The Crabby Cat Caper (2 page)

The Cul-de-sac Kids were going to take pets to the school carnival. They wanted to walk around and show them off.

Yesterday, they'd had a big meeting about it. A Cul-de-sac Kids meeting. All pet decisions had been made.

Stacy Henry was taking Sunday Funnies, her white cockapoo. Dunkum Mifflin was putting a leash on his rabbit, Blinkee.

Eric Hagel was taking Fran the Ham, his girl hamster. He would carry her
around in his shirt pocket.

Shawn Hunter was taking Snow White, his floppy-eared puppy. Carly and Jimmy Hunter wanted to take their pet ducks, Quacker and Jack.

Ducks at a carnival?
thought Dee Dee.

She had nearly burst out laughing. How could that possibly work? But she'd kept quiet at the meeting.

And there was Croaker to think about.

She'd asked Jason to keep his bullfrog home. “Don't frogs need to be in water?”

At first, Jason argued. “You're just saying that because you don't want Mister Whiskers to have a hissy fit.”

“You're right,” she said. “So
please
keep your frog at home!”

Jason had pouted.

But Dee Dee won him over. “I'll make some cookies.”

“My favorite?” Jason asked.

Jason wasn't supposed to eat chocolate. It wound him up. But carob
chip cookies tasted a lot like chocolate chip cookies.

“I'll bring them to school on Monday,” Dee Dee said.

So it was settled.

Mister Whiskers could attend the carnival
purr
fectly happy. And Croaker would stay home in his aquarium.

Where he belongs
, thought Dee Dee.

She stood up and looked out the window. From her bedroom, she could see Blossom Hill School. Jason's father and some other men were working. They were building the booths for the carnival.

“I can't wait till Monday,” Dee Dee said. “The carnival will be so much fun!”

She turned to look at her cat.

But Mister Whiskers was gone.

“Where'd you go?” Dee Dee said.

She searched under her bed. It was Mister Whiskers' favorite hiding spot. “Here kitty, kitty,” she called.

No cat.

She ran downstairs to the kitchen.

Maybe he's hungry
, she thought.

But Mister Whiskers wasn't eating from his dish. He wasn't drinking milk from his bowl, either.

“Where
are
you?” she cried.

She checked under the telephone table. Sometimes he sat on the phone book.

Today, he wasn't there.

She searched all the windowsills. Mostly the ones with potted plants.

No Mister Whiskers.

Where could he be?
she thought.

Then she had an idea.

Maybe he'd gotten out. He liked to run loose in the cul-de-sac. He was always running away.

The back screen door hung open sometimes. It had to be tugged hard to give it a snug fit.

Eagerly, Dee Dee checked the front and back doors. They were shut tight. There was no way for Mister Whiskers to escape. Not today.

Dee Dee was stumped. Her cat had tricked her.

“You'll be sorry!” she hollered up the steps. “You won't get your afternoon cookie.”

She sat down on the living room floor.

Under her breath, she counted. “One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .”

Before she got to five, Mister Whiskers came. He padded down the steps, looking shy. A little uneasy, too.

Dee Dee saw bits of paper around his mouth. “What have you been doing?” she said.

Meow.
Mister Whiskers stared at her with his sly yellow-orange eyes. Slowly, he blinked.

“Come here, you!” She picked the pieces out of his whiskers.

Finally, all the bits of paper were in the trash.

Dee Dee remembered the way her cat had blinked at her. Something else had eyes like that. Well, sort of.

Croaker, Jason's bullfrog, had tricky eyes, too.

“You stay right here.” Dee Dee wagged her finger in his furry face. “Don't you dare move!”

She ran upstairs. She ran so fast, her hair bow fell off.

Dee Dee was determined. She was going to find out what trouble Mister Whiskers was up to.

Right now!

THREE

Dee Dee scurried to her bedroom. Slowly she scanned the room with her eyes.

Then she spotted it. Plain as day.

There, on the floor, were pieces of shredded paper. Right beside her desk.

“Why, that little crab cake!” Dee Dee muttered. “He tore up my riddle.”

Then she remembered. The riddle was about Croaker. She'd read it out loud.

But she thought Mister Whiskers hadn't heard it. She thought he was sound asleep.

He tricked me again
, she thought.

Dee Dee dashed downstairs. “You really don't like that bullfrog, do you?” she said.

Merrrt.
The furry face replied. It was cat chat for “nope.”

“Well, I don't blame you,” Dee Dee said. “But that doesn't mean you can rip up my riddle.”

Mister Whiskers slinked down. Like he was going to pounce on a mouse.

“OK, that does it,” Dee Dee said. “Crabby cats don't sleep in
my
room. Downstairs—to the cellar!”

Meoorsy?

“That's right, the cellar,” she insisted.

Mister Whiskers hated the cellar. It was dark, musty, and lonely.

No people.

No soft beds.

No canned tuna!

Mister Whiskers' face suddenly changed. No more sly look. Not the
uneasy-looking one, either. The kind that said:
I'm in trouble!

Now the kitty mouth was turned down. The eyelids drooped to narrow slits. A very sour look ruled his face.

Dee Dee tore into him. “What a crab cake you are! Why don't you behave yourself?”

He whined and spit like he'd been kicked.

Dee Dee said, “You must learn a hard lesson.”

She leaned over to pick him up.

Whoosh!
Mister Whiskers flew out of her reach.

“Hey!” she shouted. “Come back here!”

Dee Dee chased her cat around the living room.

Mister Whiskers darted into the dining room. And sailed under the table. He weaved through the maze of chair legs. Always, just out of her reach.

“Mister Whiskers!” she squealed. “Stop!”

But it was no use. Her cat was angry.

Cellars were for dogs. And garbage cans.

Cats deserved far better.

Dee Dee was almost certain those were Mister Whiskers' kitty thoughts.

Out of breath, she stopped trailing him. She sat down on one of the dining room chairs.

A great idea popped into her head, and she began to smile.

“Wanna bake some cookies?” she called. “Here kitty, kitty . . . cookie.” That would surely bring him running.

Fast as a mouse, Mister Whiskers jumped up on her lap. He licked his chops. He looked so cute—eyes all perky. Tail all swishy.

As she stared at him, Dee Dee felt sorry. Her great idea fell flat. She couldn't banish Mister Whiskers to the cellar.

Not now. Not later.

“Aw, you silly crab cake,” she said. And Dee Dee kissed his soft, little head.

Meoorry.

“I know you're sorry,” she said. “Now, let's bake Jason's cookies. He'll keep his frog home from the carnival if we do.” She grinned at her cat. “Then
you
can go with me.”

Mister Whiskers seemed pleased. He puffed out his body and nuzzled Dee Dee's face.

“Wanna help?”

She didn't have to ask twice. Dee Dee knew her cat well. Very well.

FOUR

After supper, Mrs. Winters served dessert.

Dee Dee carried in a bowl of peaches. Next came some whipped cream—the real stuff.

“Yummers!” she said.

Mister Whiskers was perched on the floor beside her chair. His eyes were on the sweet whipped cream.

“I made carob chip cookies today,” Dee Dee announced. “My cat and I did.”

Her father's eyes danced. “Sounds delicious.”

Dee Dee set a plateful of cookies on the kitchen table. “We made extra,” she said.

Her mother smiled. “You must've cooked up something with your cul-de-sac friends.”

Dee Dee nodded. “Jason wanted to take his frog to the school carnival. But if he did, then I couldn't take Mister Whiskers.”

Her father looked up. “Why not?”

“Because my cat hates that frog,” she said.

“Well, seems to me your cat pretty much runs things around here,” her father said.

“I know,” Dee Dee said. “But he's so cute and cuddly—that's why.”

But she knew differently. Mister Whiskers was a cranky, crabby cat. That's why he got his way. Most of the time.

“Anyway, we made the cookies for Jason,” Dee Dee explained. “He won't mind leaving his frog home.”

Her parents traded glances.

Dee Dee noticed. “Well, I
am
being nice to Jason,” she said. “Not mean like Mister Whiskers is sometimes.”

“Not just sometimes,” her father said. “That cat is a real pain
most
of the time.”

Dee Dee reached down and tickled Mister Whiskers' neck. She hoped he hadn't heard.

After supper, Dee Dee played with her cat. She scratched his left ear. Mister Whiskers liked it there best.

“You did a good job today,” she said. “You licked the cookie bowl nice and clean.”

Meoow-mew.

“You're welcome,” Dee Dee said. “Now I have to write my riddle for school.”

She carried the cat upstairs. “Promise not to eat my homework this time?”

Mister Whiskers was quiet.

“Oh, you're not making any promises, is that it?” Dee Dee sighed. She frisked Mister Whiskers' chin.

“To be truthful, I didn't like the bullfrog riddle either,” she told her cat.

Dee Dee picked up her pencil. She set to work.

Mister Whiskers helped, too. He helped by settling into a cozy spot. Right on Dee Dee's bed.