Billy and the Hoove sat on the floor by the cardboard box for a long while, watching Stormy take care of her brand-new kittens. They were so tiny and weak, but even though their eyes were closed, they still were able to snuggle up right next to their mom.
“So I guess this explains why Stormy was so fat,” Billy said.
“Plump,” the Hoove corrected. “And might I mention, you would be, too, if you had three whole animals inside your belly.”
“I’m going to tell my mom and Bennett,” Billy said, but the Hoove shook his head.
“Let’s name them first. I think we should call the gray one Thunder, the white one Lightning, and the spotted one Raindrop.”
“That’s pretty weather oriented, Hoove.”
“Well, her name is Stormy, so if you ask me, I think it’s perfectly appropriate.” He reached out and stroked the little white one, who squeaked like a tiny mouse. “Although maybe I should name this one Penelope, after my goat. She looks like a Penelope.”
“Hoove,” Billy said gently. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea to name the kittens.”
“Why not? We can’t just keep calling them Hey You.”
“Well, when you give something a name, you get more attached to it, and then when we have to give them away, we’re going to feel really bad.”
The Hoove’s head actually spun around three times on his neck.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “What you just said made my head spin. Why do we have to give them away?”
“Well, for one thing, Breeze is allergic to cats.”
“Fine, we’ll give Breeze away.”
“We can’t have four cats here. That’s just crazy. There’d be cats running all over. And there’d be no one home to take care of them. It wouldn’t be responsible of us to keep them if we can’t take good care of them.”
The Hoove got up and started pacing around the room.
“Responsibility,” he grumbled. “That word just won’t leave me alone. It’s getting on my nerves.”
The Hoove floated back over to the kittens and leaned down to stroke their heads. Then he sighed a big, ghostly sigh, flew to the closet, and went inside, slamming the door behind him.
“You okay?” Billy asked through the door.
“It just stinks, that’s all. Go get your parents. Do what you have to do.”
Billy went and got the rest of the family. His mom and Bennett were thrilled to see the new kittens, and even Breeze said they were pretty cute … until she got a sneeze attack so bad she nearly blew herself down the hall.
“I was hoping we could keep them,” Billy said to his mom and Bennett, even though he knew what the answer would be.
“They can stay with us until they’re old enough to leave their mother,” Mrs. Broccoli-Fielding said. “That will be about six weeks. Then we’ll try to find them good homes.”
“Couldn’t we just keep Penelope?” Billy begged.
“Who’s Penelope?” Bennett asked.
“The white one. She’s named after someone very special.”
Billy’s mom reached out and gave him a hug.
“You’re a sweet boy, Billy Broccoli. And you’ve got a big heart. I love that about you. We’ll tell whoever gets her that her name is Penelope.”
When his parents left, Billy went to the closet and opened the door. The Hoove was lying on the top shelf, just staring up at the ceiling.
“I tried, Hoove,” Billy said.
“Yeah, I heard.”
“At least we can have them for six weeks. They’ll have to stay in our room because of Breeze, so you can have lots of time to hang out with them.”
“Would you mind closing the door?” the Hoove said. “I’m thinking here. No offense, but you’re blocking my brain waves.”
Billy closed the door and got ready for bed. After he brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas, he went to the box to check on the kittens one more time. All three were cuddled up against Stormy, and she was licking them from head to tail. Billy turned out the lights, got in bed, and fell asleep to the sound of Stormy’s happy purring.
Even though the next day was Sunday, Billy woke up early. There was a commotion in his room, and he rubbed his eyes to focus on the Hoove hunched over his desk, deeply engrossed in some kind of art project. There were large sheets of paper laid out all over the floor, and every one of Billy’s markers was spread over the desk top.
“What’s going on, Hoove?”
“Making signs,” the Hoove answered. “If we have to do this, I’m going to see to it that we do it right.”
He picked up one of the sheets of paper and held it up for Billy to see. It said:
FREE KITTENS!
ONLY AVAILABLE TO GOOD, LOVING HOMES!
WE MEAN IT!
The signs were written in different colors, with drawings of cute little cats around the edges.
“I thought about this all night,” the Hoove explained while he completed a cat border in navy blue. “We’ll plaster the neighborhood with these signs. People will come and check out the kittens, which will give us time to observe them and pick the best families. I don’t want my kittens going to just anyone, you know.”
When Billy showed the signs to his parents, they were very pleased.
“This is an extremely responsible thing to do,” his mother said.
“How about if I get out my trusty, surefire staple gun,” Bennett said, putting a supportive hand on Billy’s shoulder. “We can go out and staple these up around the neighborhood. And, Bill, as a special reward for your responsibility, I’ll let you squeeze the staple gun trigger. Trust me, it’s a thrill.”
“I wish I could bring a friend,” Billy said, feeling a little guilty about getting all the credit for something the Hoove had done.
“Your friend can come along,” Bennett said. “When it comes to stapling, the more the merrier, I always say.”
“Thanks, Bennett, but he can’t come. He’s grounded.”
Billy and Bennett went on a staple-gunning extravaganza and within an hour, the FREE KITTENS signs were posted all over the neighborhood — on their block, in the supermarket parking lot, at the park, even in the window of Fur ’N Feathers. By afternoon, there were at least ten people who had lined up to see the kittens. They waited in the living room, while Billy brought them into his bedroom one at a time. The Hoove sat on the window with a clipboard, taking notes. The first person to arrive was Amber Brownstone.
“Oooohhh, they’re such cuties,” she squealed. “I want one.”
“No way,” the Hoove said. “She might be okay, but I won’t have one of my kitties in the same house as her mutant brother.”
He wrote down A. Brownstone and made a check in the NO box on his list.
Mrs. Pearson from the house on the corner was the next to arrive. She immediately bent down and tickled the spotted kitty under the chin.
“Oh, you look just like the cat I had when I was a little girl,” she cooed. “How I loved my little Speckles.” Billy noticed tears at the corners of her bright blue eyes. “I’d love for that little darling to come live with me. I’d name him Speckles Two.”
Billy looked over at the Hoove.
“I’m liking this,” he said. “Plus, she’s got a good location at the corner of the block. Perfect for visitation rights.”
The gray cat went to Hugo, who ran the taco stand. He said it was his daughter Maria’s sixth birthday in a month, and the thing she wanted most was a cat.
“Thunder will make an excellent birthday present,” the Hoove said, checking the YES box on his list. “And we know he’ll always be well fed if Hugo brings home leftovers from the fish tacos.”
That left the white cat, Penelope. The Hoove rejected three people in a row. The Schwartz family was moving to San Diego in a month, and the Hoove thought that was too far away. Fred Park lived in a one-room apartment and the Hoove didn’t like the idea of Penelope being cooped up. The O’Donnell family was perfect, except they insisted on naming her Fiona after their Irish grandmother and that was a deal-breaker for the Hoove.
The fourth person to apply for the white cat was none other than Daisy Cole herself, the owner of Fur ’N Feathers. The minute she saw the little white kitten, she let out a high-pitched shriek.
“Oh, if she isn’t the sweetest thing in the world,” she squeaked. “I’ll take her and bring her to the shop.”
Billy looked over at the Hoove, who shook his head no. “She’ll sell her,” he said, “and that’s definitely not okay with me.”
“I’m sorry,” Billy said to Daisy. “We don’t want to sell Penelope. We want to find her a good home.”
“Penelope!” Daisy said. “What a perfect name for her. And I have no intention of selling her. She’ll stay with me at the store during the day, and go home with me and Robert at night.”
“Who’s this Robert character?” the Hoove asked suspiciously.
“Robert’s a parrot,” Billy said.
“Why, yes, dear, I know that,” Daisy said. “And a very musical one at that.”
Billy glanced at the Hoove, who was holding his pencil in midair, thinking.
“She wouldn’t be lonely, that’s for sure,” he said. “And she might enjoy a retail environment.”
When Daisy explained that Penelope could play on the Tower of Power cat gym she kept in the shop, the one with a tower, a rope, and a cave, that sealed the deal for the Hoove.
“The Hoove’s Rule Number Sixty-One,” he said, nodding. “A proper exercise regime is essential for good health and good looks.”
He checked the YES box, and Billy told Daisy that she could pick up Penelope as soon as she was ready to leave her mother. They had found homes for all three kittens.
For the next four weeks, the Hoove barely left Billy’s room. He brought Stormy fresh water and bowls of milk. He changed the newspaper in her box. He made little toys for the kittens out of socks and shoelaces and feathers. Day by day, the kittens grew and prospered. They learned to see and to walk. They didn’t seem to mind one bit that the Hoove was a ghost. When he petted them, they’d rub up against his nonexistent finger and purr. Maybe it was the orangey scent they liked. Maybe it was the cool breeze that surrounded his hand. Or maybe they could feel a loving presence in their midst.
On Monday of the fourth week, Billy was in his room doing homework after school while the Hoove was playing with the kittens, bouncing a Ping-Pong ball against the wall and watching them bounce up and down along with it. There was a knock on the door, followed by Breeze barging in. She was holding her nose.
“Your mom asked me to give you this,” she said, handing Billy a white envelope. “It was on the kitchen counter.”
“Why are you holding your nose?” Billy asked.
“Because if I don’t, I’ll do this.” Letting go of her nose, she produced a sneeze so loud it almost shook the roof off.
“Here,” Billy said, handing her an entire box of Kleenex. “Sounds like you could use these.”
“By the way,” Breeze said, blowing her nose vigorously. “It says Hoover on the front of that envelope. Your mom says that’s your nickname from the baseball team.”
“It is.”
“Then how come no one ever calls you that?”
“Oh … well … um … it used to be my nickname. Hoover the Mover. We’ve changed it.”
“To what? Rufus the Doofus?”
“The door’s that way,” Billy said. “Don’t forget to use it.”
Breeze sneezed her way out, making a giant dent in the Kleenex box before she even reached her room. Billy brought the envelope over to the Hoove and stood next to him while he opened it. The page inside was blank at first, then suddenly, there was a flash of fireworks and the room filled with smoke. When the smoke cleared, Billy watched in amazement as giant French fries, the size of baseball bats, floated out of a transparent bag that seemed to glow blue, green, and lavender.
Billy poked the Hoove in the ribs.
“French fries,” he whispered. “That’s a positive sign.”
“You never know with these guys,” the Hoove answered.
He waited nervously as the French fries floated out of the bag and formed themselves into letters midair. It seemed to take forever, but then, French fries have never been known to move quickly. Finally, the message was complete. It said:
RESPONSIBILITY:
EXCELLENT PROGRESS. KEEP IT UP.
P.S. YOU ARE UNGROUNDED.
Billy jumped up and down and clapped his hands as the French fried letters disappeared into the cosmos.
“You did it, Hoove! Without even trying. You became responsible.”
“Just from taking care of the kittens?” asked the Hoove. He was as amazed as Billy.
“Sure. No one in the world, living or dead, could have looked after Stormy and those three little guys better than you. You never left their side. But now you can!”
“I can go out into the world and strut my stuff,” the Hoove said, automatically smoothing back his hair and flexing his biceps. “Look out, Earthlings. Here I come.”
Without another word, he zoomed out through the window. Throwing himself into hyperglide, he whizzed around the neighborhood, dipping and diving through the air with his newfound freedom. He somersaulted across Moorepark Avenue, slalomed around telephone poles, and cruised over treetops. In less than thirty seconds, he was back at Billy’s house, and came whooshing in the window like a rocket.
“That was fast,” Billy said. “Don’t you want to stay outside for a while and do anything you want?”
“You mean like tickling Brownstone behind the ear so he bats himself in the head like he’s got an itch he can’t scratch?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Already did that. It was fun, but not as much fun as this.”
“As what, Hoove?”
“Staying right here, taking care of Stormy and the mittens, doing just what I’ve been doing. Truth is, there’s nothing better.”
And settling down on the floor next to the cardboard box, Hoover Porterhouse III reached out for Stormy and her kittens, rubbing their heads, scratching their ears, and happily listening to them purr.
It was music to his nonexistent ears.