MIRANDA PEAR’S BRAZEN BED-TIME STORIES: UN-PC Fairytales for Grownups

Chapter Two

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THE CAT THAT STAYED FOR SUPPER

By Maralyn Lois Polak

Illustration: Marlene K Goodman

Ever since she was a very little girl, Miranda Pear was allergic to cats, but that didn't stop her from wanting to have one all her own.

"Miranda, it's out of the question," her mother would say. "You sneeze. You wheeze. You freeze. Remember how sick you were? And we live in a row-house. You know, a trinity. Three rooms. Workmen lived here 100 years ago. Our house is simply much too small for an animal underfoot."

Miranda's eyes welled up. "Awww, Mom, please?"

But Mrs. Pear wouldn't budge. "At least if you could take allergy medicine, I'd consider it. But you're allergic to that, too!!" her mother reminded her. "Nothing doing."

So Miranda consoled herself by cutting out brightly colored cat pictures from magazines. Pictures of tabbies and calicos. Tigers and tortoiseshells. Alley cats and purebreds. Maine coons and Russian blues. Siameses and Persians. Angoras and Abyssinians. American short hairs and Burmeses and Birmans. Havana browns and Korats. Rexes and Manxes. Felix the Cat and Tony the Tiger and Garfield. Alice in Wonderland's Cheshire Cat, and even Bast, the Egyptian cat-headed goddess of music, dancing, mothers, and good health.

Then she pasted them over the inside front and back covers of her big third-grade class notebook, and said a little prayer. "Please send me a cat," Miranda begged the Universe, her eyes squinched shut. But who? And how?

"Someday, when I get my cat...," Miranda began to say hopefully, and sigh. But would "someday" ever come? She worried, and she wondered, and she wished.

Be positive, and believe, said her Inner Voice. So she did.

One morning, Miranda awoke and looked through the double French doors leading to the deck. There, outside, sitting calmly on the cushion of a metal chair her mom had left out all winter, was a cat, a tiger cat, just staring at her.

"Oh!" Miranda exclaimed, jumping out of bed, "Wait!!"

But soon as Miranda did that, the cat-- or kitty, really, because it was still a kitten -- leaped up and bolted away. Over the railing and around the corner the kitten fled, running here, running there, zigzagging until it disappeared somewhere in the back among the brick courtyards and terraces of her neighbors' grand town- houses.

Next time, if there was a next time, Miranda vowed she would move more slowly so the stray kitten, which she had decided to call Hobo-ette because she thought it was a girl, would not be frightened of her.

So Miranda took to tiptoeing around in her room, constantly peering out the French doors, looking for Hobo-ette. A few days later, before her alarm-clock went off for school, she felt like she was being watched in bed. When she turned over and dug her way out from underneath her thick quilt, there was that same cat, staring at her once again.

"Morning, Hobo-ette, how's the world treating you?" Guess what? The cat winked!! Miranda couldn't believe her eyes. She spoke again. "Had breakfast yet?" The cat winked once more, but this time, as it washed its neat striped fur with a pointy pink tongue, it yowled a plaintive "Naoooooow".

The cat had black-and-tan tiger markings, and an 'M' on its forehead. 'M' for Miranda. 'M' for Message. 'M' for maybe even Miracle. Miranda took it as a sign: THIS cat had been specially sent to her!!

After dark, Miranda began secretly leaving tins of catfood out on the deck for Hobo-ette, who seemed to scarf up her favorite Salmon Supreme with a delightful mixture of delicacy and gusto.

It was Spring, and Miranda thought the cat could live out on the deck, if she fed it, until Fall. Then maybe that Miracle would somehow convince her mom to let the cat come inside before the onset of cold weather.

Most of Miranda's $5-a-week allowance was going for cat-food, but she didn't mind. Hobo-ette's furry feline dance around Miranda's ankles was reward enough. Purr-fecto!! Soon Hobo-ette grew tamer and more used to Miranda so she could pet the cat and sing to it as it sat in her lap. The more she sang, the louder it purred.

Next door lived the Griffins, a really nice newlywed couple with seven animals!! All their pets were strays they had rescued from various horrible fates. Three cats, two dogs, one gerbil, one Anaconda snake, and an African Grey parrot trained to stop the dogs from barking with a single shrill shriek of a whistle. Sue Griffin noticed Miranda out on the deck with the cat, but didn't tell Miranda's mother. Sue even gave Miranda a cardboard cat carrier, "just in case."

Everything was going along swell until one rainy Thursday morning. The cat appeared out of nowhere and wanted to come into Miranda's house. Its soft coat was covered with a fine mist of moisture. Miranda let Hobo-ette stay for a bit, until it fled. Where did the cat hide when it rained? Miranda had no idea.

That afternoon, Miranda was going to the corner store for some spring water, when she spied her back-yard neighbor Mrs Waldorf waiting for a bus. "WHO'S BEEN FEEDING THAT CAT? DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THIS?" Mrs Waldorf huffed in a deep booming ogre voice. "Which cat?" Miranda said in a small innocent voice, because, truth to tell, so many wild cats lived in the nearby alleys behind everybody's houses, no telling which one Mrs. Waldorf really meant.

Even Mrs Waldorf's friend Ted who went to the same church Mrs Waldorf did, let his cat out, and it got into fights. "A bunch of cats live back there. And Ted's cat always gets into fights with them," Miranda said, trying to distract her. "No, not Ted's cat. I mean that STRIP-ED one," the hoity-toity lady hissed, stretching the word into two scary syllables. "Well, I don't like it one bit. It's spraying my flowers. Whoever is feeding that cat better stop this minute!! Or watch out, I will put something out to get rid of it!!"

Before Miranda could think what to say, mean Mrs Waldorf jumped on a bus and was gone. "Something to get rid of it?" Miranda repeated to herself, shaking her head and starting to worry. "Uh-oh, that must mean she wants to poison poor Hobo-ette!! How could she? I better do something quick. But what?"

Miranda decided to call the young veterinarian down the block. "I know I'm just a little girl, but you have to help me. I don't know what to do. A mean lady has threatened to poison my cat, um, I mean, the stray cat living on our deck. Please can you help?" Come right over, Janeen, the pleasant receptionist told Miranda. "Can you catch the cat and put it into a box?"

Standing on the deck, Miranda called the cat, which came immediately from wherever it was hiding. Miranda was amazed. Sweet and docile, Hobo-ette went right into the box, and Miranda walked it over to the vet's office. Then, Dr. Holly gave the cat all its shots, for free. Fortunately, it had already been spayed before running wild. And even more surprising, Hobo-ette was really a boy cat, so, from that moment on, his name was Hobo. Miranda could hardly believe that, either.

Before Miranda knew it, she was all tearful. She told Dr. Holly the whole story, how much she wanted to save Hobo, but how she was allergic to cats, AND to allergy medicine. She told Dr Holy how much she had wanted a cat of her own. "He picked me, Dr Holly, Hobo picked ME out," she sniffed. "Hmmm," Dr Holly said, "here's some shampoo. Once a week, be sure you use this on the cat's coat. It will remove most of the stuff -- the animal dander, it's called, spread by the cat licking its fur -- that makes you allergic. It's made from herbs, no dangerous chemicals. Do you know what herbs are, Miranda? Good plants that work for us. Now let me call your mother. I have something interesting to tell her."

Miranda was afraid she would be in big trouble when she got home. But no, her mother was in a great mood. "Ooooh, how cute he is. Let's just keep the cat in the bathroom overnight, Miranda. We'll set up a little apartment for it there, and then we'll see. In the meantime, you use my bathroom. We can't let mean Mrs Waldorf kill your cat, now can we?"

Was Dr Holly a magician? Miranda was beginning to believe that."Here," Mrs Pear said, handing Miranda a cup of tea later that night. "Ewww, what's this?" Miranda complained. "Your friend Dr Holly the vet was a very interesting young man. He told me a lot about herbs, how they can help heal us. This is nettle tea. For allergies. Drink it and we'll see what happens. I've put some honey in, the way you like your tea. Honey for my little honey."

A few more cups of tea over the next few days, Miranda's cat allergies were gone. Not cured, but under control! As long as she drank her nettle tea, as long as the cat didn't sleep in her bed, Miranda was OK. Other than that, Hobo the cat roamed free through the house, but never went outside, so he was safe from mean Mrs Waldorf, who moved away, anyhow, without a word of goodbye. Even Mrs Pear had come to love Hobo. And one by one, the mice in the basement were leaving as fast as they can.

Finally freed from her sneezes and itchy eyes and wheezes, Miranda was so happy she sang and sang and sang: "We're playing the kitty guitar. We're playing the kitty guitar. The kitty guitar, the kitty guitar. We're playing the kitty gui-tarrrrrr." Miranda strummed Hobo's side like a pretend-guitar, and the cat purred louder and louder. Singing to cats, Miranda firmly believed, makes them smarter.

THE END

© 2001 Maralyn Lois Polak. All Rights Reserved. These stories and

illustrations may not be reproduced, copied, reprinted, transmitted,

or disseminated in any medium. Miranda Pear(TM) is a registered

trademark belonging to MLPolak. All illustrations by Marlene Goodman,

co-created with Maralyn Lois Polak.

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