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Angus banged into the house and headed for the refrigerator.
“Freaking Mrs. Howitzer is making me and Billy change lab partners. I’m starving. Have you got anything good?”
He stuck his head inside the refrigerator. “There’s no yogurt in here. You’ve got to get some of that honey stuff, you know, the one that’s got the fat on top. I can’t remember the last time I had a decent bowl of yogurt.”
“You had the last three yogurts for breakfast yesterday. That’s why there’s none left,” said Mrs. Clark from her seat at the kitchen table where she was having a staring contest with Sir Schnortle.
“Oh,” said Angus. “I must’ve forgotten. I’m gonna have these little sausages, okay?” He slammed the refrigerator door.
“Don’t ruin your supper,” said Mrs. Clark automatically, unblinking eyes intent on the cat’s. “And grab a glass of milk.”
Angus popped a sausage into his mouth and talked while he chewed. “Mom, why are you wearing that hat?”
“I thought you liked it.”
“I never said that. I don’t know how to say this, Mom, but it’s not your best look,” said Angus. He opened the refrigerator again and poured himself a glass of milk.
Sir Schnortle yawned and looked away.
“I know you can understand me.” The cat looked at her with a bored expression and walked away. “I can wait all day!” she yelled.
“Mom?”
Mrs. Clark shook her head, looked at Angus, and smiled. “Did you have a good day, honey?”
“We were talking about your hat.”
“What about it? You like it. It makes me look young and adventurous.”
“Not so much, Mom.”
She sighed and took it off. “Oh well, it was giving me hat head anyway.” She scratched her scalp.
“Mom, I was wondering, when I saw you painting my room: I didn’t think it was you, at first.”
“Well, that’s silly. Who else could it have been?”
“No, I mean, I didn’t know that you painted.”
“You’ve seen me paint before. Remember all the painting we did when you had your little easel?”
“Mom, I was like, in preschool. We smeared paint on our hands and feet and stamped the paper. That wasn’t painting.”
“Of course, that was painting. What you meant was that you didn’t know I could paint murals.”
“Yeah, like that.”
“Well, maybe there’s a lot you don’t know about your old mom.”
“Yeah, that’s probably true. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, either.” Angus smiled.
“Ummm hmmm. I wonder.”
“So Mom, the thing is, I really like the paintings, but the superhero bed sheets? They’ve got to go.”
“Too much?”
“Way too much.”
“Okay, I’ll get rid of them. I’m a pretty good painter though, huh?”
“The best.” Angus and his mom smiled at each other. At that moment, he wanted to give her another hug, but Sir Schnortle came back into the kitchen and nuzzled his leg. He set his plate of sausages on the counter before reaching down and picking up the cat.
“He came right to you! He let you pick him up!”
“Yeah?”
“But, he has never let you do that before ... he usually runs and hides when you walk into a room ... lately anyway.”
Angus and the cat looked at each other. Sir Schnortle’s eyes gleamed. “I guess we’re friends now.” He put the cat down. “Mom, Ivy Calloway’s coming over. We have to work on our science project together.”
“Okay, honey.”
“I’ll be in the lab.” Angus picked up his half-eaten sausage and his glass of milk. Sir Schnortle followed Angus into the garage.
As soon as the door closed, the cat said, “I’m your partner? That’s great! I’ll get to meet myself!”
“Shhh. You don’t want Mom to hear you.”
“Too late. She already did.”
“What? When?” Angus balanced his glass precariously on the lip of the workbench and popped the last piece of sausage into his mouth.
“She took me to the doctor today. She stapled me into a cardboard box with no windows and no explanation whatsoever. And that doctor? No understanding of personal boundaries. Zero. Zip. Nada. Seriously awkward. I guess I lost my temper a little bit and said something to your mom.”
“What? What did you say?”
“It doesn’t matter. Then, your mom almost killed me.”
“This is making less and less sense. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were in a parallel world—you know—a world in which you have absolutely no brain whatsoever. What the heck were you thinking?”
“Settle down. I wasn’t thinking. I was mad. You know how I get.”
Angus nodded. He knew. Ivy had a short temper.
“So your mom, like, totally freaks out, and the next thing I know, I’m lying sideways in the stupid box and your mom is freaking out even more. Turns out, she ran off the road and some policeman had to rescue us.”
Angus stared. “I don’t believe any of this.”
“Come on, really? Your mom is a little loopy, let’s face it. She wears a cowboy hat and chaps. You guys don’t own a horse.”
“Okay, so then what?”
“So after some more adventures with a tow truck and stuff, we get home, and she finally lets me out of the stupid box. But she keeps following me around and talking to me and trying to get me to talk to her. Like all day. I couldn’t take a nap, do a little light reading, nothing. She even followed me to the litterbox. Horrifying. And when she’s not talking to me, she’s staring at me. Totally annoying.”
“Well, it’s kind of your own fault. Look at things from her point of view. Every day she feeds her fat little cat, grooms her fat little cat, plays with her fat little cat, talks to her fat little cat. One day her fat little cat starts talking back.”
“Hey! I’m not fat!”
“Probably not, but Sir Schnortle sure is.”
“What do you mean, probably not?” demanded Ivy.
“I’ve never seen what you really look like.”
“Well, trust me, I’m not fat.”
“Whatever you say. But so long as you’re in Sir Schnortle’s body, you’re fat.”
“Shut up,” Ivy muttered.
“Hey, I don’t care if you’re fat, thin, triangular, or octagonal. You’re the only person I know who can jump into animal bodies. You could be shaped like a stop sign and I’d still think you’re awesome.”
“I’m. Not. Fat.”
“Okay. Okay. Jeesh. Women.”
Angus reached into the ten-gallon metal garbage can and pulled out a circuit board. He brushed it off and reached back in for a jar of nuts and a handful of wires.
The cat jumped up on the workbench. The weight of the crystal collar acted like a projectile and continued to propel Ivy’s head after her body had stopped. Her face lunged forward and whiplashed back, and she toppled over to her side, barely missing the glass of milk. She looked quickly at Angus whose head was still buried in the trash can, and she began grooming her tail as if nothing unusual had occurred.
After taking a moment to regain her aloof demeanor, Ivy said, “So, tell me about myself.”
“Huh?” asked Angus shoulder deep in the trash can.
“Your science partner. The other me. I’m coming over to work on a project with you, right? I’ve seen myself other places, but today I’m actually going to be able to meet myself. That’s pretty neat, don’t you think?”
“I’ve got to get a new screwdriver,” said Angus.
“Angus! Tell me. What am I like? The other me.”
Angus continued rummaging through the trash can. “I can’t believe they threw out all my experiments. The other Ivy’s a lot like you: She likes to argue; she’s opinionated; she thinks she knows everything.”
“Angus!” The cat raised its hackles.
“Well, a lot like you, but not totally. Your temper is way worse.”
“Watch it!”
“But she’s not as much fun as you are. She can be a little ... prissy.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ivy.
A clang reverberated throughout the garage as Angus bumped the side of the metal can. “Now why would they get rid of these?” He brandished two pieces of metal rebar. “That’s just throwing money away.”
“Angus. How is she different from me?” pressed Ivy.
He dropped the rebar on his workbench. “She’s a little too ... clean ... too punctual. Always follows the rules and knows the right answer. And let’s you know she knows when you don’t know. You know? She’s too ... perfect. It can be too much, understand?”
The two friends heard the muted chime of a doorbell from inside the house. “I think I’m about to find out.”
“Don’t you have to be careful? Won’t seeing your alternate self make you jump to another parallel world? Maybe you’d be safer in the kitchen with Mom,” said Angus.
“No, I’ll be fine. As long as I don’t focus all my thoughts on her, my consciousness will stay here. I’ll sit over here like a bored cat, and she won’t even notice me.”
Ivy batted some nails off the workbench and settled seemingly into a nap. She curled her tail around her body and peeked through an eyelid. At that moment, the door dividing the garage and the kitchen banged open.
“I’m here, Angus. Where should I put my stuff?” Ivy Calloway burst into the garage, long brown hair floating behind her, and an overstuffed backpack weighing down her right shoulder. Angus pointed to the workbench where cat-Ivy feigned sleep. “Ooh! A kitty! I love animals and they love me, too!” squealed person-Ivy.
“Don’t!” cried Angus as person-Ivy reached for cat-Ivy. Cat-Ivy sprang upright and dove-fell off the workbench, crashing into the trashcan.
“What is wrong with your cat?” asked Ivy.
“Oh, he’s a little skittish,” said Angus. He heard Sir Schnortle hiss from behind Mr. Clark’s stack of snow tires. “I’d better check on him.”
Angus squeezed behind the snow tires and the cat glared up at him. “What did you do that for?” the cat whispered. “You scared me half to death! Now she thinks I’m a scaredy-cat. And a klutz. Thanks a lot.”
“I thought you’d disappear if she touched you,” Angus whispered back.
“I told you I’d be fine. As long as I don’t focus my thoughts on her, I won’t disappear.”
“Sorry.”
“Angus, are you coming back?” asked person-Ivy. “Leave your nervous cat alone, and let’s work on this project.”
“See?” said cat-Ivy. “She thinks I’m nervous. I’ve been all over this universe, in and out of parallel worlds, living in bodies of insects, animals, birds, and fish. I’m not nervous.”
“Calm down. I have to work on my project.”
“Tell her I’m not nervous.”
“What?”
“Tell her I’m not nervous. You’re the reason I’m hiding under these tires like a fool. You’re making me look bad. You have to stand up for me.”
“She doesn’t care. You’re a cat.”
“TELL. HER.”
Angus sighed and stood up. “Ivy, my cat, Sir Schnortle,” he looked pointedly at cat-Ivy, “is not nervous. In fact, he’s a very brave cat.”
Person-Ivy laughed. “Sure. Whatever. He’s pretty clumsy, isn’t he?”
“I’m not clumsy!” whispered cat-Ivy. “It’s this collar. It’s really heavy.”
“What do you want me to do about it?” asked Angus, forgetting to whisper.
“I’d like you to get over here so we can get started on our project already,” said person Ivy. “That’s what I’d like you to do about it.”
“She’s sure bossy. She’s nothing like me at all,” whispered cat-Ivy.
Angus snorted, rolled his eyes, and shook his head.
“What? Would you like to dissect a squirrel first like you did for your last science project? Or do you expect me to do all the work?” demanded person-Ivy.
“Temper, temper,” whispered cat-Ivy. She climbed over the tires and cocked her head.
“Okay,” said Angus, walking toward the workbench. “Let’s get started.”
“Well, since you’re ready,” said person-Ivy. “You know, Angus, I didn’t want to work with you in the first place. I could do this entire project by myself and ace it. I don’t need you bringing down my A.”
Sir Schnortle strutted toward the workbench and sat on the concrete floor, back erect, staring up at person-Ivy. “Okay, okay. I said, let’s get started,” said Angus.
“Did you read the chapter?” asked Ivy.
“Which one?”
“Today’s homework. Have you read it yet?”
“No, I just got home.”
Person-Ivy rolled her eyes. “I always read ahead. So I guess, in addition to doing the entire project myself, I’ll have to fill you in on the reading, too.”
Cat-Ivy growled deep in her throat. She was getting irritated with this person who-sort-of-looked-like-her but was really nothing like her at all. What gave her the right to talk to Angus like that?
“No, you don’t have to,” Angus said evenly. “I can read the chapter myself. Let’s start the project.”
“How do you expect to start the project when you don’t understand any of the foundational concepts?”
Person-Ivy unzipped her backpack and pulled out her science textbook. She plunked it down on the workbench and opened it to the chapter in question. “You read. I’ll set up the results sheet.” She grabbed her notebook, a ruler, and a felt-tipped pen.
Angus flipped through the science textbook and counted fifteen pages of dry discourse. He counted the pages again. Nope, still fifteen. He scanned the bold headings, hoping he’d get the gist of the reading and be done with it. There were a few pictures dispersed through the fifteen pages, so he read their captions. He saw three graphs, so he read the labels on their x and y axes. He counted the pages again. That should be sufficient.
“Okay,” he said.
Person-Ivy looked up from her notebook where she was carefully tracing perfectly measured columns and rows. “No way did you read that whole thing.”
The cat narrowed her eyes at person-Ivy. She didn’t believe he had read it either, but this person-Ivy was mean.
“Sure I did,” said Angus.
“Then tell me about it.”
“Why? Didn’t you understand the chapter when you read it?” asked Angus.
“Of course I did! But I know you didn’t read the entire thing,” said Ivy. “You’re lying and you’re going to ruin my grade.”
Cat-Ivy was curious about the project. She wondered what the chapter was about. She meowed and sprang to the workbench. Trying to adjust her leap to compensate for the additional weight of the crystal collar, she miscalculated her ascent and slipped on the landing. She extended her claws to try to gain traction but was unable to grip the smooth, hard, melamine surface of the workbench. She skidded across the slippery top and nudged Angus’s forgotten milk glass. The glass tipped, and a small stream of milk flowed over person-Ivy’s carefully drawn chart. The black ink liquefied and the neat lines pooled into blotchy gray silhouettes.
“Ahhh! Angus!” yelled person-Ivy. “Your clumsy cat!” She turned her wrath on Sir Schnortle. “You beast! You ruined my work! You are so fat you can’t even jump right! You stupid, stupid cat!” She swatted the cat off her notebook with the back of her hand.
Cat-Ivy hissed. “I am not fat, and I AM NOT STUPID!” She lunged for the hand that had struck her painfully across her left hip and felt the flesh tear satisfyingly between her teeth.
“Would you two kids like some snacks?” asked Mrs. Clark opening the garage door to reveal a snarling cat, a shouting girl, a shocked Angus, and sizzling, swirling yellow smoke. “Oh? Did the science project work?”