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  Episode 6: Ghost Cat

  The night is dark.

  I hide behind a bush.

  A girl is walking toward me.

  I slink out in front of her.

  She screams! “Ghost cat!”

  * * *

  The night is dark.

  I hide behind a bush.

  A boy and girl are skipping home.

  I slink out in front of them.

  They scream! “Ghost cat!”

  * * *

  No. This is all wrong.

  I don’t like slinking.

  I don’t like screams.

  The video isn’t telling a good story.

  This is bad acting.

  * * *

  I’m not a good ghost cat.

  I’m the right color.

  But it doesn’t show off my mixed eyes.

  No.

  Talk it Out: Decisions

  I stood outside the Director’s office, shaking from head to tail.

  Mr. Danny rolled his eyes and whispered, “He’s in a bad mew-d. Good luck.”

  I shrugged. The Director had called me in, so I had to be here.

  Mr. Danny motioned me inside.

  The Director lay on a crimson pad, making his hairless skin look pink. The wrinkles on his neck rippled when he looked up at me.

  I shook so hard that I was afraid I would fall down. Quickly, I sat on a white mat just in front of the Director.

  “Ah, Angel,” he said.

  “Sir,” I said.

  “Angel, it’s time to decide your future.”

  My head swam. Dizzy! “What do you mean?”

  “You aren’t a baby. You’re a kitten. You can’t be an innocent forever.”

  “No?”

  “No.” The Director leaned toward me. “You must decide. Or I’ll decide for you.”

  He needed some purr-fume. His breath stank of anchovies, those salty, stinky canned fish. They were a delicacy, some said. But I hated them. I liked the peppermint-candy smell better.

  “What are my choices?” I asked.

  The Director threw a paw over his face and sighed.

  Such acting! Why was he never on camera?

  MamaGrace says that viewers want sweet cats. I was tired of being a sweet cat. Maybe viewers should try tough cats.

  “You know your choices,” the Director said. “Decide.”

  Behind the Director were screens. On each screen, a video was showing.

  Water cats, dress-up cats, food cats, innocent cats, fat cats. Boring.

  My eyes filled up with tears. But I did not cry. Miss Tanya would be mad if I cried.

  “No,” I said.

  He looked up at the ceiling.

  At his aquarium of goldfish that he kept for snacks. Out the window at the woods.

  He sighed.

  “Your sister is a great water cat,” the Director said.

  “No!” I said.

  “Your brother is a great food cat,” the Director said.

  “No!” I said.

  “We haven’t had a piano cat for a long time,” the Director said.

  I thought about the white and black keys. “Maybe. But…”

  He waited.

  I thought about the fraidy-cat video.

  I wanted to fight that falcon.

  I wanted to be wild.

  I wanted to fight and lose, fight and lose, fight and win.

  I wanted to tell a video story about winning a fight. “What about a fight cat?” I asked.

  The Director laughed.

  His neck and stomach wrinkled and wrinkled. “You? A fight cat?”

  And he laughed and laughed.

  I hid my face under a paw.

  But I did not cry.

  Talk it Out: Lights

  STUDY: VIDEO LIGHTS

  I needed to learn more about lights.

  Lights are important for videos.

  Without lights, details blur.

  Without lights, a white coat might look gray.

  Without lights, my eyes might look brown instead of blue and copper.

  Lights can trick the viewer.

  Soft, bright lights make a cat look happy.

  Or make a cat look innocent.

  A few hard lights make a cat look mean.

  Or they can make a cat look like a fighter.

  * * *

  Ghost-cat videos only work if the light is right.

  Innocent-cat videos only work if the light is right.

  PittyPat likes hard light when she’s swimming.

  It looks like she’s swimming strong.

  But when she gets out of the water, wet cats look bad. She needs soft light to blur her image.

  Quincy likes strong light.

  “You need to see details of the food,” he says.

  They change the light when he starts eating.

  “You need soft light for the meal,” he says.

  Lights can fool the viewer. They can make mean cats look innocent. Or innocent cats look like fight cats.

  I needed to learn more about lights.

  Hard lights.

  Episode 7: Piano Cat

  The Director had said, “We haven’t had a piano cat for a long time.”

  Miss Tanya combed the hair on each paw.

  Paws are important for a piano cat.

  First I looked into the camera for a soul-connect.

  Then I walked across the piano on the black keys.

  At the end, I sang, “Me-me-meow!”

  I walked back on the white keys.

  At the end, I sang, “Me-me-meow!”

  I had watched an old, old, old video of a piano cat.

  She was mew-sical. She played a real song.

  “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”

  It was a hard song. But she didn’t miss a note.

  Then, she sang the whole song!

  “Me-me-meow!” I said. “I can’t be a piano cat. Too much singing.” Besides, my singing was as sour as sour milk.

  “Yowza,” the Director said. “I have heard better singing.”

  Talk it Out: Dress Up Cat

  The Director thinks I’m cute.

  He told me to watch Jazz’s videos.Maybe I could do cute videos like her.

  Okay, I watched.

  The Director is right. Jazz is cute.

  She’s feline-fine, the best dress-up cat in town.

  JAZZ’S VIDEO 1

  Snow drifted down.

  Jazz made this video the same night that I’d made my snowflake video.

  Jazz had sat like a doll. Her back feet stuck out in front.

  She wore ski pants, a ski jacket, and a stocking hat.

  She wore four mittens.

  Jazz Snow Baby was cute.

  JAZZ’S VIDEO 2

  The blue pool glistened.

  Jazz stood on her back legs. She held her front legs up in front of her body. She wore a red bikini.

  She hopped, hopped, and then dived into the water.

  Splash!

  It was a mash-up video. It was part water cat and part dress-up cat.

  Jazz Bikini Girl was cute.

  She climbed out and put on a big floppy hat. Even wet, she was cute.

  (Don’t tell PittyPat I said that.)

  Acting for a dress-up cat is a lot like acting for an innocent cat.

  The dress-up cats don’t move around very much.

  They look at the camera a lot. Mostly, they just look cute.

  NO! Not for me.

  I’ll tell Jazz that I love her work. And I do.

  It’s just not for me.

  What I think does matter.

  If I say NO, the Director will listen.

  I think.

  Roommates?

  It was the fourth week of the Top Kitten competition, and we were ten weeks old. I pushed to the front to see the Director’s list of top videos for the week. Someone shoved me hard. Looking around, Jazz was straining to read the list.

  There it was. Top video of the wee
k: Jazz’s pirate video.

  I’d seen that dress-up video and thought it was spectacular. Her costumes were amazing. Jazz was acting with great emotion too. It deserved to be the top video.

  As usual, I was fourth. Quincy was eighth, and PittyPat was ninth. Filling in were kittens who had never been in the top ten before. The top ten videos each week always included Jazz, Quincy, PittyPat, and me. But after that, the spots were filled with random kittens who appeared in the top ten one time and didn’t come back.

  “Jazz,” I said. “We need to talk.”

  She followed me to a quieter spot. Jazz’s face was tight. I didn’t know if she was worried about Top Kitten or something else. But I had to ask her anyway.

  “Um,” I said. “Next week, we turn ten weeks old.”

  “Yes, me too.”

  “That means we move into the kitten dormitory.”

  “Okay.” Jazz raised an eyebrow.

  She wasn’t making this easy. “I wondered, you know, if you might…you know…” I waited.

  “No, I don’t know.”

  I blurted out, “Would you be my roommate in the dorm?”

  For a moment, I was afraid that Jazz would laugh. Obviously, she was struggling with a strong emotion. Her jaw tightened, and her ears flattened.

  Finally she said, “Why me?”

  “Because I think we can be friends.”

  “What about the Top Kitten competition?”

  “I think we could help each other,” I said. “You challenge me to do my best. After I watch your videos, I try to think of new ways of acting.”

  Jazz spun around like she was chasing her tail. “Don’t you care about winning? Or losing?”

  I thought about losing. It would be the hardest thing I’d ever done. But by now, I knew I was out of the running. In the last four weeks, I’d never had the top video. Jazz had gotten the top video three times. Her family had hired Miss Emily Doodle to design and sew her costumes. Each outfit had a hat. The outfit covered only the front legs and chest. Miss Doodle sewed tiny human arms into the costume, so Jazz looked like a person from the front. She could attach things to the fake arms, like a sword, a hook for a pirate, or a guitar. It looked so realistic. Jazz had found a great niche for her videos.

  She was bound to be Top Kitten. Could she put aside the competition and just be friends? Could I?

  “Of course I care,” I said. “But put it into perspective. It’s a Top Kitten competition. Kitten. It’s a big thing for us right now. But we won’t be kittens forever.”

  Jazz’s eyes were wide and scared. “I’m not sure I’m as nice as you. If I don’t win Top Kitten…” She shook her head and looked back at the Director’s office, where the list was posted.

  “I can’t give up trying to win, either. But we have to move to the dormitory next week. That leaves MamaGrace all alone. Watching videos of MamaGrace and DaddyAlbert, I can see what she’s lost. She needs DaddyAlbert. If I make Top Kitten, I can bring him home.”

  Jazz turned back to me and nodded. “I understood that you have to keep trying. I’m just not sure I can be a friend no matter what.”

  “If you win, I’ll celebrate with you. But inside, I’ll be jealous,” I said. “Just being honest.”

  “I’m not sure I could celebrate with you,” Jazz said. “Just being honest.”

  “I’ll take my chances. Maybe I know you better than you know yourself,” I said. “Would you be my roommate?”

  “We may regret this,” she whispered. “Yes. Roommates. Friends.”

  Episode 8: Moving Day

  The day before we turned ten weeks old was a beautiful but sad day. Tomorrow we’d move out of MamaGrace’s apartment and into the dorms.

  Quincy bounced up and down. “Tenth floor! Kitten dorm, here we come!”

  I watched MamaGrace’s face. Did her smile reach her eye? Was she happy about us moving out? “Where will you live now?” I asked.

  “I’ll take the small penthouse apartment. Come up and see me anytime.” The top floor of Majestic Kennels had two penthouse apartments. Right now, we had the big one. The small one was only big enough for one cat.

  “Will you work?” PittyPat asked.

  “I’ll never be in a video again.” MamaGrace tapped the eye patch on her right eye. “But the Director has asked me to do more acting lessons. I think I’ll like that.”

  MamaGrace, I loved her so much. My heart was so full. But I couldn’t find the right words. Even talkative PittyPat was silent.

  MamaGrace didn’t let us fuss, though. Instead, she said, “Let’s go for a walk. Together.”

  We ran down the stairs and out into the warm summer day. We were together, as a family, one last time. As we were leaving Majestic Kennels, a cameraman followed us. We ignored him. They always follow the KittyTube stars in case something interesting happens. But they had orders not to video MamaGrace. The Director would make sure she was edited out of any video.

  The air smelled of sweet roses. We followed MamaGrace with our tails held high, just as she’d taught us. We entered Central Park from the Broadway entrance. The curving path led around the park, our favorite walk.

  First we stopped at our favorite statue. It was a bronze statue of Arlo Porter Wiles, the inventor of the cat-to-human speech translator. The statue showed Arlo seated on the ground, talking with three cats. MamaGrace had explained that Mr. Arlo Wiles had given the translator to the cats for free. He could’ve made a fortune on it. Instead, he gave it to the cat world. That’s when cats started to take charge of their own lives and created KittyTube and the kennels.

  MamaGrace said, “Albert loved this statue. The translator changed our lives.”

  We took turns jumping on the statue and pretending to talk with Mr. Arlo. Finally we continued our stroll around the park.

  MamaGrace stopped to talk to another queen cat.

  They talked and talked.

  Bored, Quincy went around some bushes. He came back grinning and motioned for PittyPat and me to follow.

  “Look!” He pointed to a mud puddle. Then he leaped into it and splashed us both.

  PittyPat splish-splashed him back.

  Miss Tanya would kill me! But this was my last day as a baby kitten. I ran for the puddle and slid through it, laughing.

  Quincy laughed and then slid into the puddle. PittyPat rolled over in the puddle. Quincy pushed me, and I landed face-first.

  “Stop!” MamaGrace stood over us. “Get out of that mud.”

  We lined up in front of MamaGrace, heads down.

  I stared in horror at my muddy paws. What did my face look like? Miss Tanya…

  MamaGrace paced back and forth in front of us. She didn’t scold. But we knew we were in trouble.

  I looked over MamaGrace’s shoulder and saw the cameraman. He was only filming MamaGrace’s left side. It wouldn’t show her scar or the eye patch. So that was okay.

  He was laughing. He saw me looking and gave me a thumbs-up.

  I nudged Quincy and nodded toward the cameraman. He nudged PittyPat.

  I giggled. Quincy giggled. PittyPat giggled. MamaGrace glanced at the cameraman. (She only turned her good side to the camera.) She looked back at us and shook her head.

  She sighed.

  But she smiled too.

  Then loudmouth PittyPat was laughing. And MamaGrace laughed back.

  The family laughed and hugged. We tugged MamaGrace until she was in the mud puddle too. That video—The Muddy Family—was MamaGrace’s last video.

  It’s still one of my favorites.

  It was our last day together as babies.

  Talk it Out: A Mother-Daughter Chat

  “Be yourself!” MamaGrace said. “Act like a dog.”

  It was my weekly acting lesson.

  My tail swished on the carpet. MamaGrace’s new penthouse room was comfortable. My dorm room only had wooden floors. There, my claws clinked when I walked. I liked MamaGrace’s soft carpets.

  “I’m not a dog!” I said. “
How can I act like a dog and be myself?”

  “No one else acts like you. You will do it differently. No one else will act like a dog in the same way. That’s what the camera wants. You!”

  “No,” I said. “It wants a clean, quiet cat. The camera likes me when I sleep and yawn.”

  “What role do you want?”

  “I want to fight. But I’m too small.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt. But as long as it’s all acting, a fight cat would be interesting.” MamaGrace tapped her eye patch. “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight. It’s the size of the fight in the dog. You’ll find your way, Angel.”

  “Will I really?” I ached to be something new, something good.

  “Yes,” MamaGrace said. “It just takes time.”

  “Can I make up a new role?

  “Don’t worry. We’ll name the role you take on.”

  “What if I’m not good enough?”

  “Every video cat wonders that. It’s normal. Here’s all I can say: Just be yourself, dear. You are enough.”

  “Are you enough, MamaGrace?” I studied her face. The smaller penthouse apartment suited her. It was large enough, but not too large. She’d hung dozens of photographs of herself and DaddyAlbert on the wall. “Are you happy now?”

  She ran a paw over her face and stood up straighter. “I’m happy to teach acting. I never thought I’d like it, but it’s fun. And I can do this for a long time.”

  She studied the photographs on the wall, her eyes moving from one to the next. And I knew she was thinking about DaddyAlbert.

  I wanted DaddyAlbert to come home for MamaGrace’s sake. But I also wondered what he’d think of my acting. Would he be proud of me? I was working hard to bring him home. But I also worked to live up to his example as an actor. I worked to make him proud of his daughter. But I was starting to doubt that I’d ever see DaddyAlbert.

  “MamaGrace, is DaddyAlbert real?”