At last, Billy gave up and walked reluctantly to the kitchen. He dreaded the lecture he was sure to get from his mom and Bennett. It wasn’t his fault that the goat situation had gotten so out of control, but he had a bad feeling he was going to get punished anyway. If they made him pay for the damage done to the Brownstones’ backyard, he’d have no allowance until he was thirty-seven years old.
He found his parents huddled near the back door. Bennett was holding a cardboard box and his mom was looking at something inside. They didn’t even glance up when he walked in, so he decided to launch into his own defense before they had a chance to accuse him.
“Hey, guys, I’m sorry about the goat incident. But I think we can all agree that I’m not actually responsible for what happened out there,” he said.
“We’re going to have to discuss a suitable consequence for your irresponsible behavior,” his mom said.
Billy tried to read his mom’s expression as she turned to him. Was this the face of an angry woman who was about to take away his allowance forever? Billy held his breath, waiting to hear what his punishment was going to be. But oddly enough, she changed the subject.
“Come see what we’ve found” was all she said.
Billy walked over and looked in the box. Inside was the gray-and-white cat with a pink nose and long white whiskers, the same one he had seen hiding in the hedges the day that Berko escaped. Since then, Billy had noticed that cat wandering around the neighborhood, licking itself on the branch of a tree or poking around for tuna fish cans on trash pickup day. No one knew who it belonged to, so everyone on the block just assumed it had been orphaned or left behind by a family who moved away. People were definitely feeding it regularly because it was plenty fat, especially around the middle.
“What’s that cat doing here?” he asked.
“When the goats were on their rampage, she must have gotten very frightened,” Bennett answered. “We found her hiding under the patio table on our porch, shaking like a leaf.”
“Poor, sweet thing,” Billy’s mom added. “She looks so nervous. I’m sure she’s never seen goats before.”
“Which leads us to the discussion of consequences,” Bennett said. “We need to discuss the goat fiasco.”
Billy took a deep breath and prepared to hear his punishment.
“We’re not angry with you, Bill,” Bennett went on. “But we do feel that you need to demonstrate more responsibility toward the animal kingdom. You didn’t anticipate the problems those goats could face, and as a result, you put those two fine animals at risk.”
Billy’s mom nodded, getting that principal look on her face — the one that says, “I understand what you’re going through, but someone has to be the adult here and that someone is me.”
“Bennett and I have what we believe is a great idea. We think you should look after this cat until she feels better,” she said. “That would show us that you’ve come to understand how much we humans need to take care of our animals, whether they be goats or scared little cats.”
“You mean scared big cats,” Billy corrected. “That is one humongous feline in there.”
“It’s not nice to make fun of anyone’s size,” Billy’s mother said sternly. “Besides, the goats you brought into the neighborhood disrupted this cat’s life. You owe it to her to offer comfort and support.”
“For how long, Mom?”
“At least until she’s back to her old self.”
“So taking care of her is my punishment?”
“It’s an opportunity to practice responsibility,” she said.
Bennett reached out and placed the cardboard box in Billy’s arms. The cat looked up at Billy and let out a not-too-friendly meow.
“Be sure to keep her in your room with the door closed,” Bennett said. “Breeze is highly allergic to cat dander. If that cat is free to wander the house, we’ll have a mucus situation on our hands that no amount of Kleenex can handle.”
There was really nothing more to say after that, so Billy took the box and headed to his room. He did stop in front of the door to Breeze’s room on the way and lingered with the cat box, just to annoy her. He could hear her sneezing as he continued down the hall to his room.
“Hey, Hoove,” he called out once he had kicked the door closed. “Come on out. We have a visitor.”
There was no answer. Apparently, the Hoove was still sulking in the closet, so Billy got busy making a temporary home for the cat. He took her out of the cardboard box and lifted her onto a worn-out plaid flannel pillow he had brought home from Silver Arrow sleepaway camp. After giving her a bowl of water to drink and one of his many unpaired gym socks to play with, he settled down on the floor next to her.
“So what’s your name?” he asked, giving her a little scratch behind the ear.
“Sssssssssssssss,” the cat hissed.
“Starts with an S. Snoopy? Snowflake? Sassafras? Stinky? Stormy?”
The cat hissed again.
“Okay,” Billy said. “Stormy it is. So tell me, Stormy, how’d you get so fat? Or should I say plump? No offense, but you could maybe up your cardio workout.”
Stormy didn’t understand the content of Billy’s speech, but she did seem to respond well to his gentle tone of voice. As Billy continued scratching her head and talking softly to her about baseball and school and video games, she gradually started to relax. She stopped trembling and although she was not what you’d call friendly, she didn’t seem horribly fearful any longer. Billy was exhausted from the excitement of the day, and before long, he nodded off with Stormy curled up on the pillow next to him.
“Hey, Billy Boy! It’s gotten quiet out there. Too quiet, if you ask me.”
When Billy didn’t answer, Hoover floated through the closet door and into the middle of the room, not noticing Billy and Stormy asleep on the floor.
“Hey, Billy, where’d you go?” he called out.
Billy awoke with a jolt, not because of the sound of Hoover’s voice, but because of the sudden change in Stormy’s position. The cat was no longer curled up contentedly next to him, but was standing on all four paws, her back arched and her mouth open, exposing all her teeth. The hair on her back stood straight up.
“Relax, Stormy,” Billy said. “That’s just the Hoove. He’s your new friend.”
Stormy didn’t agree. She let out a long, low hiss and sprang through the air, aiming her body directly at the Hoove. Her ears lay flat against her head and her claws were out. If Hoover had been a real person, she would have landed smack on his chest. But since he was a ghost, she flew right through him and landed on the curtains covering Billy’s window. Hissing and growling and showing her teeth, she clutched onto the curtains, never taking her green eyes off the Hoove.
“She’s really sweet,” Billy said. “Reach out and pet her.”
“No way, Billy Boy. In case you hadn’t noticed, cats hate me. And I’m not a big fan of fur balls, either.”
“But this is Stormy. She’s going to stay here in my room.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s my room.”
“Anyway, you and Stormy are going to grow to love each other, I just know it.”
The Hoove looked over at the cat dangling from the curtains, batting the air with her outstretched claws and baring her razor-sharp teeth. This sure didn’t look like love to him.
“Hey,” he said to Stormy. “Looks to me like somebody’s been going hog wild on the cat chow. They should change your name to Jelly Belly!”
“She’s not fat,” Billy said. “She’s plus-size.”
“Let’s call it like it is, pal. That cat looks like she swallowed a cow. Maybe the whole herd.”
Just for emphasis, the Hoove puffed himself up with air until he, too, looked like he had swallowed a cow. Stormy’s eyes grew wide with terror. She arched her back again, twitched her tail aggressively, and snarled at the Hoove.
“That does it,” he said. “The cat leaves now. End of discussion.”
“She can’t leave,” Billy said. “My parents say I have to look after her, to prove to them that I can be responsible to others.”
“Sounds familiar,” the Hoove said. “All too familiar.”
“It’s my punishment for letting the goats run wild in Mrs. Brownstone’s garden.”
“Aw, my heart breaks for you.”
The Hoove raised his arms like he was pretending to play a sad song on the violin. The sudden movement alarmed Stormy, who leapt from the curtains onto Billy’s bed and immediately assumed an attack position.
“Okay, okay. Don’t get your tail in a twist,” the Hoove said. “I wasn’t coming after you. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
“Try petting her,” Billy said. “She’s had a bad scare, so she needs a little love.”
There was a knock on the door and since no one came barging in, Billy knew it wasn’t Breeze.
“Bill,” Bennett called from the hall. “We’re about to sit down to dinner. Leave the cat in her box and join us.”
“No, thanks, Bennett. I think I’ll skip dinner.”
“It’s pot sticker night. You have to come right now or the dumplings will actually stick to the pot.”
“I’m really not too hungry, Bennett.”
“This isn’t about eating, Bill. This is about quality family time. Engaging in the fine art of conversation. Now hurry up.”
Billy turned to the Hoove, who was still hovering in the middle of the room. He and Stormy were in a standoff, each glaring at the other.
“Are you two going to be okay?” he asked.
“How do I know? All the cat does is stare, like it’s watching air move.”
“I’ll eat fast and be back as soon as I can. I’ll bring a treat for Stormy.”
“Better make it something low calorie,” the Hoove said. “Very low. She doesn’t need any more poundage or we’re going to have to push her around in a wheelbarrow.”
After Billy left, the Hoove floated slowly over to Billy’s desk and draped himself over the chair, never taking his eyes off Stormy. Stormy stared back.
“So what’s up with you and me?” the Hoove finally said, having realized you can’t stare down a cat. “We can be friends or enemies, you take your pick.”
Stormy cocked her head and listened carefully to Hoove’s voice.
“You can hate me, but you’d be the only one,” he went on. “Come on, I look good. I smell good. And if you like citrus, I’m your guy. Oh, and I tell a good joke. Ever hear the one about …”
Stormy squinted her green eyes at the Hoove.
“Okay, I’ll save that one for later.”
Stormy’s ears stood at attention. She must have sensed that the Hoove was in a friendlier mood, because her body relaxed a little. Even her tail stopped twitching up and down and started moving side to side.
“But, hey, I can’t resist a good cat joke,” the Hoove said, putting his hands behind his head and thinking. “You’re going to love this one. What does a cat like to eat on a hot day? You give up? A mice cream cone!”
The Hoove let out a laugh, and Stormy’s ears really perked up. She stretched to her full length, letting the tension out of her body, and meowed.
“All right, I detect a little progress,” the Hoove went on. “Okay, here’s another winner. Did you hear about the cat that swallowed a ball of wool? She had mittens.”
The Hoove laughed again, and this time, Stormy purred softly.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” the Hoove said. “This next one’s going to have you meowing up a storm. Or maybe I should say meowing up a stormy. The Brownstone creep would like it, too, although I hope you never have to encounter that bag of wind. Here goes. How do cats keep law and order?”
Stormy stared at the Hoove. It wasn’t a hostile stare like before, but a curious one.
“Claw enforcement!”
The Hoove howled with laughter and this time, Stormy sprang off the bed and jumped into his lap. She snuggled up next to him and lay her head down on his nonexistent knee.
“Whoa, look at us,” the Hoove said, giving her a chilly pet down the length of her back. “Aren’t we getting cozy?”
Stormy shivered as Hoover stroked her, but stayed exactly where she was, purring happily.
Out in the kitchen, dinner was taking much longer than Billy expected. It was a Chinese meal, and Bennett insisted that everyone use chopsticks to eat. He was quite good at using them since he had developed excellent fine-motor skills picking plaque off people’s teeth. Billy and Breeze, on the other hand, spent almost an hour stabbing at their dumplings with their chopsticks and only succeeded in sending them flying off their plates and across the table. Three times Billy asked if he could be excused, and three times his mother said no.
The Hoove didn’t care that dinner was a long affair. He had stopped counting the minutes until Billy’s return. He sat contentedly on the chair, just stroking Stormy’s back and listening to her purr. He felt peaceful. Even the sting of never getting to say good-bye to Grady and Beatrice didn’t feel so bad when Stormy was on his lap. He could have gone on like that for hours.
But after awhile, Stormy became less content. Her purring, which had been soft and gentle, became louder and faster.
“What’s wrong, Storms? A tornado coming?” the Hoove asked, looking a little concerned.
Stormy jumped from his lap onto the floor. She paced around the room nervously until she found the newspaper sports section, which Billy kept by his bed. She pounced on that newspaper like it was a tasty mackerel and started to tear it into strips.
“What’s gotten into you?” the Hoove asked. “I’ve heard of reading the sports section, but shredding it seems a little extreme — and that’s coming from a sports fan.”
He bent down to pick Stormy up, but she resisted him. Picking up the shreds of paper in her mouth, she carried them in little piles over to the cardboard box and dropped them inside.
“You’re not a bird,” the Hoove said to her. “So why are you building a nest?”
When the bottom of the box was covered, Stormy let out a loud, urgent purr and got inside. The Hoove sat down next to the cardboard box to watch her. He waited and watched, and within five minutes, he knew why Stormy was building a nest. She was having kittens.
The Hoove’s eyes grew as big as flying saucers.
“Hey, wait a minute!” he yelled. “You’re having mittens! I mean kittens! You can’t do that! I don’t know the first thing about delivering mittens … kittens … little cats.”
But Stormy didn’t need the Hoove’s help. Her motherly instincts were perfect, and she knew just what to do. One by one, she delivered her babies, and when it was all over, there were three little kittens in the box, a gray one, a spotted one, and a white one.
The Hoove reached out and petted their wet, newborn heads.
“Hey, little fellows,” he said softly. “Welcome to the world.”
Stormy reached out and licked his nonexistent hand with her sandpapery tongue. By the time Billy came back from dinner, the Hoove was grinning from ear to ear, like a proud new father.
“Billy,” he said. “I have amazing news.”
“You got ungrounded?” Billy guessed.
“Even better,” the Hoove answered, his voice full of emotion. “We have mittens!”