Edith was right next to Stick Cat in a split second.
Together, they watched as Millie moved slowly out to the middle of that big puddle.
“No!” Edith and Stick Cat screamed in unison.
Now, if it was you or me, we would just step into that puddle and pull that log—and Millie—back to the grass.
But here’s the thing: you and I are not cats. Well, I know I’m not a cat anyway. I guess you could be a cat. You know, like maybe you’re a cat who likes to read books and that’s why we’re here together.
So, I guess we should find out.
Don’t worry. This won’t take long.
Okay, first go find a mirror. You know, in the bathroom or wherever.
Now look in the mirror. Do you have whiskers?
If you don’t, then you’re not a cat.
If you do have whiskers, then you might be a cat. Or I guess you could just be growing a really early mustache or something.
Anyway, let’s assume we’re both not cats. And, not being cats, we would just step into the puddle and retrieve Millie.
But here’s the problem.
Stick Cat and Edith are cats.
And cats HATE water.
A cat would rather jump off a skyscraper than dip a paw into some water. I don’t know why they don’t like water. Maybe it’s too cold or it messes up their fur or something. Whatever the reason, for this part of the story it’s important to know that cats avoid water as much as I avoid lima beans.
Lima beans are weird.
So when Edith and Stick Cat saw Millie in the water, there was no way they could just splash out there and get her. Their instincts wouldn’t allow them to do that.
They needed to think of something else.
“Okay, okay,” Stick Cat said as fast and as calmly as he could muster. “This puddle is really shallow. If she slips off that log, she’s big enough to just stand up. I don’t think the water would be much higher than her ankles. She also looks pretty secure on that log all spread out like that. But we still need to get her. We can do this. I don’t know how, but we can do this.”
Stick Cat and Edith stepped around the dry edges of that wet puddle. The log had drifted and bumped against that big rock in the middle and stopped. Millie obviously wasn’t going to just come drifting back, that was for sure.
While they tried to figure out a way to get her back, Millie was perfectly happy.
“She seems to be having a really good time,” Edith observed as she and Stick Cat paced around the puddle. “She’s talking a mile a minute.”
It was true. Millie babbled and giggled as her toes dipped into the cool water.
Stick Cat asked, “What’s she saying?”
“The usual,” answered Edith. “She’s remarking on my fabulous tail, finely coiffed fur, and overall smartness.”
“I see,” Stick Cat replied, and smiled. “I’m glad she’s having fun, but we really should figure out a way to get her back.”
“We could grab a bunch of boulders and throw them out into the water. You know, build a pathway out to her,” Edith suggested. “We’ve got a head start. There’s already one big rock out there in the middle.”
“Umm, once again you’ve come up with a really smart idea,” Stick Cat said. “But I don’t see any boulders around here.”
Edith was eager to come up with a strategy that would work.
“We could fish her out,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, get a fishing pole with a big hook at the end of the line,” Edith replied quickly.
“Umm—”
“We’d need to put some bait on the hook, of course. Something she really loves.”
“Bait? On the hook?”
“Yes, Stick Cat,” Edith said. “That’s how you go fishing. Fish like to eat big, juicy worms and fat flies and tasty bugs and stuff. So you put some of that on the hook, throw it in the water, and then the fish bites it and gets caught on the hook. Then you drag it in.”
“Edith, umm,” Stick Cat said. “We don’t have a—”
“Let me think, let me think,” Edith interrupted, and paced a bit. “She loves peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And macaroni and cheese. And edamame beans. And cucumbers. We can bait the hook with any of that stuff.”
“Edith, I don’t think—”
“Stick Cat,” Edith interrupted. “Do you have any peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, macaroni and cheese, edamame beans, or cucumbers with you?”
“No, Edith,” he answered quickly. “And we don’t have a—”
“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” Edith interrupted again. She seemed excited about something.
Stick Cat hoped that maybe another—more plausible—idea had popped into her head. They needed a plan that might actually work.
“What is it?” he asked. “What did you think of?”
“We need to bait the hook with something that she absolutely loves, Stick Cat. LOVES!”
“Umm—”
“She loves me, Stick Cat! Me!” Edith exclaimed and jumped into the air. “We need to bait the hook with me!”
“What?!” he asked. He wasn’t quite certain that he had heard her correctly.
“Quick! Get the fishing pole and the hook!” Edith said super-fast. “Then throw me toward Millie! She’ll grab me because she loves me so much and then you can reel us both in! Ba-Bam! Perfect plan!”
Stick Cat didn’t know what to say. Well, he knew what to say, he just didn’t know how to say it. He decided simplicity is best.
“Edith, we don’t have a fishing pole,” he said.
“No fishing pole?” asked Edith. She seemed honestly surprised.
“No,” Stick Cat said. “And I wouldn’t want you swinging on a hook anyway. You could slip and get stabbed or cut. Hooks are sharp!”
“They are?”
“Definitely,” Stick Cat responded, darting his eyes between the giggling Millie and the disappointed Edith. “And I couldn’t cast you out to Millie anyway. I’m not that strong.”
“You’re not?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should start working out, Stick Cat,” Edith suggested. “You know, do some push-ups in the morning perhaps. Maybe do some strength training. Really work your core.”
Stick Cat took a few—just a few—seconds then to himself. He looked down at his front paws, closed his eyes, and took a quiet, deep breath.
Upon raising his head and opening his eyes, Stick Cat said calmly, “You’re right, Edith. I will, umm, start working my core.”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
“And I’m sorry we don’t have a fishing pole.”
“It’s okay,” responded Edith.
“Millie’s still out there,” Stick Cat whispered.
“I see.”
Stick Cat jerked his head right and left, scanning the whole area for something—anything—they could use. There wasn’t much there—just that big rock in the middle of the puddle and some broken branches scattered about.
He looked toward Millie. She looked fine.
“Come on, come on,” Stick Cat whispered to encourage himself. “You can figure this out.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Edith, overhearing him.
“We need to get Millie back,” Stick Cat said. There was the tiniest hint of anxiety in his voice. “It makes me nervous to have her out of reach like this. I mean, I know she’s safe and everything. In fact, it looks like she’s totally happy. I just want to get her back—and get her home.”
“It might be best to stick to my plan,” Edith suggested.
“We don’t have a fishing pole,” reminded Stick Cat. “It’s not possible to—”
And then he stopped talking.
He didn’t stop talking because he was interrupted by Edith.
She didn’t say another word.
He stopped talking because Edith had sparked an idea.
“What did you say?” he asked urgently, whipping his head around to Edith.
“I said it might be best to stick to my plan,” she repeated.
He had it.
“‘To stick to my plan,’” he whispered. “To stick. Two sticks!”
“What in the world are you talking about?” asked Edith. “And why are you repeating everything I say? It gets on my nerves.”
“Two sticks!” Stick Cat exclaimed. “We need two sticks! You did it, Edith! We just need two sticks!”
Now, Edith definitely didn’t know what her best friend was talking about at all. But that didn’t matter. She was still happy to take credit for whatever it was.
“I really am quite clever,” she said.
“You are indeed!” Stick Cat yelled happily. He raced about the edge of that small meadow, pulling on broken branches. “We need two long, strong sticks!”
Edith helped him look.
Stick Cat took one second to eyeball Millie in the puddle. She was fine—and still giggling.
Edith found one stick.
And Stick Cat found another.
“What do we do now?” Edith asked. “You know these aren’t fishing poles, right?”
“Yes, I know,” Stick Cat answered. Then he instructed, “You stand close to the puddle.”
“I do?”
“Yes,” he said, and backed up several steps, dragging his stick. “It’s part of your brilliant plan.”
“Oh, yes,” Edith said. “Of course it is.”
Stick Cat moved even farther back, only stopping when he reached where the woods began. He looked at Edith, who was now positioned at the edge of the puddle.
“Now what?” Edith called.
“You push one end of your stick into the ground and hold it upright.”
Edith did exactly that.
“Now what?” she called again.
But Stick Cat couldn’t answer. His own stick was in his mouth.
He eyed that water—that water that all cats don’t like.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
He shuddered his shoulders—and then stiffened them.
He leaned back on his back legs.
He opened his eyes.
He saw the sunlight shimmer and shine on the water’s surface.
He clenched that long, strong stick in his mouth.
And Stick Cat ran as fast as he could toward Edith.
And jumped.
As high as he could.
