Hissy Fitz (7 page)

“So what do you say, Hiss?” Igloo asks. “You in?”

It seems so silly, cats playing soccer, but I am … well … curious.

“I’m in.”

I learn quickly that head butting a soccer ball doesn’t move it very far. Pouncing on it, sinking your claws into it, then pushing off with your hind paws is much more effective.

It’s not as simple as it sounds. For one thing, it isn’t easy to land on a ball without making it roll the wrong way. One needs to land on the ball in the opposite direction from the one you want it to go. Doing so takes great balance, control, and timing. Fortunately, I have great balance, control, and timing.

The other cats see that I’ve figured out a better way to move the ball, and before long they’re all pouncing on it, too. This results in many rather comical midair collisions. The crashes are so amusing that instead of leading to catfights, they lead to laughter and upward-pointing tails.

The ball rolls one way across the field, then rolls back. Not much ground is made by either team. One might think we’d weary of this pretty quickly, but we don’t. Cats love chasing a ball around.

Every once in a while, though, one of us gets tired and yowls, “Time out!” We all immediately collapse onto the grass. The second any cat snoozes, though, Sid wakes everyone up with a loud “Time in!” and the game resumes.

At some point, Teacup calls “Time out!” then asks, “Anyone hungry?”

We all are, so Sid calls, “Halftime! Find something to eat. You have twenty minutes.”

I can’t resist the temptation to return to the Dumpster where the raccoon is trapped. Igloo, Teacup, and Martin follow along.

The raccoon is still in the garbage bin. It whines as we crouch on the rim, looking down at it.

“You were down there with
that
?” Martin asks.

I nod. This time I don’t puff out my chest, though. I suddenly feel bad for the poor thing.

The board is still leaning against the Dumpster. It’s a long plank, and it gives me an idea.

“Igloo, help me out, will you?”

“Sure,” he says.

“You and a couple of cats walk down the plank and sit on it at the bottom.”

“Sit on it? Why?”

“You’ll see.”

He smiles. “Okay, Hiss.” He walks down the plank. Teacup and Martin follow him.

“Now stay seated till I tell you to jump off,” I say.

I step onto the plank, but instead of climbing down, I climb up. The board bows slightly from my weight. I creep to the end.

The raccoon watches me from below.
Ticka-ticka-ticka-ticka-tick
, it says.

“You ready, Igloo?” I ask.

“Ready!”

“On the count of three. One … two … 
three
!”

The cats leap from their end of the board, and my end plummets toward the garbage, toward the
raccoon. It squeals and runs for a corner. A split second before the plank hits the Dumpster floor, I spring from it, landing back up on the bin’s rim. The plank clatters below me.

Igloo and the other cats join me on the rim.

“You’ve given the raccoon a ramp to freedom,” Igloo says.

I nod.

Teacup shivers, then jumps down and scurries away.

“I guess she didn’t want to see the raccoon climb to freedom,” Igloo laughed.

“I doubt it will climb out with us up here,” I say. “Let’s give it some space. Once it’s out, we’ll get some food, then get back to the game.”

“You’re a good cat, Hissy Fitz,” Igloo says.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

But it’s nice that he did.

Once we’ve eaten and found some water — from a leaky sprinkler — we return to the field. The others are all there, lying in the grass, grooming.

“Are we ready to start again?” Igloo asks.

No one answers. The food has slowed us down. Personally, some shut-eye sounds like a great idea.

“No?” Igloo laughs. “Okay. Why don’t we take a short catnap. Wake us up in a bit, okay, Sid?”

Sid is curled up with her head on her paws. “Sure,” she says drowsily.

Before long we all are curled up with our heads on our paws. One by one, we shut our eyes.

I run down the field, kicking the ball with my hind paws. I’m running upright, like a human, as are the other cats. I approach the goal — and there is an actual goal now, with a net — and give a swift, hard kick. Sid lunges to block it. I think,
Wait, she’s on my team
, but dreams never make sense. The ball is beyond her reach and sinks into the netting. Score!

The crowd roars. Yes, there’s a crowd. My teammates hoist me up onto their shoulders and carry me around the field. We won the game. We are the champion soccer cats of the world!

“We are the champions!” we chant. “We are the champions!”

“Hissy?” Sid says. Her face is right over mine. Stars are twinkling behind it. “You’re shouting.”

I lift my head. The other cats are lying on the grass, glaring at me. I guess I woke them.

“Sorry,” I say. “I was dreaming.”

“That’s okay,” says Sid. “Since we’re all awake, let’s get back to the game.”

The others grumble, but slowly rise to their feet,
stretching and arching their backs. I’m still on the ground.

“Come on, Hiss,” Sid says, nudging me.

The sleep felt good. I need more of it.

“Leave me alone. I want to sleep.”

She nudges me again. “We need you, Hiss. You’re the best pouncer on our team.”

She’s right, of course.

“Oh, all right.”

I’m such a pushover.

I climb to my feet and stretch.

“What’s the score?” Martin asks.

We all laugh.

“Still tied,” Igloo says. “Zero to zero.”

“Play ball!” Sid cries.

The second half is much like the first. Plenty of leaping and head butting, but very little ball movement. As the night wears on, we grow tired and testy. We growl and snarl and swat more. Especially me. This has been a fun distraction from my problem, but it is still there: I need sleep.

Wait. It’s the middle of the night. There are no sounds of hammers or lawn mowers. There are few automobiles on the roads. No garbage trucks, no school buses. It’s quiet. The humans are in their beds all over town.

The hunting instinct isn’t as strong now. Maybe it’s because I’ve worn myself out playing this game. I’ve exhausted all desires. I’m beyond bone-tired. I’m brain-tired. Heart-tired. Skin-tired. Paw-tired. I’m tired from the tip of my sliced ear to the tip of my ringed tail.

I walk away from the scuffle.

“Hissy!” Sid yells. “What are you doing? Where are you going? The game’s not over. It’s still tied. We need you!”

“Maybe you do,” I say, “but I need some sleep. I’m heading home.”

“I need sleep, too,” says Schmookie.

“Me, too,” Quiche says.

Pretty soon everyone, including Sid, has quit the game.

“We’ll call it a tie,” she says with a yawn.

We all nod, then walk away toward our homes — or, in Sid’s case, toward her boat.

“Wait up, Hiss,” Igloo says, running after me. “That was fun, right?”

“It was,” I say. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure. I hope you can get some sleep before the family starts waking up.”

I think about this. Zeb is usually up first, and once he is, the whole house is up, including me. Then comes the getting ready for school and work. Zeb always refuses to cooperate. He makes a big fuss, tearing around the house, yelling.

“I hope so, too,” I say.

I hear the clock in the living room ticking. I hear the little snorts Dad makes when he sleeps. I hear my paws on the linoleum. That’s how quiet it is in the house.

I glide through the kitchen and up the stairs to Georgie’s room. She’s on her bed, out cold, her arms and legs pointing in odd directions. Her blanket and sheet are in a knot. She tosses and turns when she sleeps, which can be challenging. I don’t want to be wakened by an elbow or a flying kick. I consider moving to her little stuffed chair, but I want Georgie’s warmth. I want her next to me. It makes no sense, but I miss her.

I leap onto the bed and nestle in beside her. She’s on her side, breathing softly, her belly rising and falling against me. She’s warm indeed. I purr.
Prrrrrrrrrr
.

I believe there are a few precious hours left before the dawn. Zeb usually sleeps till the sun comes up, but there’s no telling what will happen when it comes to Zebediah Irwin Fitz. As splendid as it is lying here, enjoying the silence and Georgie’s warmth, I close my eyes.

I am a lion perched on a mountain ledge, looking down over a green valley. A herd of hoofed, antlered animals graze below. Gazelles? I can’t tell from this distance. My stomach growls, but I am too tired to move. I roar.
RrrOWRRRR!
The animals stop eating and lift their heads in unison. Then they begin to run away. They move left, then right, then left, as if they were one creature. I watch until I can’t keep my eyelids open any longer. They slide shut.

“Hissy cat!” Zeb screams.

My eyes open. He is looming over me, a villainous grin on his face. In his hand, raised over his head, is a hammer.

Hssssssssss!
I say, and jump back. My eyes open, for real this time, and I find myself on Georgie’s bed. It was a nightmare within a dream. I did hiss, though, which causes Georgie to stir.

“Hissy?” she asks groggily.

I wriggle against her, letting her know that, yes, it’s me. I’m hoping that she’s too drowsy to wake up, that she’ll drop back to sleep. I purr, hoping it will lull her.

She sets her hand on my back. It’s heavy with slumber. I think I’m okay.

She abruptly brings her knee upward, into my belly. I stifle a groan. I scoot out from under her hand, away from the knee, toward her chest. She lies still. She’s drifting off. I close my eyes. She twists, her right arm swinging through the air, pulling her onto her other side. I edge up to her back, which is now next to me. This tossing and turning could go on for a while. Should I leap to the chair?

No, I’ll stick it out.

Her breathing again deepens, and she seems as lifeless as a rag doll. I lie as still as I can, waiting. After a minute or two, I allow myself to believe the scuffle is over.

I close my eyes and hope for more restful dreams.

I am in a rocking rowboat, but I am not seasick. I sit at the back of the boat, on a wooden bench. I hold my head high and breathe in the salty sea air. It’s refreshing. I widen my eyes and gaze out at the horizon. If I can keep from falling asleep in my dream, I may just get the sleep I need.

“Hissy cat!” Zeb yells.

I open my eyes.

Zeb is up.

So is the sun, and Georgie.

So am I.

It’s another day, wide awake, with the Fitzes.

Hssssssssss!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to the writers of

West Hills Middle School, 2012.