Chapter Seven:

A New Job

“Intergalactic Security Force officer Pilarbing Fangorious Catapolitus at your service,” the cat says, bowing to my father. “Sorry about stowing away in your trunk.” To me he says, “I am grateful for your aid, young Earth boy. You are very brave. I will see to it that you are well rewarded.”

I blush and finish gathering up the papers while the cat—whose name is way too long for me to remember—tells my dad the whole story. Dad agrees to bring the space cat and his captive to ISF headquarters.

The cat leads a red-faced and sneezing Mr. Fitch into the backseat and buckles him in. Then he nudges him with the tip of his pink nose and Mr. Fitch immediately falls into a deep sleep. That’s a handy trick! Maybe I could use that on Penny when she wants to play one more game of pretend-Archie-is-a-horsie.

“How are you holding up?” Dad asks me as we strap ourselves in.

“I’m fine. You know, just a regular day. I copilot a space taxi, almost float off a planet, talk to a cat, help catch a criminal. And all before breakfast!”

He laughs. “It’s not over yet.”

As I smooth out my map, I ask, “Hey, can the cats on Earth talk, too?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Only the ones from Friskopolus, otherwise known as the Cat Planet. That’s where we’re headed now.”

Dad tells me the coordinates, and I ask the map to show me Friskopolus. Lines shoot out from the image of the little taxi and I quickly plan out the route. I don’t want to brag, but I’m getting good at this. I whisper “thank you” to the map, and it almost seems to quiver a bit in response. Then again, I haven’t slept in a really long time.

“So, Cat,” Dad says once we’re on our way, “how did you know Fitch was headed here?”

The cat pauses from cleaning behind his ear with his paw to answer. “I’ve been tracking him for months. Following him in my own police car would have been much too suspicious. I’d given up hope until you two came along and I saw my chance. I won’t forget you and what you’ve done to help bring peace to the universe.”

“We won’t forget you, either,” I say. “Um, what was your name again?”

“Pilarbing Fangorious Catapolitus,” the cat replies.

I glance at Dad. He shrugs.

I turn back to the cat. “That’s a big name for a little cat. Or even a big cat, like you. Do you have a nickname?”

The cat shakes his head.

“Okay. How about I call you… Mr. Bubbles!”

The cat frowns, which is something space cats must be able to do.

“Fluffy?”

He narrows his eyes at me.

“Hmm. You probably won’t like Snowball, then.”

The cat growls.

Dad and I laugh. “Just kidding,” I say. “I’ll try to come up with a really good name for a space police cat.”

I sit back and enjoy watching all the stars glitter around us like billions and billions of fireflies. It might be years before I get to see this view again. Maybe when I grow up, I could get a job with Dad. That would be so awesome.

Mr. Fitch’s snoring from the backseat is actually kind of soothing.

I hear a rustling behind me and turn to look. The cat is digging around in his fur pockets. He pulls out a pair of dark sunglasses and slips them on.

“That’s it!” I shout. “I’ll call you Pockets!”

The cat shrugs. “That is acceptable.”

“What else have you got in there?” I ask, peering over the seat.

“Ah, the question should be what don’t I have in there.” He lifts his shades with one paw and winks at me.

I smile and turn back around. I can see from the map that we’re about to reach the planet’s atmosphere. A few minutes later our wheels touch down on a busy landing field behind Intergalactic Security Force headquarters. Spaceships and space police cars of all different shapes and sizes are landing and taking off.

We are met by two giant cats wearing official ISF badges around their necks. They place a groggy Mr. Fitch onto the back of a little buggy and drive away with him.

Dad and I follow Pockets into the main building. I have to step over large bowls of water and dishes of cat food scattered across the floor. Little robotic mice dart between our legs. The walls are made of yarn. Cats even bigger and fluffier than Pockets are happily eating, licking their paws, chasing fake mice and each other, and scratching the walls. Some are doing this while holding clipboards or talking on the phone.