When Kittens Go Viral Page 5

  “Oh, Angel!”

  “It’s just that I don’t know him. I only know that you love him.”

  “I understand.” MamaGrace came to rub her shoulder against mine. Side by side, we looked at the photographs. “He’s not been here,” she said. “And when he gets here, he will have missed half your kittenhood. But know this: He loves you. If you ever need something, you can count on him. He’ll have your back.”

  I nodded. “I hope so, MamaGrace. Quincy and PittyPat and I—we’re trying to earn enough money to bring him home for you.”

  MamaGrace leaned forward, her nose touching mine. “It’s okay, Angel. If you don’t win Top Kitten, we’ll figure out something. Albert is trying to find work too. Something will work out.”

  Episode 9: Surrender

  The chicken saw me at the same time I saw it.

  Squawk!

  It was a pullet, a young chicken. I was just a young cat. It should’ve been a good match.

  But the chicken didn’t know that.

  I had claws, good jumping, and good dodging.

  The chicken had claws and a strong beak.

  It leaped at me.

  I twirled away and fell down.

  The pullet jumped. It aimed its claws at me.

  I rolled away. But that made me worry. My white coat would get dirty if I rolled a lot.

  “Grrrowl!” I’d promised the Director that I’d stay clean.

  The pullet struck out with its beak.

  That was too close!

  I didn’t like this. It was too dangerous.

  The pullet leaped again.

  I rolled again.

  The beak struck at me. Crazy chicken!

  I rolled again.

  “I surrender!” I screamed, “Cut! Cut! Cut!”

  Surrender means “I give up.”

  A groomer rushed in and grabbed the pullet.

  I looked down at my coat. The groomer stood there shaking his head.

  It was going to take all day to get me white again.

  The Director said nothing. He just flipped the switch, killing the lights. He didn’t look at me.

  He just walked away.

  I dropped to the ground and cried.

  I wasn’t a dress-up cat.

  I wasn’t a water cat.

  I wasn’t a food cat.

  I wasn’t a fighter cat.

  I was a nothing cat.

  Talk it Out: A Director-Actress Chat

  I sat in the Director’s office on the white mat.

  I wasn’t shaking in fear. I was mad.

  The Director said, “You’d be a great dress-up cat.”

  “No. I’d hate it. How do you act with a turban on? Or ballet shoes?”

  He paced in front of me. “Then you’ll keep on being a fraidy-cat. Everyone loves that.”

  “Except me. I want to be a Fight-cat,” I said.

  His eyes got big. His face wrinkled big. “Yowza. Fight what? Ferrets?”

  A popular KittyTube video this week was “Ferret v. Cat.” It featured Wesley Maine Coon, who was so big that the ferret didn’t have a chance.

  I shook my head. “No. I want a different kind of fight. Me against the world.”

  “Why?” the Director yelled. “You’re adding wrinkles to my skin every day, Angel.”

  I knew what he thought.

  I was white and couldn’t get dirty.

  I was small. My face was too sweet.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  Inside, I was quivering. But not outside. This time, I had to stand my ground. “It’s opposite of what you expect. That’s good. I’ll surprise everyone.”

  “How? I don’t even know how to do an ‘Angel v. The World’ video.”

  “We’ll figure it out. Together,” I said.

  The Director raised his face to the sky and yowled, “Yowzal!”

  I hoped that meant I’d get to fight.

  If we could figure out what that meant.

  Episode 10: Dominoes

  The mirrors said, “You look great.”

  I shivered and licked my fur. I had to look my best for a special group video.

  Miss Tanya brushed the hair on my back.

  “It’s a simple trick,” drawled Wesley Maine Coon. “We just stand there.”

  I knew the trick paws down. We’d worked on it three times in the mirror room. Wesley stood on one end, as the biggest cat. I stood at the other end, as the smallest cat. In between, the other cats stood in order of how big they were. Since she was a paw taller now, Jazz would stand beside me.

  A red laser light came on. It moved all around the room.

  We just watched the light.

  Stand there. Watch the light.

  That’s all I had to do.

  I reached my hind leg around and scratched under my chin. It was itchy today.

  “Five minutes,” called the Director. Today he smelled of peppermint candies. He wore a scarf around his scrawny neck.

  Wesley said, “The Director has a cold. He’ll be easy to please today.”

  I stretched. My ears twitched; I couldn’t make them stop.

  “Nervous?” Jazz asked. “It’s a live audience, but you can’t see the humans because they are behind the bright lights.”

  I just shrugged.

  “Just ignore the lights,” Jazz said. “Humans can’t see very well without them, poor dears.”

  “Oh,” I said. I always liked to know more about humans. After all, they were our viewers.

  “Quiet on the set!” the Director called.

  We joined the line of cats.

  But I was itchy. I gave my tail a quick lick. Really, it was quite messy today.

  Lights glared. I wanted to squint. But I had to keep my mixed eyes open.

  One by one, we strolled onto the table.

  Wesley went first. For this job, he only had to be tall. He looked like the king of the lions. The groomer had fluffed out his hair to look like a lion’s mane. I liked how his legs were so straight and tall.

  My ear itched. I tilted my head, but it still itched.

  Next came Kathleen Ragdoll. She was a tricolor ragdoll. Her videos always got plenty of views.

  Next came Daniel Siamese, Jazz’s tall brother. Then Jazz walked onto the table.

  Finally it was my turn. Slowly I walked onto the table and stood beside Jazz. I opened my eyes w-i-d-e. The camera looked at my mixed eyes.

  From beyond the lights, I heard calls.

  “Oh! That small one is so adorable.”

  “That big one is a monster!”

  “Makes you want to pet them all.”

  My ear itched. I started to pull my hind leg out, but Jazz hissed out of the side of her mouth, “Not now!”

  I tried to stand straight and tall, like Wesley.

  But the ear itched.

  The laser light came on. The others almost stood on tiptoe watching the red dot of light. It went right and left. I fought to be still. The team moved as one. We leaned right. We leaned left.

  But I was off.

  I needed to scratch.

  Kathleen and Wesley and the Director glared at me.

  I tried to ignore the itch.

  Beside me, Jazz stood on tiptoe. She loved the red light. Her head turned to watch it.

  I watched the red light too. I liked the red light. Really. But—my hind leg reached out by itself. It scratched my ear.

  But it didn’t reach my ear.

  Instead, my leg bumped Jazz.

  Just a teensy tiny bit. Really. But Jazz fell.

  When Jazz fell, she knocked into Daniel.

  Daniel pushed over Kathleen.

  Kathleen slammed into Wesley.

  Wesley. Big, sweet Wesley.

  He wavered. He tried to catch himself.

  For a moment, I thought he’d stand firm.

  But then he tumbled, head over heels.

  Of course, he landed on his feet. Even kittens know how to do that.

  The live audience was si
lent. Shock.

  Then the laughter started in low. And it started to grow.

  Wild laughter. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

  “Domino cats!” yelled someone.

  The live audience loved it!

  Wesley did not love it.

  He leaped up beside me. He towered over me.

  I shrank down.

  Wesley growled deep in his chest. “Grrrow!”

  I thought the Director would call, “Cut!” But the film kept rolling.

  Wesley turned slowly. He looked at the camera. He stood like the king of the beasts. He was in control of his everything.

  He glared down at me. I was just an ant in his path. He smiled a wide cat smile for the camera. Bending low, he faked licking me.

  He growled in my ear, “If you ever do that again…”

  I gulped.

  But Jazz was there, talking in my other ear. “Angel! Be a fight cat.”

  So then I got mad.

  No. I wasn’t a fraidy-cat any longer.

  MamaGrace’s words echoed in my mind: It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.

  I growled back. “Grrrow!”

  I reared up on my hind legs. I swatted at Wesley’s face.

  He pulled back. And fell.

  Boom!

  Instantly, he was on his feet again.

  “Yowza,” said the Director. “A disaster.”

  But MamaGrace said quietly, “Underdog cat.”

  As usual, MamaGrace had it right. They edited a separate video of me fighting with Wesley. It went viral.

  I was the new underdog cat. A totally new role for cats, created just for me. And my viewers.

  And the viewers clicked.

  And clicked.

  And clicked.

  And clicked.

  KA-ching!

  Top Kitten

  Stage 9, Majestic Kennels’ largest soundstage, was the best stage in Kittywood. Albert Persian usually taped on Stage 9. Some of the biggest hits had been filmed on Stage 9.

  On a sunny Saturday morning, the twenty-seven kittens in the Top Kitten competition crowded into the Stage 9’s greenroom. That’s the room where actors waited for their turn to be filmed. We were all weaned and living in dorms, so no mothers were allowed.

  Wide open, Stage 9 was an adaptable space with the best lights possible. A blank canvas, the Director could create anything on Stage 9.

  Today the Director would announce who was the Top Kitten. And then we’d all stay to film the public service announcement, or PSA, about Kitten Adoption Month. A PSA is a message in the public interest that is broadcast free. It might look like an advertisement. But the message is meant to raise public awareness about an issue. Our message would be to adopt a kitten.

  The only human in the greenroom was a short groomer. She sat on a stool, guarding the door to Stage 9. She smelled like rose-scented shampoo.

  “Quiet,” she called.

  But meows filled the room.

  Jazz and I walked around, saying hello to everyone.

  One ragdoll kitten chased his tail. He stopped, licked a paw, and said to no one, “Don’t you love Flash Feline? He’s so fast. I never get tired of watching him chase his tail.”

  I tilted my head and tried to remember. “Does he ever catch it? By the way, I’m Angel. This is Jazz.”

  “Everyone knows you two,” he said. “I’m Kirk.”

  My eyebrows went together in confusion. “Everyone knows us?”

  “Jazz is probably Top Kitten. And you’re in the top five. Of course everyone knows you.”

  Jazz’s eyes were shining with hope. “I can’t add up all the numbers. But I did have the top video of the week for four weeks straight.”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t add the numbers either. But I’d never had a top video. I couldn’t possibly win. And yet I still hoped that the numbers would surprise me. Foolish.

  Suddenly the door flung open. The Director filled the doorway. His large ears pointed upward. He came into Stage 9’s greenroom, followed by MamaGrace.

  At one end of the room was a tiny stage. They both stepped onto it so everyone could see them.

  “It’s time to announce the winners of the KittyTube competition,” the Director said.

  Pandemonium broke out. The clowder of kittens meowed, squeaked, and yowled. By now, most of the twenty-seven kittens knew they couldn’t win—just like me. But they still yelled, “Top Kitten! That’s me!”

  Watching, sadness weighed me down. It was like I had ten turtle shells on my back. I moved slowly. Quincy, PittyPat, and I hadn’t done enough. DaddyAlbert wouldn’t come home. On the stage, MamaGrace kept her face down. She knew the truth too.

  The Director said, “Third place goes to Quincy Persian.”

  PittyPat and I grabbed each other and spun in circles.

  Quincy proudly strode to the front and stood beside MamaGrace and the Director.

  “The first- and second-place winners were both amazing. In fact, there were only ten views separating first place from second place.”

  The kittens said, “Oooh!”

  “It was almost a tie.”

  “Oooh!”

  “The second-place winner never had a top video of the week. But overall, she was consistently in the top five. Second place goes to Angel Persian.”

  I was stunned. My views were the most consistent? I was only ten views short of first place?

  PittyPat was squealing. “We did it! Second place is $500. And Quincy wins $250 for third place. That’s enough. It’s enough for DaddyAlbert to come home.”

  Joy filled my heart, and Stage 9 seemed to blaze with golden light. We’d done it. DaddyAlbert could come home.

  In a daze, I stood beside my mother and brother on the stage. In a daze, I heard the Director announce that Jazz was Top Kitten. But it didn’t matter. Together, Quincy and I had done it.

  After the announcements, everyone milled around for a while. I found Jazz to congratulate her. Because Jazz was Top Kitten, the Director had invited her parents to be there.

  When I walked up, Jazz’s mother was talking. “I knew you’d make it,” she said. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Jazz hiccupped, and then tears ran down her cheeks.

  Joy filled me again that Jazz had won.

  I introduced myself to Jazz’s family. “I’m Angel Persian.”

  Mrs. Siamese’s eyes were large and dark. “Oh, I’m glad to meet you. Jazz talks about you all the time.”

  I was only ten views away from being Top Kitten. But I felt like a Top Kitten. I had a good friend, along with $500 in the bank, and MamaGrace was happier than I’d ever seen her. DaddyAlbert would come home soon.

  “But look out,” I told Jazz. “When there’s another competition, I’ll be out to win.”

  “Yeah. And you might win the next one,” Jazz said. “After all, you’re the underdog cat.”

  Finally the Director called, “Time to film the PSA.” He led everyone out onto Stage 9. For one last time, under the soft lights, we kittens would be innocents. We’d be helpless kittens calling out for someone to give us a home.

  The Director called out stage directions. “Jazz! Get up here.”

  She would lead the line of kittens for the PSA.

  “Angel and Quincy, as second- and third-place winners, you’ll be right behind Jazz.”

  My tail wobbled with excitement as I walked to my position.

  “Now,” the Director said, “I want the pale coats next. Then tricolors. Deep-colored coats last. You only have to do one thing. Heads up. Eyes at the camera. Walk slowly.”

  That sounded easy.

  The Director turned away, then whirled back. “Oh, one more thing. No one get ahead of Jazz. Stay a step behind her. She’s Top Kitten.”

  Walking behind Jazz, I realized I was truly happy for her. Her goal had always been Top Kitten. My goal had always been to bring DaddyAlbert home, and we had enough money for that. W
e had both won.

  The Director told us, “When Jazz gets to her X, then everyone stops. She’ll meow, sad and lonely. Then everyone will join in.”

  “Action!” called the Director.

  We strolled forward with our heads up. I walked straight ahead. Even though I wasn’t Top Kitten, I did the soul-connect thing with the camera. Behind me, the Kittywood kittens marched in step.

  We marched until Jazz found her X-marks-the-spot. We stood in ranks behind her.

  It was Jazz’s moment. “Mew, mew, mew.” She gave a quiet plea for help. “Meow. Eh!”

  Please, people, adopt a kitten. See how gentle and helpless we are. We need your help.

  We joined in, a chorus of kittens pleading for a home. “Meow.”

  “Cut,” called the Director. “Yowza! Great job!”

  The kittens crowded around Jazz, congratulating her.

  A few minutes later, the Director called into the speaker, “We have one more thing to do. Angel, Quincy, and PittyPat, come up here.”

  Quincy raised an eyebrow as a question, and PittyPat was hard to tear away from her friends. Finally we stood beside the Director.

  “I have a surprise for you,” the Director said.

  From somewhere, music blared. It was grand-entrance music. An entrance is when an actor or actress first comes into a story. A spotlight flashed on the side door to Stage 9. It opened.

  There stood a tortoiseshell Persian cat with a red and golden coat. He had golden eyes, golden eyebrows, a golden chin and a lovely gold streak down his face. He looked exactly as MamaGrace had described him.

  DaddyAlbert.

  My heart banged so hard, my chest hurt.

  MamaGrace dashed across the empty space to DaddyAlbert, and they embraced. Quincy knocked my head and bumped PittyPat with his shoulder. Then we ran to meet our daddy.

  He looked up. We stopped, not sure what to do.

  DaddyAlbert spoke with a deep, rich voice. “You must be PittyPat.”

  She stepped forward, eager, and he crushed her against his chest.

  “I’ve been watching you swim,” DaddyAlbert said. “ You really pull the audience in. Great job!”

  PittyPat beamed.

  I wondered if he’d watched any of my videos. Most of them were innocent roles. Would he think that I needed to grow up more?