Escape from Castaway Island

by Constance Lombardo

  “Ours was a quiet life,” said an older monkey. “We’d never even seen cats before, here on Monkey Island. Until Brock Showman and the crew landed, decided it was the perfect setting for their reality TV show, and renamed it Castaway Island. We don’t like Brock or the crew, and we’ve often thought about chasing them off.”

  “We don’t enjoy scaring you castaways,” continued another. “But that’s the gig. Just like the monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. They weren’t evil either!”

  Nobody said anything for a few long moments. Then a monkey spoke up. “I miss the days before the Hollywood cat invasion.”

  “It was so peaceful,” said another. “Plus we roasted coconuts back then.”

  The biggest monkey stood and raised her hand. A silence fell. “The time has come for change. And change starts with truth telling. . . .”

  “Brock . . .” gasped several monkeys.

  “Forget Brock!” she continued. “I say we come clean to these nice cats. Maybe they can help us. You saw how brave they are—how willing to fight for each other.” Nods of approval egged her on. “Mr. Puffball, Rosie, Pickles, we’re going to tell you something we’ve never told anybody. It’s weighing on our conscience.”

  “Because we have a strong code of ethics,” piped up the little one.

  His mom (the big one was his mom) patted his head and continued. “Every season, Brock picks a favorite castaway. And he makes us help that castaway win. This time it’s Pickles. Brock says audiences love it when the kitten wins! It was our job to make sure Pickles found the relic every time. . . .”

  “I thought you gave everybody hints!” said Pickles, gobbling another marshmallow. “I’m not a cheater.”

  “We only helped you, Pickles. And it wasn’t just the relic. When we saw you getting tired, we threw you a sleeping bag, remember? And when you were hungry, we dropped bananas. We hated helping one castaway and not the others. And we’re sorry.”

  “Thanks, monkeys, for your honesty and generosity,” I said. “From where I stand, there’s only one cat to blame for this situation.”

  “Agreed,” said Rosie. “Let’s ask ourselves: Who is the real enemy here?”

  AH-OOOH-AHHHH!

  “That’s our signal to find Pickles and make sure he gets back to the beach first,” said one of the monkeys.

  “Do you want to get rid of Brock and his crew and reclaim this island for yourselves?” I asked.

  The monkeys all nodded. Yes!

  “Then we need a plan,” said Rosie. “A good plan. If only we knew Brock’s weakness: something we could use to really get to him.”

  Monkey eyes shifted back and forth. And then, as if some silent agreement had been reached, the momma monkey answered with one word:

  And with that one word, we had a plan that was better than good. It was fabulous.

  18

  Volcano!

  A lot happened that night.

  We found out Bruiser had convinced the dolphins to bring all the exiled castaways to this side of the island, where he’d built a shelter big enough for everyone.

  The gang was reunited, followed by forgiveness and reconciliation.

  The best group hug ever.

  Singing and dancing around the fire.

  And the monkeys told us all about the volcano.

  “One of the big reasons Brock picked this island,” explained one, “is the volcano. He thought it added extra drama to the setting. He makes us call it Mount Brock.”

  “What did you call it before Brock arrived?” asked Rosie.

  “Mr. Volcano,” said the little monkey.

  “Anyway,” continued the first monkey. “Brock loves it as a backdrop, but he won’t go near it. He’s terrified of volcanoes.”

  “That makes no sense,” I said. “Why would he pick an island with a volcano if he’s terrified of volcanoes?”

  “Because Mr. Volcano, or Mount Brock, has been dormant for years. Plus Brock made us plug it with hundreds of stones. That took for-ev-er,” said the big monkey.

  “There’s no way that volcano could blow now,” another monkey said.

  “Brock told us it could erupt at any moment,” said Chet.

  “Lies,” said the littlest monkey. “That cat is always lying. Remember the big rainstorm on your first night here?”

  “I sure do,” I said. “El Gato and I got soaked.”

  “Weather machine,” said the momma monkey. “Brock makes the weather whatever he wants with that terrible machine of his.”

  “You mean I got wet for no reason except to entertain Brock Showman?” asked El Gato.

  “And I risked my life at Suspension Cliff even though Pickles was always going to win?” asked Kitty.

  I climbed onto a big rock and waved my paws. “My good cats. Nobody should suffer the humiliations we’ve faced: Eating bugs. Crabs paid to bite our toes. Sleeping in handmade huts. I say Celebrity Castaway Island ends here. Who’s with me?”

  “I want our island back,” said the momma monkey.

  “Plus if we drive them out, we can keep the food,” said another.

  “We can stay at my hotel any dates,” said Bruiser.

  “Could I still be a two millionaire?” asked Pickles.

  “Cats and monkeys,” I said loudly. “Are we or are we not going to put an end to Celebrity Castaway Island?”

  More exchanged looks, from every cat, and every monkey, and one uninvited iguana. I heard Chet say, “What’s going on?”

  Finally the head monkey said, “We’re with you!” A giant cheer went up from the crowd. It was almost like getting an Oscar. Almost.

  “What’s the plan?” asked Rosie.

  “In my country,” said Bruiser, “all school-kittens must do volcano project. Make miniature volcano from sand, mud, newspaper shreddings, and cardboard bases. Put vinegar, and soda which is for baking—”

  “We call it baking soda,” chirped Pickles.

  “Yes, baking soda. And grains of cherry Jell-O. Combine and . . .”

  “Eruption project in a real volcano!” said Chet. “It’ll be just like that scene from my favorite old movie!”

  We brainstormed the details of our scheme to bring down Brock Showman and this whole phony production. And we called it:

  THE MR. VOLCANO ERUPTION SCHEME

  Gather all the baking soda, vinegar, and cherry Jell-O on the island.

  Use drums and other noise-making devices to create volcanic-level rumbling.

  Use flares and fireworks to create the illusion of spewing, fiery lava.

  Keep the three camera cats from finding their way back to the beach for a long time. And steal their cameras.

  We needed the cameras so Rosie, Chet, and I could pose as camera cats and film Brock’s demise.

  As the sun rose over the island, everybody set off on their different tasks. The monkeys led Pickles to the beach where Brock waited. Chet, Rosie, and I emerged soon after, hidden behind our cameras.

  And then the real fun began.

  “I’ve always wanted to try blowing the conch,” said Pickles.

  “You’re a two millionaire now,” said Brock. “You can do whatever you want.”

  AH-OOOH-AHHHH! Pickles blew that conch louder than it had ever been blown.

  That was everybody’s cue for: Ready, Set . . . Volcano! It started with the rumbling.

  Then the flares and fireworks went up as the volcano was transformed from “dormant” to “active.”

  Brock’s eyes turned into giant saucers. Pickles really played it up.

  Brock went screaming down the beach and leapt into one of the barrels bobbing in the surf. The real camera cats burst out of the jungle and raced to join him.

  “Forget the film equipment,” said Rosie, stifling a laugh. “Save yourselves!”

  And the producer and crew of Celebrity Castaway Island floated away, never to be seen on that island again.

  19

  Escape from Castaway Island

  “Looks like they’re
the reality show now,” Rosie said, filming them floating off, scrambling aboard the ship that brought us to the island, and sailing out to sea.

  “How about Brock’s face when Pickles yelled ‘Magma’?” asked Chet. “Did you get that?”

  “Oh, I got it,” said Rosie.

  “We did it!” yelled Pickles, throwing the conch shell into the air. We all cheered and waved happily as the Castaway Island ship sped away from us.

  “I just want to say . . . ,” I said, watching the ship recede into the distance. But I forgot what I wanted to say. Because as my eyes watched the ship (our only way off the island) get smaller and smaller, I realized our excellent plan had a giant hole in it.

  Sure, we were on a beautiful tropical island. Yes, we were all friends again. True, there were enough marshmallows to last a lifetime.

  But how could I ever become a famous movie star this many miles away from Hollywood? A sob was just escaping my lips when:

  Bruiser. He really is the best.

  We loaded up the ship with coconuts, canned goods, and drinking water, and pushed it down the beach and into the surf. There we found more new friends:

  We had some great footage. We’d saved the day. We had our way home. Now it was time to say good-bye to Celebrity Castaway Island, or I should say Monkey Island, and sail back to Hollywood.

  “Good-bye, monkeys!” I said. They waved and smiled. But some had the kind of smile that only goes up on one side. Rosie whispered something in my ear, and I nodded. “Would any of you monkeys want to come with? We’d be happy to introduce you to the Hollywood monkeys we know. Most of them are scriptwriters.”

  Some of the monkeys wanted to stay and enjoy having their island back again. Or at least, their island to share with all the other animals who lived there.

  All we had to do now was enjoy the voyage home, taking turns at the helm, with Bruiser providing our daily catch of seafood and Pickles manning the crow’s nest.

  It was smooth sailing, except for one difficult moment. It happened one afternoon when El Gato said to me, “We had quite an adventure, Mr. Puffball.”

  I laughed and said, “And it all started because you lied to me about a volcanic eruption in downtown Hollywood.”

  “True,” said El Gato, laughing and slapping his knee. “Did you really believe that?”

  El Gato let out a big sigh, leaned against the railing, and stared out to sea. “Mr. Puffball, I’ve been a superstar for a long time.”

  “So?”

  “So I used to constantly get asked to star in all the big movies, no audition necessary. But not anymore. Now I have to seek out parts. So when Victoria Bossypaws asked me to audition for a big part in a major motion picture on the same night I was supposed to go on Celebrity Birthday Cake Wars, I couldn’t say no. I had to go! And I was embarrassed to tell you that I, the great El Gato, had to audition like a regular actor.”

  I leaned on the railing next to El Gato. “What major motion picture?”

  He looked sideways at me with his eyes squinting against the sun. “I can’t tell you.”

  Just then Bruiser rang the lunch bell he’d made out of coconut and seashells. El Gato started toward the picnic deck, but I put out a paw to stop him. “From now on, we tell each other the truth. Because that’s what friends do. Okay?”

  “No more lying, I promise,” he said, pulling me into an unexpected hug. Sweet!

  As we strolled over to lunch, I guessed which movie he had auditioned for.

  “Was it Paw Trek? A new Furlock Holmes? A remake of Hairy Pawter?”

  “I can’t tell you until we get back to Hollywood and I meet with Victoria Bossypaws.”

  When we landed at that dock in the Port of Los Angeles, dozens of journalists and paparazzi were waiting for us. Evidently, Brock had leaked a crazy story about some kind of celebrity mutiny, and they were all eager to question us. Rosie decided this media attention was just the thing to create some buzz about the Celebrity Castaway Island movie she was making.

  It felt great to be home with my friends. After lots of napping and eating, everybody got busy with different projects.

  Whiskers and Kitty stole the show in Prancing with the Stars.

  El Gato and I helped Bruiser and Pickles make a commercial for the Body Shop for Tough Cat Training. The boxing kangaroo was in it, too. He was a good actor with a charming Australian accent.

  Rosie and Chet spent many hours at MGM Studios, editing the footage from our Celebrity Castaway Island adventure.

  Then one day, Rosie gathered everybody together in the screening room. “Friends, our time on Celebrity Castaway Island had everything: extreme weather, death-defying adventures, surprising twists, and an awesome revenge plan.” She winked at me.

  I blushed bright red under my fur. But it was a happy blush.

  “Thanks to all your contributions, Escape from Castaway Island: The Reality behind Reality Television is a movie we can all be proud of. This documentary reveals the truth about our experiences. And now, enjoy!”

  After Whiskers and Kitty brought in giant bowls of popcorn, the lights went down and:

  Directed and edited by Rosie Pringle and Chester P. Grumpus III

  Eight innocent cats made their way to Castaway Island, unaware of the grueling ordeals that awaited.

  There, they were subjected to unimaginable humiliations, such as being forced to eat bugs.

  The cats were pitted against each other until all semblance of friendship and compassion had vanished.

  Monkeys were portrayed as vicious and unpleasant, when in fact they are totally awesome!

  A fake volcano eruption sent Brock Showman and crew into exile. The monkeys were free, and our heroes escaped the horror that was . . . Castaway Island.

  The gang and some monkeys sailed home, happy in the knowledge that good had once again triumphed over evil.

  And that was it—our reality TV adventure, as told by a fabulous up-and-coming director: my friend Rosie. (And a plug from the monkeys.)

  20

  Oscar Night

  As you may or may not know, one of my all-time biggest dreams has always been:

  The Oscars are awards given by the movie industry for a variety of categories: Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Movie, Best Costume Design, and many others, including Best Documentary.

  Have you ever seen a documentary? A documentary is a movie about something totally real, such as:

  March of the Penguins is a documentary about a community of emperor penguins (real penguins, not actors) who huddle, waddle, and belly slide their way around Antarctica. Amazing!

  Imagine how excited I was when Rosie showed me this letter she got about our documentary:

  “Winning an Oscar would be a dream come true,” said Rosie.

  “Ditto times a thousand,” I said.

  “Just being nominated is such an honor,” said Kitty.

  “I once won an Oscar,” said Chet. “I wonder where it is.”

  Soon it was time for the big event. The gang and I piled into the van I bought after selling my gold limo, and off we went to see if we would win an Oscar. Oh, the celebrities we met! And the fancy candies we enjoyed! And the cushy seats! It was a magical night, even if we hadn’t won an Oscar.

  But, reader, we did win.

  We all jumped up, patting each other on the back, cheering, and giggling like kittens who had just been given a whole basket of yarn. As we made our way over to the stage to accept our Oscar, I thought of all I’d been through in the past few years.

  I thought of all the adventures and misadventures that are so well recounted in my other two books. So much had happened.

  And here I was at last, about to accept my first Oscar.

  Smile, Mr. Puffball!

  Fortunately, we all had a chance to give a short acceptance speech.

  Actually I had more to say. But the “time to get off the stage” music came on, so I stopped talking. Plus they turned off my mic.

  The after-party was amazin
g. My favorite part was like a scene from a movie. Remember at the end of Cutie and the Beast, after the Beast figures out he shouldn’t be so beastly and turns back to a handsome prince, and then Cutie and he dance together? Well . . .

  A week later, I found out what movie El Gato had auditioned for, back when he tricked me into going on Celebrity Birthday Cake Wars, which, come to think of it, wasn’t really such a bad experience.

  The best part was, it looked like I was back on the road to becoming a movie star. El Gato had talked Victoria Bossypaws into casting me in Guardcats of the Galaxy Vol. 2 after all.

  Wow! I’d just won an Oscar. I was back with my friends. I was going to be in a major motion picture with El Gato and Chris Purr-att. I used the rest of my gold-limo money to buy Chet that vacuum cleaner he wanted. In other words, life was awesome.

  Not bad for a kitten from New Jersey with nothing but a big dream.

  Special Features

  Any similarity to actual cats, living or dead, is purely coincidental . . . or is it?

  Acknowledgments

  I am grateful to my readers, and especially those who reached out to me with emails, letters, and drawings. You are what it’s all about! Thank you to Andrea Jacobsen for sharing your impressive knowledge of reality shows, and thanks to all my Secret Gardeners for ideas, encouragement, and lots of laughter. Laura Boffa, I greatly enjoyed our shared drawing events and will always remember the dancing pickle and will miss you at Games Night. Thanks, Nancy Inteli, for being a fellow cat person and for your love of Mr. Puffball. So much appreciation to my friend and the world’s coolest editor, Jill Davis, for pushing me to be the best I can be. Luana Horry, thanks for your thoughtful feedback! To Amy Ryan, Katie Fitch, Carla Weise—you are a joy to work with, and you make my books look absolutely fabulous! Bethany Reis, thank you for correcting Mr. Puffball’s grammar and making him look smart. Megan Barlog and Ro Romanello, thanks for keeping Mr. Puffball in the celebrity loop! Thanks to everybody at HarperCollins—copyeditors, designers, marketing, publicity, and sales people—your hard work is truly appreciated! To Lori Nowicki for all your kidlit knowledge, brainstorming help, and everything else! To Malaprops Bookstore and especially Amy Cherrix for eternal support of my books. Also to Firestorm Books, Bank Street Bookstore, and all independent booksellers for creating wonderful spaces for book nerds. Thanks to Sal and to my sister Rita for bringing Mr. Puffball to your schools! To #bookvoyage, #booktrek people, and teachers and librarians everywhere for spreading the love of reading. Linda Marie Barrett, I look forward to our future writing retreats and book tours! To Madeline for first envisioning the fantastic idea of Mr. Puffball on a desert island. And to my husband, Hank Bones, for sticking by me even when I’m running madly around the house yelling, “Deadline! Deadline!”