Ali let loose a plaintive meow.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” Taylor cooed.
“There’s a cat in the bathroom?” Emily sounded incredulous.
“It’s so cute!” said Taylor. “I’m going to try to catch it.” She began to wriggle her way into the stall. Frantic, Ali jumped from her perch and slipped under the metal wall.
“It’s in the next stall!” Emily shouted.
Taylor began to crawl backward, bumping her head. “Ouch! Grab it!”
“I’m not grabbing that cat!”
“You have to! It must be lost!”
Their gym teacher, Ms. Morton, stuck her head in the bathroom. “What’s all the yelling?”
Ali saw her chance and slipped between Ms. Morton’s legs. The teacher gave a startled screech. Ali needed to get out of this building—fast. But how?
“There’s a cat in the school!” someone shouted.
A hand reached for Ali. She veered left. She had to get away before she could turn back into herself. She ran on, but came to a sudden stop when Ms. Ryder came around the corner, dangling something that smelled awfully good.
Ms. Ryder crouched and extended an open palm. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” Ali wanted to run away, but she couldn’t. As Ms. Ryder drew closer, she understood why: Ms. Ryder held a piece of turkey. Ali took a deep sniff and slunk closer. As she leaned in for a bite, Ms. Ryder scooped her up. “Naughty kitty!” she cooed.
Principal Birchwood stepped out of her office. “Ms. Ryder, why do you have a cat?”
“The poor thing must have slipped into the building,” said Ms. Ryder. “I was about to put it outside.”
Principal Birchwood sniffed. “Do so right now. I’m allergic to cats, and my asthma will be out of control.”
As they made their way to the nearest entrance, kids begged Ms. Ryder to let them pet Ali, which was kind of nice but also kind of creepy. Ms. Ryder pushed the door open with her back and set Ali down. “Go home, kitty. Thanks for visiting Princess Elizabeth School.” She closed the door, and Ali was alone.
For a brief moment, Ali considered turning back to herself. But someone might see her and make her go back to school. There was no way she was doing that. She could never face Emily again. She would go home and try to convince her parents to homeschool her. But to do that, she’d have to stay a cat.
Until this moment, Ali had believed cats had it easy: they went where they wanted to go, caught the odd mouse, curled up in sunny windows for long naps, were fed and petted by adoring owners. She was wrong. She was outside Princess Elizabeth School for all of three minutes when some boy she didn’t recognize tried to grab her. She wiggled free, scratching him in the process, and raced off. Right into the parking lot, where Vice Principal Campbell, who was just pulling her massive truck into her parking space, almost ran her over. But Ali the cat was fast; she flung herself under the next car.
She hadn’t reckoned on the sensory overload. The sound of Vice Principal Campbell slamming her truck door was the rumble of an earthquake. A screeching seagull was fingernails on a chalkboard. Her hiding place was a sickening blend of motor oil, asphalt, and already-chewed gum. Her eyes were magical; even in the dim light she could see ants scurrying by, the miniscule writing on a balled-up fast-food wrapper, the movement of a tiny mouse six cars over. And though her cat instincts were desperate to chase the mouse, she held herself in check. There was only one objective: home.
She crawled out from underneath the car. What was the best way home? Her normal route was straightforward: a residential neighborhood, followed by a shopping plaza, more businesses, a couple of churches, a few busy intersections, and then Douglas Avenue. It was easy for someone in seventh grade, but for a cat it seemed impossible. Still, what choice did she have? It wasn’t like she could call home and meow for help. But after the first car roared past her, she decided to alter her route and go through backyards instead.
ALI’S FELINE FOUR
It was a good idea until house number four, where she encountered an enormous sleeping Rottweiler. She’d almost made it to the opposite fence when he opened an eye and, in a flash, was on his feet and headed straight for her, teeth bared. The only way out was up, so Ali hurled herself at the fence, digging her claws into the cedar planks until she was within jumping distance of an overhanging branch. She froze. Would it hold her? But the warm stinky breath of the Rottweiler as it sprang ever closer convinced her to try. She leapt.
There was a dreadful creak when she landed, followed by a horrible crack as the branch broke away. She leapt again, and though she missed the tree trunk, her momentum propelled her forward, and she landed in a prickly holly bush on the other side of the fence from her attacker.
Even though she was scratched and bleeding, Ali was ecstatic. She was alive! And surprised. When she’d practiced turning into animals or people before, she’d only stayed like them for a couple of minutes. Now, fifteen minutes into her Ali the cat transformation, she realized she hadn’t taken enough time to experience what it was like to be someone else before. Being a cat was fun! The heightened senses. How easy it was to jump and climb. It was like she was born to be a cat. No wonder Digger was a dog so often. There was something freeing about being an animal that wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Maybe that was the solution: stay a cat forever.
But first she needed to get home. It was time to return to her usual route. Except that was even more dangerous. Ali was almost taken out twice by bicyclists using the sidewalk (wasn’t that against city bylaws?) and another time by a jogger who kicked at her as he ran past. Everything she encountered was a new peril, which made the going slow. A route that normally took twenty minutes took an hour. By the time she saw her house in the distance, she was like an exhausted soldier home from the war.
There was still a huge problem: she couldn’t change back and walk in the front door. Digger might see her and make her go back to school. No, the only one way to get into the house unseen was via the tree next to Gigi’s window. Thanks to her Rottweiler experience, it was an easy climb. When she reached the branch across from Gigi’s window, she took a deep breath and jumped, hoping Gigi was asleep.
She was. Ali the cat crept across the room, thankful the bedroom door was ajar.
“Hello, Ali.”
Ali froze. “Gigi?” she whispered, but it came out as “Mrow.”
“I hope you had a good day.” Gigi rolled over and went back to sleep.
Relieved, Ali hurried to her bedroom. She’d hide in her closet until school was over, then sneak downstairs and pretend she’d just arrived home. Simple. Except nothing was simple anymore, and probably never would be again.