Stage 9, Majestic Kennels’ largest soundstage, was the best stage in Kittywood. Albert Persian usually taped on Stage 9. Some of the biggest hits had been filmed on Stage 9.
On a sunny Saturday morning, the twenty-seven kittens in the Top Kitten competition crowded into the Stage 9’s greenroom. That’s the room where actors waited for their turn to be filmed. We were all weaned and living in dorms, so no mothers were allowed.
Wide open, Stage 9 was an adaptable space with the best lights possible. A blank canvas, the Director could create anything on Stage 9.
Today the Director would announce who was the Top Kitten. And then we’d all stay to film the public service announcement, or PSA, about Kitten Adoption Month. A PSA is a message in the public interest that is broadcast free. It might look like an advertisement. But the message is meant to raise public awareness about an issue. Our message would be to adopt a kitten.
The only human in the greenroom was a short groomer. She sat on a stool, guarding the door to Stage 9. She smelled like rose-scented shampoo.
“Quiet,” she called.
But meows filled the room.
Jazz and I walked around, saying hello to everyone.
One ragdoll kitten chased his tail. He stopped, licked a paw, and said to no one, “Don’t you love Flash Feline? He’s so fast. I never get tired of watching him chase his tail.”
I tilted my head and tried to remember. “Does he ever catch it? By the way, I’m Angel. This is Jazz.”
“Everyone knows you two,” he said. “I’m Kirk.”
My eyebrows went together in confusion. “Everyone knows us?”
“Jazz is probably Top Kitten. And you’re in the top five. Of course everyone knows you.”
Jazz’s eyes were shining with hope. “I can’t add up all the numbers. But I did have the top video of the week for four weeks straight.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t add the numbers either. But I’d never had a top video. I couldn’t possibly win. And yet I still hoped that the numbers would surprise me. Foolish.
Suddenly the door flung open. The Director filled the doorway. His large ears pointed upward. He came into Stage 9’s greenroom, followed by MamaGrace.
At one end of the room was a tiny stage. They both stepped onto it so everyone could see them.
“It’s time to announce the winners of the KittyTube competition,” the Director said.
Pandemonium broke out. The clowder of kittens meowed, squeaked, and yowled. By now, most of the twenty-seven kittens knew they couldn’t win—just like me. But they still yelled, “Top Kitten! That’s me!”
Watching, sadness weighed me down. It was like I had ten turtle shells on my back. I moved slowly. Quincy, PittyPat, and I hadn’t done enough. DaddyAlbert wouldn’t come home. On the stage, MamaGrace kept her face down. She knew the truth too.
The Director said, “Third place goes to Quincy Persian.”
PittyPat and I grabbed each other and spun in circles.
Quincy proudly strode to the front and stood beside MamaGrace and the Director.
“The first- and second-place winners were both amazing. In fact, there were only ten views separating first place from second place.”
The kittens said, “Oooh!”
“It was almost a tie.”
“Oooh!”
“The second-place winner never had a top video of the week. But overall, she was consistently in the top five. Second place goes to Angel Persian.”
I was stunned. My views were the most consistent? I was only ten views short of first place?
PittyPat was squealing. “We did it! Second place is $500. And Quincy wins $250 for third place. That’s enough. It’s enough for DaddyAlbert to come home.”
Joy filled my heart, and Stage 9 seemed to blaze with golden light. We’d done it. DaddyAlbert could come home.
In a daze, I stood beside my mother and brother on the stage. In a daze, I heard the Director announce that Jazz was Top Kitten. But it didn’t matter. Together, Quincy and I had done it.
After the announcements, everyone milled around for a while. I found Jazz to congratulate her. Because Jazz was Top Kitten, the Director had invited her parents to be there.
When I walked up, Jazz’s mother was talking. “I knew you’d make it,” she said. “I’m so proud of you.”
Jazz hiccupped, and then tears ran down her cheeks.
Joy filled me again that Jazz had won.
I introduced myself to Jazz’s family. “I’m Angel Persian.”
Mrs. Siamese’s eyes were large and dark. “Oh, I’m glad to meet you. Jazz talks about you all the time.”
I was only ten views away from being Top Kitten. But I felt like a Top Kitten. I had a good friend, along with $500 in the bank, and MamaGrace was happier than I’d ever seen her. DaddyAlbert would come home soon.
“But look out,” I told Jazz. “When there’s another competition, I’ll be out to win.”
“Yeah. And you might win the next one,” Jazz said. “After all, you’re the underdog cat.”
Finally the Director called, “Time to film the PSA.” He led everyone out onto Stage 9. For one last time, under the soft lights, we kittens would be innocents. We’d be helpless kittens calling out for someone to give us a home.
The Director called out stage directions. “Jazz! Get up here.”
She would lead the line of kittens for the PSA.
“Angel and Quincy, as second- and third-place winners, you’ll be right behind Jazz.”
My tail wobbled with excitement as I walked to my position.
“Now,” the Director said, “I want the pale coats next. Then tricolors. Deep-colored coats last. You only have to do one thing. Heads up. Eyes at the camera. Walk slowly.”
That sounded easy.
The Director turned away, then whirled back. “Oh, one more thing. No one get ahead of Jazz. Stay a step behind her. She’s Top Kitten.”
Walking behind Jazz, I realized I was truly happy for her. Her goal had always been Top Kitten. My goal had always been to bring DaddyAlbert home, and we had enough money for that. We had both won.
The Director told us, “When Jazz gets to her X, then everyone stops. She’ll meow, sad and lonely. Then everyone will join in.”
“Action!” called the Director.
We strolled forward with our heads up. I walked straight ahead. Even though I wasn’t Top Kitten, I did the soul-connect thing with the camera. Behind me, the Kittywood kittens marched in step.
We marched until Jazz found her X-marks-the-spot. We stood in ranks behind her.
It was Jazz’s moment. “Mew, mew, mew.” She gave a quiet plea for help. “Meow. Eh!”
Please, people, adopt a kitten. See how gentle and helpless we are. We need your help.
We joined in, a chorus of kittens pleading for a home. “Meow.”
“Cut,” called the Director. “Yowza! Great job!”
The kittens crowded around Jazz, congratulating her.
A few minutes later, the Director called into the speaker, “We have one more thing to do. Angel, Quincy, and PittyPat, come up here.”
Quincy raised an eyebrow as a question, and PittyPat was hard to tear away from her friends. Finally we stood beside the Director.
“I have a surprise for you,” the Director said.
From somewhere, music blared. It was grand-entrance music. An entrance is when an actor or actress first comes into a story. A spotlight flashed on the side door to Stage 9. It opened.
There stood a tortoiseshell Persian cat with a red and golden coat. He had golden eyes, golden eyebrows, a golden chin and a lovely gold streak down his face. He looked exactly as MamaGrace had described him.
DaddyAlbert.
My heart banged so hard, my chest hurt.
MamaGrace dashed across the empty space to DaddyAlbert, and they embraced. Quincy knocked my head and bumped PittyPat with his shoulder. Then we ran to meet our daddy.
He looked up. We stopped, not sure what to do.
DaddyAlbert spoke with a deep, rich voice. “You must be PittyPat.”
She stepped forward, eager, and he crushed her against his chest.
“I’ve been watching you swim,” DaddyAlbert said. “ You really pull the audience in. Great job!”
PittyPat beamed.
I wondered if he’d watched any of my videos. Most of them were innocent roles. Would he think that I needed to grow up more?
“And you’re Quincy.”
Quincy stepped forward and held out a paw to shake. But DaddyAlbert pulled him into a bear hug.
“You’re the bravest cat I’ve ever seen,” DaddyAlbert said. “I’d never eat a spider like that.”
Quincy puffed out his chest and grinned up at DaddyAlbert.
MamaGrace was watching, her eye glittering, as if tears would fall at any moment.
I worried. Did DaddyAlbert watch any of my videos?
Finally he turned to me. “Angel. The white beauty with the odd eyes.”
I stepped forward, uncertain and shaky.
His golden eyes fixed me with a steady gaze. “I’ve been watching your videos.”
I gulped. My heart thumped loudly in my ears. What would he think of my acting?
“Here’s the thing,” DaddyAlbert said. “You started out good. But with every video, your acting has gotten better and better.”
Eagerly, I said, “I watched your old videos. I tried to do everything like you.”
He nodded solemnly. “Yes, I could tell. I’m so proud of you.”
We stared at each other while my heart swelled. All the work, all the study, all the trying so hard—DaddyAlbert was proud of me. I closed my eyes against the tears. Proud. Of me.
“Come here, daughter,” DaddyAlbert said.
Suddenly we were hugging. He smelled like spices and sugar. When I leaned into him, his voice rumbled and echoed around in my chest.
DaddyAlbert turned and pulled in the whole family. “PittyPat. Quincy. Angel. Grace. Finally.”
DaddyAlbert was home.