I slip in through the upstairs hall window, which has been left open. By the time I reach Igloo, he’s awake and lying on his side. He wouldn’t be much of a cat if he didn’t sense a feline intruder entering his house.
“What’s new, Hissy?” he asks.
“Nothing new. Zeb is out of control. Dad broke out the hammers. Listen.”
We prick our ears. Despite the distance, the hammering can be heard. Igloo winces.
“Poor you,” he says.
“Dad was banging around in his workshop all day. And not just hammers. Saws, too. And power tools.”
“Try to calm down, Hiss. You’ll never sleep if you don’t relax.”
“How can I possibly relax? I don’t have a moment’s peace!”
A smile spreads across Igloo’s snout. I want to smack it off.
“You have a moment right now. Look how the sun is shining on that ottoman. It’s all yours.”
The sun is shining, bright and golden and warm, on the padded footstool. It looks divine. Tears come to my eyes.
“You are one frazzled feline,” Igloo says.
“I know,” I say.
“Up you go. Nap time.”
I leap onto the ottoman. Ahhhhhhhhhhh.
“Sweet dreams,” Igloo says.
“Sweet dreams,” I answer.
I close my eyes. The closed windows mute the sounds of cars, kids, birds, and dogs. I listen to the sound of my heart beating in my ears. It lulls me. Sweet, sweet slumber, at long last.
I’m on a branch of a tree. There is a warm breeze ruffling my fur. A flock of starlings moves across the sky, like a black cloud. I leap from my branch. I don’t know how, but I can fly. I have no wings. I don’t flap my legs. I can simply sprint through the air. I sprint after the starlings. I’m so fast! I gain on them easily. The birds are mine for the picking —
“Iggy!” a girl’s voice calls. “You’re having a playdate! Hi, Hissy!”
Tillie is home.
It must be five o’clock.
How long was I asleep? It seemed like moments.
Tillie rushes up to me. She reaches out a hand, and I hiss. I didn’t mean to. It just came out. She backs away.
“Whoa!” Tillie says. “Somebody’s waking up on the wrong side of the ottoman!”
“Maybe Hissy should be going home,” a woman’s voice says. It’s Tillie’s mom. She waves her arm at the door. “Come on, Hissy. Out you go. Out.”
I step down from the warm, comfy ottoman and move groggily toward the door.
“Did somebody leave a window open again?” Tillie’s mom asks.
Someone did.
“Sorry, Hiss,” Igloo says. “See you later tonight?”
I nod.
Tillie’s mom closes the door behind me.
I walk down the front steps in a daze.
A dog gallops up to me. Woof! it says. It’s Peanut Butter. I coil, flatten my ears, and bare my claws. If he comes any closer, he’ll be sorry.
He comes closer.
Hsss-hsss-HSSSSSSSSSS! I say, and swipe at his nose. Dogs’ noses are extremely sensitive. He yelps in pain and runs off in the direction from which he came.
He’s sorry.
I’m not.
I’m tired of being annoyed.
Everybody had better watch out.
I am Hissy Fitz, and I have had enough.