Chapter Two:
What’s Better Than a Bath?
Pockets’s goggles won’t come off. They are tangled in his fur. We can’t even use scissors without worrying about poking him. I’m sure he has some kind of alien gadget hidden in one of his pockets that would fix it, but since Penny’s with us, he just has to wait for the groomer to deal with it.
He basically pouts and growls the whole way there in Dad’s taxi until Penny leans out of her car seat and starts to pet him. Then he starts to purr. She kisses him on the head and he rubs against her hand. Mom says Penny could charm the rattles off a snake.
Dad parks around the corner from the groomer’s. I unstrap Pockets and half drag, half carry him out of the car. Penny waves good-bye. “Have a nice bath!” Mom calls out her window. As soon as we’re out of sight of the car, Pockets springs from my arms. He grabs something the size of a pen from one of his pockets.
“Oomph!” Dad says, banging his face on what looks like thin air. He backs up, then reaches out with his hand to feel in front of him. I reach out, too. My hand hits what feels like a solid wall!
“What’s going on here?” Dad asks, knocking on the invisible surface.
I shake my head at Pockets as he casually slips his pen-like device back into a pocket. “Did you put up an invisible force field?”
Pockets doesn’t bother to deny it. “I certainly did! You never said anything about a bath. You know how I feel about water.”
Dad rubs his nose. “You’re making too big a deal about this. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“I do not need a bath!” Pockets insists. “I can clean myself just fine.” He proceeds to lick his arm repeatedly. Then he stops, coughs, and hacks up a slimy hairball. It plops onto the sidewalk at our feet.
We stare at it. Pockets’s cheeks turn red.
I rest my hand on his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want to do that in front of the next criminal you try to arrest.”
Pockets sighs. “Fine. I shall submit to the bath.” He begins emptying his pockets. One by one, he thrusts gadgets and gizmos of all sizes and shapes into our arms. Some things I recognize, like rope and a notebook and a compass. But most of it I don’t. I glance around to make sure no one on the street can see us.
“Aren’t your pockets waterproof?” Dad asks as our arms fill up.
“I don’t want to take any chances with your Earth water,” Pockets explains. “Who knows what’s in it. No offense, of course.” Finally, he pulls out two big black bags, and we stuff everything inside.
“The groomer will be very careful while giving you the bath,” Dad promises, hefting the bags over his shoulders. “They do this all day.”
“What?” Pockets asks, his eyes almost popping out of his face. “Someone GIVES ME THE BATH?”
“Of course,” Dad says. “That’s part of the groomer’s job.”
Pockets throws up his paws. “That’s it! I’m asking my father for a raise the next time I see him!”
He lets me pick him up without further complaint. This time there’s no force field keeping us from entering the groomer’s, but Dad walks with his hands out in front of us just to make sure.
“That’s one fluffy cat you have,” the groomer says as I plop Pockets on the counter. “Pockets Morningstar, right?”
“That’s right,” Dad replies. “He’s very excited to be here.”
Pockets flexes one paw, revealing five dagger-sharp claws.
The woman’s eyes widen. “We’ll be taking care of those, don’t you worry. We have special scissors for cutting nails.”
Pockets looks at me, his eyes pleading. He needs those claws to be the best police cat he can be.
“Um, maybe you shouldn’t clip his claws,” I tell the groomer. “He needs those to, you know, climb stuff.”
The woman frowns. “He doesn’t go outside in the city, does he? That’s very dangerous for a cat.”
I shake my head. “No, but he likes to, um, climb the curtains in our living room.”
She raises her eyebrows. “And you want him to continue doing that?”
Dad steps in now. “Oh, yes. We think it’s very good exercise. As you can see, he could stand to lose a few pounds.”
Pockets shoots Dad a look, and I allow myself a giggle.
“Suit yourself,” she says, and slides some forms across the counter for Dad to sign. “He’ll be ready in an hour. But you can pick him up anytime before five.” Then she scoops up Pockets and they disappear behind a curtain. A trail of white fur is all that’s left of him.
I don’t talk much on the way to the community center, where the indoor pool is located. I can’t help feeling kind of bad leaving him there while the rest of us are going to have fun swimming.
Only a few other families are at the pool. Dad tosses colorful plastic hoops into the deep end and I swim down and get them. I wish I could dive in, but I’ve never been able to do it without landing on my belly. Mom and Penny are splashing around in the shallow end. Penny loves putting her hand up to the water jets and laughs as the force of the water pushes her hand away. That girl may not talk, but she sure can laugh.
I join them for a few minutes, and Penny and I play a game to see who can keep their hand in front of the jet the longest. She always wins.
I swim back to the deep end. I can’t stop thinking about Pockets and how sad he looked. “Think he’s okay at the groomer’s?” I ask Dad as I hand a red hoop up to him.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Dad says. “You heard him. He’s had adventures all across the universe. He can handle getting a haircut.”
I’m about to swim under for the next ring when a blur running alongside the pool catches my eye.
The blur skids to a stop. Water and bubbles fly everywhere.
It’s Pockets! He’s still wearing Penny’s purple goggles. Soap bubbles cling to his fur in wet clumps. Dad grabs for the watch that he placed on the side of the pool, before Pockets can knock it into the water.
“I can’t believe it,” Dad says. “You broke out of the groomer’s?”
“How did you find us?” I ask, kind of impressed. I’m pretty sure no one told him the address of the pool.
Pockets does this head-to-tail shimmying thing. Soapy water flies out in all directions. His fur doesn’t look any shorter. “No time to explain, my good deputies. We’ve got a mission!”