Hobbes loved hide-and-seek because he excelled at hiding and Lizzie sucked at finding. Being an only child for years, Hobbes was an ace at inventing games for his amusement.
He got a kick out of disappearing when Lizzie was due to leave for work. Her hysteria became more absurd with each passing minute. Her stickler-for-the-rules boss refused to accept a misplaced pet as an excuse for tardiness. To Lizzie, it seemed a perfectly reasonable explanation. Clearly he did not live with a cat.
One evening, Lizzie had gone into the closet to get a sweater before attending night class. When she returned three hours later, Hobbes wasn’t waiting to greet her, which was baffling. She called and called, but there was no answering meow. Lizzie hastened upstairs and heard howling coming from the walk-in closet. Hobbes had darted in without Lizzie realizing, and she’d closed the door. He’d had fun for a while, with tons of stuff to explore, but after that he wanted out.
“Where’s my Lizzie? Why am I locked in the closet? I haven’t done anything naughty.” His faltering voice echoed in the dark space. He was beyond relieved when she opened the door. Lizzie apologized profusely and held him in a guilty hug. Hobbes forgave her and planted a resounding sandpaper smooch on her face.
After that episode, Lizzie never left the house without knowing where Hobbes was. One morning, when she was late and he was hiding, she resorted to using his weakness against him. She went into each room and asked, “Does Hobbes want a hug?”
Hobbes debated what to do. He was well hidden among boxes under her bed, so she couldn’t see him, although she’d checked twice. Picturing her running from room to room, looking under beds and in closets, tickled his funny bone. He desperately wanted a hug, but he also wanted to win. Lizzie repeated the tempting offer and, before he could stop himself, a little squeal snuck out. He clamped a paw over his mouth, but it was too late. Lizzie shoved a box and spotted a sheepish Hobbes. The jig was up, so he wriggled out and got his hug. Lizzie always kept her promises.
Once Liam, Milo, and Joey moved in, it became more challenging for Lizzie to keep tabs on them. Hobbes had finessed the art of remaining taciturn when Lizzie called him. However, Lizzie outfoxed him when he wouldn’t come out, regardless of her offer of a hug. She fussed loudly over Liam, telling him he was the best cat and that she loved him to the moon and back. Hobbes listened with growing dismay from his hideout.
“What’s this? I’m the best cat, and Lizzie has to love me the most.” He couldn’t condone such nonsense. He hurtled down the stairs and plopped himself in front of Lizzie. “I’m your best boy,” he protested.
Lizzie scooped him up for a goodbye hug and whispered in his ear, “Of course you are, but don’t tell anybody.”
Hobbes grinned widely. “I knew that was all just crazy talk.”
Milo also loved to hide from Lizzie—right under her nose. He sat motionless among the stuffed animals as Lizzie walked past, calling for him. With nary a twitch to reveal his whereabouts, he gloated as she remained oblivious to his clever camouflage.
Quite by accident, Liam discovered an outstanding place to hide while being chased by Joey. He was flying at top speed when he jumped on the dining room table, and the momentum propelled him to the top of the china cabinet, almost to the ceiling. He sat sphinxlike as a hornswoggled Joey looked everywhere for him. Lizzie walked by the cabinet and had an uncanny sensation of being watched, but no one was there. A slight movement from above caught her eye, and she screamed when she saw Liam’s floating head, his body nowhere in sight.
Liam laughed so hard he nearly fell off the cabinet. “Lizzie sure is a cinch to scare, and I’m not even trying.”
Joey and Milo decided to suss out Liam’s china cabinet roost. The view from that height was irresistible, and soon it was one of their choice hideaways. Lizzie never got used to the shock of a cat abruptly landing on the table from above, barely missing her dinner plate. She came to expect the unexpected with these cats, who behaved like chimps.
Whenever nature programs featured monkeys, Joey was glued to the couch, mesmerized by their stunts. Seeing them ricochet helter-skelter from place to place triggered an idea. He figured if a monkey could be so nimble, what was stopping him? Nothing at all, it turned out, as he had the living room to himself. He set himself high on the launching pad of the china cabinet, took a deep breath, and flew through the air with his arms outstretched toward the chandelier. It all went so wrong, and he was stumped. Could the problem be his lack of monkey fingers? The last thing he remembered was the looming chandelier and reaching to grab on so he could swing from it. Instead, amidst a tremendous racket, he was showered with plastic missiles.
He saw Lizzie whirl around in shock. She’d been preparing dinner and was stunned to hear the clatter of prisms hitting the dining room table. She thought someone had thrown a rock through the window. In the seconds it took Lizzie to get there, Joey had vamoosed and was hiding upstairs under the bed. He didn’t know what terrified him more—being caught in the crosshairs of the vicious chandelier attack or Lizzie when she discovered what he’d done. How was I to know I couldn’t swing from it? It looked super easy on TV.
Lizzie sized up the now-bare chandelier. One plastic prism remained, still swaying. Miraculously, none of the light bulbs had shattered. She sighed as she gathered fifty-five pieces strewn over the table and floor and began the task of hanging them back on their hooks. “Joey, you should join a bowling league after that achievement.”
Joey wasn’t about to rumble with the chandelier again, but it had whet his appetite for gymnastics. How exhilarating it was to soar through the air with abandon. He pondered the ways he could display his athletic prowess that wouldn’t involve breaking anything and driving Lizzie bananas. The opportunity presented itself that same day. He was stretched out on the kitchen chair, practising his manoeuvres, when Milo strolled past, tail high in the air.
Joey couldn’t resist a tail waving in front of his eyes, so he grabbed it with both hands while Milo vehemently vocalized his objections. This was all part of their frequent game, but Joey was eager to show off his newly acquired skills. As soon as Milo turned his back, Joey clamped his front paws on the chair rail and swung in a spectacular arc. He kept his feet together for better marks—the Olympics had been must-see TV—and commenced the dismount. Right on target, his feet slammed into Milo, who swatted Joey to let him know he’d gone too far. Joey was tickled pink with his success and bounded back up in the chair for another round.