
Brock raised his eyebrows suspiciously. “Whoever wants to share their food with El Gato and Mr. Puffball may do so.”
“No”—burp—“thanks!” I said.
“I don’t think I want to share with Mr. Puffball,” said Rosie.
“He’s still my fwend,” said Pickles.
“Let’s show the boy the right way to behave,” said Whiskers.
Everybody rushed over with food. We had to eat or risk discovery of our food theft. Afterward I was so stuffed, is it any wonder I failed at the balance challenge at Stamina Cove?
I was tired, hot, and gassy as we headed back to our shelters for a much-needed nap. But I couldn’t sleep. I thought of how stinky I was doing so far: failing at house building, yoga, and finding that darn relic.
I sat up. Does any of this truly matter? I’d done okay without money before. Back when I was an unknown Puffball who had to take any available stunt job just to buy a slice of Hollywood pizza with one topping, pop into the occasional photo booth, and take the bus home.
The bus? Photo booths? One topping?
No way. Not after I’d tasted the salmon pudding flambé at Pacific Dining Cat. And appeared on Opurr Winfrey. And driven around Hollywood in my gold limo.
If I didn’t win that two million dollars, I might even have to sell my bow tie collection!
My heart was racing with panic when Brock called us out again. He lined us up and said, “Now that you’re all refreshed after your naps, here’s your last challenge of the day. The relic is somewhere in the jungle behind you. Whoever finds it first . . .”
And then something horrible happened.
I let out a loud, furious hiss. The camera crew was on me in an instant. We stood on the beach, in the last rays of the blazing sun, and the heat was brutal. My tail whipped around in a frenzy.
“How do you feel about the adorable Pickles once again finding the relic?” asked one of the crew, shoving a mic at me.
Game face, Mr. Puffball! Deep breath!
“Ten demerit points from Mr. Puffball,” said Brock Showman, “for not being honest about his feelings. Will Mr. Puffball’s friends vote him off the island? We’ll find out at the Tribal Council . . . in just two days.”
No, they won’t, I thought. Because in two days, I would find that relic. Because I had to get immunity to keep from being voted off.
My gold limo and bow tie collection depended on it.
12
Castaway Confessions
Benedict Cumbercat, Episode 8
Mewly Cyrus, Episode 3
Chris Purr-att, Episode 8
Jennifer Pawprints, Episode 12
“We even got the monkeys on video.”
“And here’s what our current Celebrity Cat Castaways have to say.”
END OF BROCK SHOWMAN PRESENTATION
13
Welcome to a World of Pain
One day, Brock split us into two teams. Team Orange (me, El Gato, Kitty, and Bruiser) versus Team Gray (Rosie, Chet, Whiskers, and Pickles). Then each cat’s abilities became crystal clear.
There were the Feats of Strength, when I was happy Bruiser was on our team.
There were Feats of Daring, where Pickles had a clear advantage. That kitten was up for anything!
Feats of Eating Bugs, which El Gato aced by a wide margin.
And Kitty surprised us all during the Feats of Endurance.
In a million different ways, with poles, puzzles, balance beams, fire, and water, with racing, digging, climbing, and spitting out mouthfuls of sand, we were challenged like we’d never been challenged before.
And the weather. Have you seen a typical weather report for a tropical desert island?
Let’s not forget the sand fleas. Sand fleas are the worst.
Through it all I had my own personal challenge: the Feat of Not Getting Irritated by Pickles.
Epic fail!
One afternoon, Brock led us to Alligator Lagoon, where eight small rafts floated, one for each of us. The camera crew was ready as usual to capture our ordeal.
“No teams for this dangerous challenge,” said Brock. “Each cat works solo. Remember, these alligators will bite you in a heartbeat.”
“As you see,” he continued, “atop each raft sits a box. Inside each box are supplies you desperately need. You might find sunscreen and mosquito netting. Or salmon jerky and blankets. Or b
ack scratchers and bottled water. One box has a Swiss Army knife.”
Everybody started talking, until Brock raised his megaphone. “Silence, prisoners . . . I mean, castaways. Get to one box without exciting the alligators. You have five minutes, starting . . . NOW!”
The others sprang into action. I was eyeballing a box in the middle of the lagoon. Some comfy pillows were peeking out. A cat could get a good night’s sleep with pillows like that.
But how to get there?
The goods were being scooped up. Rosie was almost at my box of pillows! Time to act!
Rosie jumped onto another raft, reached into the box, and yelled, “In your face, Mr. Puffball! I got the Swiss Army knife! I win!”
“Who needs a Swiss Army knife when he’s got comfy pillows?” I countered. “Looks like I’m the winner here!”
We glared at each other. There was a knot between my eyebrows. And inside my stomach.
All cameras were on me and Rosie. Brock held out a microphone. “You two used to be good friends, didn’t you?”
“Never!” said Rosie, glaring at me harder. Neither of us moved. It was as if we were trapped in a tangle of angry glaring we couldn’t escape.
Suddenly, Rosie crouched into Kung Fu warrior stance. I mirrored her perfectly.
“Fight!” said one of the camera crew.
At that, Rosie lowered her paws and said, “I don’t know who you are anymore, Mr. Puffball.” Then her eyes slid away from mine. She picked up her box and left.
I grabbed my comfy pillows and left, with my head, belly, and blood all throbbing. Was I angry, sad, happy about the pillows? Or a bit of all three?
All I knew for sure was what I really wanted: to be home, back at the old MGM Studios, watching a movie and eating popcorn with my friends. One big Team Hollywood Cats.
We’d been on the island for less than a week, though it felt like an eternity. In a few hours, we’d have our first Tribal Council, when one cat from each team would be voted off by his teammates. At least Rosie couldn’t vote me off. She wasn’t on my team.
TEAM ORANGE TEAM GRAY
Moi Rosie
El Gato Chet
Kitty Whiskers
Bruiser Pickles
I knew my team wouldn’t vote me off the island. El Gato was my best friend! But he had recently been my enemy. Maybe he would vote me off.
Bruiser liked me. Then again, he was mad I hadn’t given him credit for being my Feline Ninja Warrior trainer. Maybe he would vote me off.
At least I knew Kitty still loved me, didn’t she? I thought of how I’d recently fallen asleep while she was singing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” That’s exactly the kind of thing she does not like.
Oh no! My teammates are going to vote me off the island.
It was almost time for the Relic Hunt, which happened right before the Tribal Council. I had to find that relic and get immunity from being voted off! Once I heard that conch shell blare, indicating that the Relic Hunt was about to begin, I’d take off like a cheetah after a gazelle.
AH-OOOH-AHHHH!
Go, Mr. Puffball, go!
14
Bananas
Brock Showman lined us up at the edge of the jungle and raised his megaphone. We castaways eyed each other suspiciously, each thinking the same thought: Who will find the relic? We waited for instructions in tense silence. And then we had to wait a little longer, because Pickles and Chet had to pee.
“Welcome to the Relic Hunt,” said Brock. “Today, the relic gives you a huge advantage: immunity from being voted off during tonight’s Tribal Council. I’ll give you a helpful hint: the monkeys have gone bananas hiding today’s relic. When I say ‘Go!’, enter the jungle and search like your future wealth depends on it. Because it does.”
Where was the hint? I didn’t hear any hint. He forgot the hint! My mind was racing so fast, I almost missed it when Brock megaphoned, “And . . . go!”
I quickly came to and dashed into the jungle. Pickles was just ahead of me. That little devil always found the relic. He rounded a pile of coconuts and veered sharply to the right, like he knew exactly where he was going.
I followed him. Pickles stopped before a big pile of bananas. Silly. This was no time for a snack. . . .
Wait a minute!
The monkeys have gone bananas. That was the hint! I leapt into action—doing a stunt cat leap over Pickles, landing on the other side, and peeling like mad. Uneaten bananas and peels piled up quickly beside us. My eyes darted around frantically. I spied a banana with something un-banana-y peeking out. Pickles saw it too. We reached out at the same time, but my paw got there first. Inside was a note.
That didn’t even rhyme!
No matter. I swiveled and swiveled, searching for the X.
“Pickles,” I said, “stop trying to grab the note. It’s . . .” Just then I saw the X behind Pickles. I crumpled up the note and threw it as far as I could. “Go get it!”
I leapt to the X and started digging. So did Pickles. He hadn’t fallen for my clever trick.
“There it is!” he said as we both spotted seaweed fur.
“MINE!” I yelled, nudging him out of the way with my shoulder while my paws reached out, grabbed the top of the relic, and wrenched it free.
Victory at last!
HISS!! Pickles was a thief! My fur stood on end and my claws were emerging when Pickles took off like a rocket. Brock’s voice soon echoed everywhere. “Pickles the kitten finds the relic again! Castaways, make your way to the Tribal Council Grotto, where we shall see which two cats are the first to be voted off the island.”
The torches looked especially menacing at the Tribal Council Grotto. The night had turned cold, and Brock was wearing a weird hat.
I went over and high-fived El Gato, so he’d remember who was his best buddy. Then I gave Kitty a big hug.
“Stop it, Mr. Puffball. Hugs won’t save you now.”
Ouch.
We castaways separated into our teams and donned our orange or gray scarves. Silence fell, punctuated by the calls of tropical birds, who were free to fly away at any time. Unlike us castaways, who were doomed to this island of total drama.
“Welcome, castaways,” said Brock. “You have endured tests of extreme hardship. Some of you have been strong. Some have been brave. And some of you are losers.”
Angry mutters broke out at this last word. Anger welled up in me too. How dare he call my friends losers!
“Silence!” Brock continued. “The hour has come when each team votes one of their teammates off the island. Decide now: Who shall you banish from Castaway Island?”
“The monkeys will give each of you half a coconut shell. When I point at you, vote by placing it on the condemned one’s head.”
Two monkeys stepped forward and handed out the coconut shells.
“Team Gray,” said Brock, “will vote first. Remember that Pickles has won immunity. That means either Rosie, Chet, or Whiskers is going away tonight, back to the ship. Think very carefully before you . . .”
Brock pointed at each cat on Team Gray, one by one, until Chet had four coconut shells on his head.
“Chet is clearly devastated to be the first cat voted off the island,” said Brock.
The cameras turned toward Chet. “Yippee!”
“Team Orange!” said Brock. “Who will you vote off? Kitty? Bruiser? The world-famous El Gato? Or the recent Feline Ninja Warrior champion, Mr. Puffball?”
My breath came fast. I started to sweat. The cameras closed in. It was almost as if the camera crew sensed I was about to be voted off.
Game face, Mr. Puffball! Brock pointed at me first.
“No hard feelings, okay, buddy?” I said as I placed the coconut on Bruiser’s head.
El Gato was next. He stepped up and looked us over as if he were choosing between pizza, tacos, and seafood stew. “I need to win so my public will love me again. And I really want that money. So does Mr. Puffball. That’s why . . .”
He put the coconut shel
l on my head! Without even a “sorry, buddy”! I turned bright red under my fur. My best friend had betrayed me yet again! Plus the coconut shell didn’t fit right.
“Exciting!” said Brock. “Bruiser has one vote. Mr. Puffball has the other. Next?” He pointed at Kitty.
“Everybody thinks I’m just an old she-cat,” said Kitty. “But I didn’t come here to knit. Or relax in a rocking chair. Or bake any pies. I came here to win.” She held out her coconut shell. “I can beat El Gato and Mr. Puffball. They lack stamina. But Bruiser has stamina and strength. That big cat has got to go!”
YES! Bruiser now had two coconut shells on his head compared to my one. But he also had the remaining vote. He’d vote against me, of course, and we’d have a tie. Then what?
As if reading my mind, Brock said, “If there’s a tie, the two losers will fight it out to see who leaves Castaway Island.”
“Not fair!” I blurted. Seriously, did I stand a chance against Bruiser?
“Oh, it’s fair all right,” said Brock. Slowly, he raised his bamboo stick and pointed it at Bruiser.
“I came here for fun times,” said Bruiser. “Island is good. But is not fun when friends are not friendly. I prefer checkers with Chet.”
With that, he raised his coconut and put it on his own head.
A loud “YES” escaped my lips and victorious fist pumps escaped my paws. Everybody glared at me. “Somebody’s got to go,” I said.
We marched down the beach to where Chet and Bruiser would climb into the barrels and get pushed by dolphins to the Celebrity Castaway Island ship anchored just beyond the reef. I shivered as a breeze blew up the beach. Then I shivered again, because all my friends were giving me the cold shoulder.
Escape from Castaway Island Page 4