Cats Aloft

by Lisa Martin

  The sleigh was aimed directly at him.

  I’ve got to get out of here, and quickly, he thought, and began scooting down the track on his belly. When that proved to be entirely too slow, he popped out his claws, dug into the ice, and dragged himself upright. I’ll jump off the track, easy as pie. Wobbling precariously over to one side rail, he glimpsed the long drop to the ground and skidded to a halt. That’s no good. He turned and looked at the empty, ice-covered track ahead and gulped. Then I’ll have to outrun it.

  The ride workers untied the ropes holding the sleigh steady and it began to move. A few people on the platform above waved and shouted, “Hey! Cat! There’s a cat on the track!” but the workers didn’t hear them in the din of the crowd. More people joined in, yelling helplessly as the sleigh gathered speed, bearing down on the solitary cat.

  Cecil scrambled on the ice, trying to find his balance and gain traction with his claws. He began to make slow, clambering progress, skidding and sliding. He found a rhythm and moved faster in leaping bounds. The crowd hummed with confusion and excitement.

  Sprinting to the top of a tall rise in the track, Cecil threw himself down the other side, flopping to his belly again and trying to stay low. Ice crystals flew up into his eyes and nose as he barreled down the track. He could hear the sleigh behind him, its runners crunching the ice as its weight sent it careening along.

  Cecil’s heart raced. If I can only get back to the landing, then surely the men will throw out the ropes to stop the sleigh. But he was losing hope that he could outpace the huge carriage. Wheezing, his eyes misting and his nose running, Cecil risked a glance behind. The sleigh sped down the hill and was gaining on him. One more low hill remained before the finish. Cecil looked back once more to gauge the height of the sleigh’s runners, then sprang up the low hill with all his might.

  The crowd had whipped itself into a frenzy, shrieking with fright and cheering him on. His muscles ached; his ice-covered paws felt like lead. He heard the hiss of the sleigh as it drew still closer, and he hauled himself over the top of the hill with the last of his strength. Just past the peak, he dropped to his belly on the track, pressed himself as flat as a stout cat could get, and held his breath. The giant sleigh whooshed over him and thundered down the hill.

  The crowd gasped and murmured as Cecil lay on the ice, dazed. After a few moments, he dragged himself up and began staggering to the finishing area behind the sleigh. The Fair-goers erupted in cheers and applause.

  “He’s alive!” they shouted. “Bravo, Ice Cat! Hail to the Ice Cat!”

  A man rushed toward him and Cecil knew he should try to run, but he had no strength left. The man held a large blanket and scooped Cecil up carefully, using one corner to wipe the ice from his ears and whiskers. Cecil tried to squirm away but the man swaddled him in the blanket and carried him to the side landing, directly to where the sour old lady in the fur coat stood, watching them approach.

  The lady clucked her tongue. “All that fuss over a tubby tomcat.” She eyed Cecil and wrinkled her nose. “Is the creature alive?” she asked the man, who nodded and set Cecil down on the wooden planks of the landing with a final swish of the towel. The lady sniffed and turned away to watch the next sleigh run. Cecil had hoped that the lady was telling the man to bring him something warm to eat, but that never seemed to be what humans talked about. He shook out his fur and licked his paws to thaw them, ignoring the stares and calls of onlookers in the crowd. He felt bruised and dizzy, like he’d rolled down the side of a very cold canyon.

  “Quite a show, that was,” hissed a female voice nearby. “Do you always crash a party like that?”

  Cecil looked up, his neck aching with the effort. The hairless cat was peering at him over the old lady’s elbow, a sneer on her peculiar face. Her eyes were round and pale yellow, and her ears were huge, bat-like, sticking up high over her pinched face. The cat’s head and shoulders seemed thin and frail, perhaps because she had no fur. She had wrinkled folds of skin, like a human’s, a patchwork of soft pink and smoky gray. This was the cat that Ruby had told him to talk to.

  Cecil pulled himself up, though it pained him. He lifted his chin toward the track. “It’s a pretty good ride, but I wouldn’t go again, I don’t think.”

  The hairless cat crept a little farther out of her burrow in the coat as the old lady stroked her oversized ears. She smiled smugly, revealing a row of needle-like teeth. “I wouldn’t have gone the first time. Who are you, anyway?”

  “I’m Cecil.” He flashed her a grin. “Visiting from the land of the rising sun. Just passing through on my way home. And who are you?”

  “My name is Zuma, though my mistress calls me . . .”

  “Jellybelle, quiet,” said the sour woman, patting Zuma on the head with thick, bejeweled fingers.

  Cecil ignored the woman. “And you’re a kind of cat, right?” he asked carefully.

  Zuma’s smile tightened. “Of course I’m a cat. Just like you. Well, not just like you. I’m part of a pure line descended from the Aztecs, whereas you’re a common alley cat.”

  Alley cat? So I am a type after all. Cecil couldn’t resist asking Zuma the obvious question. “Don’t you get cold, hanging around the Ice Railway with no fur?”

  Zuma’s smile faded altogether. “Never. I’m perfectly warm in my mistress’s coat.”

  Cecil gazed at the coat and grimaced. “You do realize, don’t you, that it’s made of fur?”

  The hairless cat shrugged. “Not cat fur.”

  Cecil was tiring of this unpleasant creature.

  “So, do you and your mistress and her coat stand up here often?” he asked.

  Zuma sniffed and inclined her head regally toward the track. “We are here every day to watch the races. My mistress brought the great ice-making machines from New York City for the Fair.”

  “The ice is quite a wonder,” Cecil agreed. “So if you’re here every day, you must know a lot about what goes on.”

  “Of course,” replied Zuma. “I see everything.”

  “Jellybelle, hush, will you please?” The old woman glanced down at Cecil, then turned her broad back to him and took a few steps toward another corner of the landing.

  Cecil followed, trying to stay out of the woman’s line of vision. “Zuma?” he called quietly.

  After a pause, Zuma stretched her skinny neck over the folds of coat and glared. “Shhh,” she hissed at Cecil. “Go away. You’ll get me in trouble.”

  Cecil’s eyes widened. “In trouble?” He shook his head. Being a pet sounded like a worse deal all the time. “Okay, I’ll leave. Just tell me—do you know anything about the dognappings that have been going on? Have you seen anything?”

  A flash of fear lit Zuma’s pointed face for a moment, then she half-closed her eyes and sank into the coat.

  Cecil moved around to one side of the lady to try to see Zuma again. “What is it? Do you know something?”

  Zuma burrowed into the crook of the woman’s arm, and her voice rasped out from underneath the woman’s elbow, directly down to Cecil. “You’re a perfect stranger here,” she said almost in a whisper. “How do I know it’s safe to tell you? You could be working for him.”

  For him, thought Cecil. A small clue. “No, I’m trying to solve the mystery,” he said. “My brother and I are working with Ruby.”

  “Ugh, the bloodhound.” Zuma heaved a sigh, muffled in the fur coat. “It’s so frightening. I worry constantly that I might be next.”

  “Why would you be next?” asked Cecil. “You’re a cat.”

  “Yes, but they surely know my value,” Zuma insisted. “I’m quite rare, you know.”

  Cecil saw an opening and nodded. “You’re right,” he said, pumping concern into his voice. “A well-bred cat like you would be a prime target. If only we knew more about the culprit, we could protect you . . .”

  The old woman huffed and began to stride from the platform. “Honestly, Jellybelle. Haven’t I told you about consorting with this kind of ruffian? I
t’s beneath you.” She shifted her arm and the hairless cat disappeared.

  Zuma said no more as she was carried away. Cecil trailed behind the pair down the outside staircase to the ground level. The woman whisked open a door leading into a room full of people and good smells, but Cecil wasn’t going to be fast enough to get in after them.

  “Zuma!” Cecil yelled up. “If you know anything, help me!”

  As the door began to swing shut behind them, Zuma stuck her head back up and hissed at Cecil from over the woman’s shoulder. “There’s a man with a mustache who wears a sporting cap. He’s the one cutting the leashes!” The woman reached up and grabbed the folds of skin on the back of the cat’s neck to tug her down again, but Zuma struggled against her to spit out one more piece of information. “His cap. It’s greeeeeen!”

  And the door slammed in the frame, leaving Cecil outside alone.

  Chapter 5

  The Menagerie

  Anton thought he could probably slip through the front entrance to the Menagerie, but as he drew closer, he saw two of the police officers Ruby had told them about scrutinizing the crowd. He remembered the lion’s advice—don’t go in the front door. Better sneaky than sorry. He veered around to the back of the building, where he found an open window, a little too high for a human to see into, but with a wide sill just the right height for a cat to leap up on. With a couple of steps back to get the angle right and a concentration of his muscles . . . boom, Anton landed squarely on the sill. Then he let out a gasp of surprise.

  He was looking into a strange world indeed, and he was free to stare as all eyes were on the animals running and leaping and cavorting round and round a dusty circular track. Anton watched the ring through a wide opening between two ranks of raised seating.

  A horse with an elegant blue cloth draped across his back cantered near the edge while a lion loped alongside, and a medium-size furry black dog brought up the rear. In the center of the ring, a woman in a red dress and hat snapped a whip over the head of the horse, and stood, speaking forcefully to the lion. The lion was an older female, Anton observed, without the thick brown ruff of her friends outside, and she was muttering to the horse as they came round the aisle near the window.

  “Slow down a little, and get your head down, would you?” the lion said. “The tamer wants me on now.”

  The horse whinnied and slowed, stretching his long neck out and lowering his big head. “I’m ready,” he said. “On the count.”

  “One, two, three,” the lion said, making a few long strides between each number. On three, to the delight of the crowd and Anton’s astonishment, the lion leaped up and landed on the horse’s wide back.

  The dog barked triumphantly. “Great job, Mala, you’re up. Whoa, I’m next.” The woman with the whip was tipping her hat, bowing right and left to loud applause.

  A voice addressed Anton from just below the window ledge. “You must be the smallest lion in the world.”

  Anton dropped his eyes from the spectacle in the ring and gaped as he made out the impossible animal standing quietly in the shadows. It was no bigger than a large dog, but there all possibility of doggyness ended. The creature was covered in a pale gray, hairless, wrinkled hide, with legs droopy like stuffed human trousers, big flaps for ears, and, most alarming of all, a nose that hung down, down past his mouth in a long, flexible rope to the floor.

  “A lion is a cat,” Anton said, “and so am I. My name is Anton. But what in this world are you?”

  “I’m a baby elephant. So I’m sort of like you, a little version of a bigger one. Are you going to get bigger?”

  Anton hopped down to the sawdust-covered floor next to the elephant. “No, I’m fully grown.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” said the creature, swinging her ear flaps. “When I grow up, I’ll be so big I’ll touch that roof up there.” Anton glanced up at the high roof, almost invisible in the shadows, and nodded politely. The little elephant raised her long nose toward Anton, as if she wanted to sniff him. “They call me Lily, but my name is Pakadaka. Paka for short.”

  “Are you part of this show?”

  “I do a dance at the beginning with Tommy, that’s the horse, and another one at the end with Sparky the dog. But I don’t go on with Mala, the lion. She’s too grumpy. But just wait ’til I get to my full size. If she’s mean I’ll pick her up with my long, strong trunk and I’ll fling her into a pile of hay. That’ll show her!” She nodded firmly. “I’ve been working on my trumpeting, too. Listen.” She raised her long nose, puffed out her cheeks, and blatted a loud, shrill call that sent shivers down Anton’s spine.

  “Well, I don’t know what full-size trumpeting sounds like, but that’s not bad,” said Anton, turning to watch the ring.

  The dog yapped cheerfully as he ran, “Here we go, here we go, I’m coming up. Are you ready, Mala? Are you ready, Tommy?” With an amazing leap, he landed square on the horse’s hindquarters, then leaped again up to lion’s back. The crowd burst into wild applause.

  “Did you come just to see the show?” asked Paka.

  “Not really,” Anton replied. “I’m trying to figure out who’s nabbing dogs from the humans who come to the Fair.”

  “I heard about that,” Paka said. “Sparky is very upset about it. You should talk to him.”

  As Paka spoke, the ongoing act came to a close and the crowd stood up, shouting their approval. The lion and the horse went out a far exit, while the black dog trotted into the wings where Anton and Paka waited.

  He greeted Paka gleefully. “Good house tonight,” he said. “Really a live audience. Tommy was in great form.” Then he noticed Anton sitting by the elephant. “Who are you?” he said. “Did you see the show? What did you think?”

  “I’m Anton,” Anton said. “And I did see the show. I thought it was amazing.”

  “Yeah. We were like a well-oiled machine out there. Smooooth as butter.”

  “Anton is upset about the little lost dogs,” Paka told Sparky. “He says a bad person is nabbing them.” She curled her trunk around and touched it gently to two pointed white stubs protruding from either side of her face. “When I get my full-size tusks, all bad people will run away screaming when they see me coming!”

  “You bet they will, Paka!” said Sparky. Paka lumbered off to speak to Tommy, and Sparky shook his head. “She’s what they call a pygmy elephant,” he told Anton in a low voice. “She’s not going to grow any bigger than this, but we don’t have the heart to tell her.”

  “Wow,” said Anton. “That’s tough.”

  “I know, it is, but what do you know about this dognapper?” said Sparky anxiously. “I know something about it, but I can’t do anything because I’m always working.”

  “I’ve been helping a dog who’s on the case,” said Anton. “Bloodhound, name of Ruby LeNez.”

  “Ruby LeNez!” the dog replied. “I’ve heard of her. Everydog’s heard of her. She’s a famous detective. She solved the Case of the Empty Yard. It just never occurred to the humans that a basenji could jump that high.”

  “That may be, but she’s stumped on this case,” Anton said. “Anything you know that will help us would be much appreciated.”

  “Right,” said Sparky. He sat down and opened his mouth, panting a bit. “Promise to tell Miss Ruby that Sparky gave you this info, okay?”

  “Definitely,” Anton agreed.

  “One of the first pups I heard about was nabbed right from this tent. I didn’t see it happen—I was doing the show—but it was like this. The lights went out for just a moment and then I heard a lady shout. When they came back on she was wailing and her dog was gone. Now here’s the thing I noticed.” Sparky glanced around and leaned in toward Anton, lowering his voice again. “When I went into the ring there was a man sitting very near where she was and he had a basket alongside him—I noticed ’cause it was sticking out in the aisle when I ran in. But when the lights came back and all the humans were gathering around the screeching lady, the man and the b
asket had disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” Anton repeated. “So you think the man put the pup in the basket?”

  “It sure seems possible, doesn’t it?” Sparky licked his nose excitedly. “And here’s some more news. As we were coming round the bend today, I noticed he was there again.”

  “He’s here now!” Anton exclaimed. “Where is he?”

  “He’s on the far side of the ring, just near the exit.”

  “I’m off,” Anton said, and he rushed down the aisle.

  Before he could enter the ring, two guards jumped out of nowhere and blocked his way, shouting, “Only show animals in here! Get back.”

  Anton turned and rejoined Sparky in the wings just as Paka trundled up. “How am I going to get over there?” Anton said.

  Sparky frowned thoughtfully, and Paka snuffled her trunk in the dust. “Hey,” he said. “I got a brilliant idea.”

  The tamer snapped her whip at Mala until the lion jumped up on a big barrel off to one side, growling moodily. The audience grew restive in their seats. The tamer turned her back on Mala, gesturing toward the sidelines, and the final act began.

  Sparky, Paka, and Anton dashed out into the center of the ring while a steam organ struck up a lively tune. The tamer eyed Anton suspiciously, striding toward him with her hand extended. At that moment Paka stood on her hind legs and began to dance. Sparky ran merrily around her, barking and leaping, and Anton ran behind Sparky as if on a chase. The audience laughed, and the tamer paused uncertainly. When the elephant came down on all fours, the dog swiftly leaped onto her back, and the cat jumped up as well, landing easily on the dog’s back. The elephant pyramid padded lightly around and around the ring.