Chapter 6

IT WAS THUNDER

Stick Cat could tell instantly what had happened.

Mr. Music’s arms were stuck in the piano.

The vibration from the cement truck crash had jarred the building across the alley too—and the piano lid shook loose from its prop and smashed down just as Mr. Music reached inside to close it himself. When the lid smashed, that awful combination of musical notes had erupted from the piano.

Looking closer, Stick Cat could now see that Mr. Music was in fact moving a little. He tried to pull his arms free, but it was clear the lid was far too heavy.

He was trapped.

Stick Cat saw him turn his head and look down at the toolbox on the floor next to the bench. His cell phone was there next to the remaining Reese’s Cup—they had both been jostled off the bench when the building shook. Mr. Music tried to pull the phone closer with his foot, but it was at least three feet out of reach. He kept wriggling his arms, shoulders, hips, and legs, trying to find some kind of position that could help him escape.

It was then that Edith spoke up.

“What’s he dancing for?” she asked. “Doesn’t he know the music’s over?”

Stick Cat turned to look at her.

“I mean,” she continued, “he was the one playing the music. You’d think he’d know that it stopped. You know what I mean?”

“Umm,” said Stick Cat. He needed to explain things to Edith and then try to see if there was something he could do to help. “I’m pretty sure he’s not dancing. I think his arms might be stuck in the piano. I think the lid might have come down when he wasn’t expecting it.”

“How could that have happened?” Edith tilted her head and looked across the alley at Mr. Music again. “Do you think it’s like a monster piano or something?”

“No-o-o,” answered Stick Cat slowly. “I don’t think it is a monster piano. I think maybe when that cement truck crashed down in the alley a minute ago that—”

“What cement truck?” interrupted Edith. “What crash?!”

Stick Cat held very still for a moment. He really wanted this to be over with. “Umm,” he finally said, and pointed to the alley. “You know that loud sound we heard a minute ago and then the building vibrated? It was that cement truck down there. It smashed into a light pole and a parked car.”

Edith cast a doubtful glance down to the alley.

“I think that was thunder, Stick Cat.”

Stick Cat looked up. Despite being surrounded by some pretty tall buildings, he had a fairly good view of the sky. It was clear and blue—not a cloud anywhere. “Thunder?” he asked.

“Thunder. That’s what it was.”

“Do you see the wrecked cement truck down there?”

“I think it’s just parked.”

“Just parked?”

“That’s right, just parked.”

Stick Cat resisted shaking his head. “But do you see the smashed car down there? It’s all crumpled up. And the streetlight lying in the street?”

“People in this city will park anywhere,” Edith said matter-of-factly.

“And do you hear the police sirens?” Stick Cat asked. “They’re getting closer. They’re probably coming because of the wreck. That’s what police do.”

“They could be going anywhere,” Edith answered, refusing to concede any of this to Stick Cat. “Maybe they’re investigating the damage done by that ferocious thunder.”

He looked across the alley and into the piano factory before speaking again. Mr. Music was in the exact same position. He had tried to sit back down on the bench, but he couldn’t bend far enough with his arms caught in the piano. He was clearly growing more and more uncomfortable. When Stick Cat saw just how trapped Mr. Music was, he became convinced that he must do something to help.

He turned immediately to Edith and looked her right in the eyes. “Edith,” he said. “You’re absolutely right. People in this city park against wrecked cars and over broken streetlights all the time. And I’m sure that what we heard was thunder too. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before.”

“Sometimes, Stick Cat,” said Edith, and then she paused for a few seconds. “Sometimes, I think you get lost in your own little world—never even aware of the things going on around you. It’s okay—lots of cats are like that. I’m not one of them—but there’s nothing wrong with it. So you didn’t recognize the thunder, no big deal. Take it easy on yourself.”

“I’ll do that,” Stick Cat said, and nodded his head. “That thunderclap you heard seems to have rattled the building across the street and trapped Mr. Music in the piano. I really want to help him. But I don’t know how to get over there.”

“I have an idea,” Edith said. She seemed to have grown more confident both in her stature and in her voice since Stick Cat had admitted the big sound was thunder.

“That’s great!” Stick Cat exclaimed.

“Yes, yes. No need to worry,” Edith answered, and casually hopped down.

“Where are you going?” Stick Cat asked.

“To the bathroom.”

“Why?”

“I need to check the fur on my back leg in the mirror,” explained Edith. She kind of stuck her hip out a bit to demonstrate where she meant. “It’s sticking up a bit.”

“Can’t that wait?” Stick Cat asked quickly.

“I don’t like walking around when I don’t look my best,” Edith answered.

Stick Cat glanced across the alley again. Mr. Music was in the exact same position: stuck and uncomfortable. Stick Cat had to hurry. He had to find a way. “Maybe you could look in the mirror after we’ve figured out a way to help Mr. Music,” he said. Then he immediately added, “I think that area of fur looks really nice actually. It’s quite clean and has a wonderful sheen to it.”

“Thank you,” answered Edith. She stopped and glanced down at herself. “Thank you very much.”

“Now, about that idea to get across the alley to save Mr. Music?” Stick Cat asked, happy to have stopped this delay. “What is it?”

Edith cocked her head sideways a bit and looked at Stick Cat curiously. It was as if she couldn’t understand how Stick Cat hadn’t thought of her idea himself. “It’s easy,” she said. “We fly.”

“Fly?”

“Yes, fly,” Edith said. You could tell that she wasn’t quite sure if Stick Cat knew what she was talking about. So, to demonstrate, Edith began to hop up and down on her back paws and flap her arms. “You know, fly! Like this!”

Stick Cat stared at Edith in wonder. After a moment, he said, “You know you’re not flying, right?”

“Of course, silly,” Edith panted. She was already tired from hopping and flapping. “I just wanted you to know what flying is.”

“I know what flying is,” answered Stick Cat. He tried not to sound exasperated even though he definitely felt that way. “I also know that cats can’t fly. We don’t have wings.”

“Oh, don’t get so caught up in the details,” Edith said.

Stick Cat stopped talking. He lowered his head for a moment and looked at the living-room carpet. He tried to think of all the things that calmed him down: when he sat on the couch next to Goose and allowed him to stroke his back, the slow and melodic beginnings to all of Mr. Music’s songs, Edith’s soft pattern of breathing when she was asleep on the windowsill after a game of StareDown.

Finally, he lifted his head and calmly said, “It’s an excellent idea you’ve come up with. I wish we could fly, Edith. It would be a great plan. But we don’t have wings.”

“I know that, Mister Fluffy Pants,” she said, and giggled. “We just need to borrow some.”

“Borrow some?”

“That’s right,” answered Edith as she climbed back up next to Stick Cat. “From the pigeons. There are dozens of them out here every day.”

“You want to borrow the pigeons’ wings and attach them to ourselves somehow?” asked Stick Cat. He was not being impolite. He just wanted to understand what Edith was talking about. There were certainly times in the past when he thought Edith might not have, umm, all her whiskers in the right place, if you know what I mean. But he certainly didn’t believe Edith would consider taking the wings off a couple of pigeons and reattaching them somehow to themselves to fly across the alley. Even for Edith, this idea seemed a little bizarre.

Thankfully, this is not what she was thinking about doing.

She turned directly toward him, lowered her chin, and raised her eyes. “Stick Cat, seriously. How could you even think such a thing?”

“I didn’t think such a thing,” he responded quickly. “I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t thinking such a thing.”

“I’m not,” Edith answered, slightly offended. “I would never suggest such a crazy idea. I mean, really, Stick Cat. Sometimes I wonder about you.”

Stick Cat raised both of his front paws, pads out, toward Edith. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “It’s just all these things going on. The truck crash—I mean, the thunder—and that loud, banging musical note and Mr. Music being trapped. We were relaxing so nicely and listening to the music, and then everything changed instantly. I’m just not thinking straight probably.”

“It’s okay, Stick Cat. Why don’t you just let me take it from here since you’re all out of sorts.”

“Okay,” Stick Cat said. He took several calming breaths, inhaling and exhaling slowly and purposefully. “Tell me then, Edith. What do you mean by ‘flying’?”

“First, we wait for a couple of pigeons to fly by. Second, we get ready to jump,” Edith said, and straightened her posture on the windowsill. She rocked back on her hind legs a bit to demonstrate. “Then when they get right in front of the window, we jump! We grab hold of their legs and fly across that way.”

Stick Cat could not say anything. For an instant, he wondered if, in fact, tearing off some pigeon wings and reattaching them to themselves might actually work better than this flying idea that Edith had just proposed. He knew the pigeons—and Edith and himself—would immediately plummet to the street from the twenty-third floor. And that was assuming a couple of pigeons happened to fly by his window, they timed their jumps perfectly, and they managed to hold on to the pigeons’ legs.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Edith asked. She had that look on her face from earlier when she was, umm, singing.

Stick Cat looked across the alley and through the windows of the old piano factory. Mr. Music hadn’t moved.

Occasionally, he would turn his head, and Stick Cat could see that his face was red and flushed. It was quite obvious that Mr. Music was in a good bit of trouble—and a good bit of pain.

Stick Cat knew he had two problems to deal with. He had to figure out a way to reject Edith’s plan. And he had to come up with a plan of his own.

He dealt with the first problem first—but probably not in the way that you might think.

Stick Cat looked away from Mr. Music and directly at Edith.

He said, “It’s a brilliant plan. Let’s do it.”