The Curious Cat Spy Club Read online

  We rip off the vines, yank the door open—and fluttering wings whoosh out of the shack.

  Shrieking, I stumble backward. I wave my hands over my head to ward off bird bombs. But the birds have all flown away.

  Cautiously, I take a step into the shack.

  “Ewww!” There’s broken furniture, gooey messes across a dirty floor, and feathers everywhere—even in the cobwebs. “It’s filthy!”

  “It’s perfect,” Leo says, smiling.

  “Perfect for birds,” I retort.

  “Perfect for a clubhouse.”

  I plug my nose. “I’ve never seen so much bird poop and cobwebs.”

  “It just needs a little cleaning,” he insists.

  “A little!” I shake my head, so disappointed I could cry. I’d been excited about having a secret place to keep our kittens. But this shack is a shambles of feathers, filth, and bird goo. We can’t leave the kittens here.

  Leo just grins wider. “You should see our house—it’s all white. Walls, carpets, even the furniture. If I sneeze, Mom sprays disinfectant all over—even on me. She never lets me get dirty. Fixing up this shack is going to be fun.”

  I open my mouth to tell him what I think of his idea of fun when a branch snaps outside the shack.

  “What was that?” I whisper.

  “Don’t know,” Leo whispers back.

  Another branch snaps—closer this time.

  We stare past the open door. His eyes are wide, and I’m sure mine are even wider.

  Something is out there.

  Something big enough to snap branches.

  What if it’s a coyote, a cougar, or a bear?

  I lunge forward to slam the door—but stop as a terrible thought hits me.

  The kittens are still outside.

  - Chapter 5 -

  The Zorse’s Tale

  Before I can say anything to Leo, I hear a shout.

  “Kelsey! Leo! Where are you?”

  I jerk open the door and run outside. “Becca!” I exclaim.

  I’m so relieved to see her instead of a kid-hungry bear that I want to hug her. But her arms are full as she lifts a huge cardboard box from a red wagon.

  “Whew!” Becca sets the box down in front of the shack and wipes sweat from her brow. “My house isn’t far—just over that hill—but pulling a wagon made it feel like miles.” She reaches for her sleepy black kitten. “Why’d you leave the kittens out here?”

  “The shack is creepy,” I say with a shudder.

  “Ignore the scaredy-cat—and I don’t mean the kittens.” Leo scoops up his calico. “There’s nothing wrong with the shack. It’s perfect for a clubhouse.”

  “It’s stinky and gross.” I pluck a feather off my shoe.

  “Cleaning will fix it up,” Leo insists.

  “I love your positive attitude, Leo,” Becca says, smiling.

  Does that mean she thinks I have a bad attitude? Suddenly it feels like Leo and I are in a competition for Becca’s approval. And he’s winning. So even though I’m covered in mud and bird poop, I force a smile. “I guess it’s not that bad. I mean, it is a cool shack … or it will be when it’s clean.”

  “Just what I hoped you would say.” Becca gestures to the huge box. “Look what I brought.”

  Inside the box are a broom and a mop. I never knew I could be so excited by cleaning supplies. But I’m even more excited by what I find at the bottom of the box.

  “Yay! Cat food!” I lift up a flat of cans. “And litter, a litter box, and an adorable fuzzy kitty bed. Becca, how did you get it all?”

  “From my cousin Danielle—she’s a vet tech.”

  “You told her about our kittens?” Leo looks shocked.

  “I only told her I needed kitten supplies for a secret project. I didn’t say anything about our club. She’s cool and didn’t ask questions. She went to a storage room and gave me all the cat supplies.” Becca gestures to the box. “Vets get lots of free samples. Then Danielle drove me and Zed home—where I got all the cleaning stuff. Can you both stay to help clean the shack?”

  “Sure,” I answer. My parents will think I went to the library after I dropped off the cookies … which I didn’t do. But I’ll deal with that problem when I get home.

  “I can stay all day,” Leo adds, petting the calico kitten curled in his arms. “My parents work late, even on weekends.”

  “So let’s get started. Lunch first—for the kitties.” Becca pops open a tin of cat food. “I hope they’re weaned or we’ll have to bottle-feed.”

  Honey leaps to the opened can and the other kittens scamper to join her. “They definitely know how to eat,” I say. “Cute little chowhounds.”

  “Cats are not hounds,” Leo objects.

  Becca and I just laugh.

  Then we get busy fixing up the shack.

  I sweep away trash until my arms feel like they’ll fall off. Becca scrubs the only window. Leo salvages the best pieces of furniture. There are four chairs (one is missing a leg); a banged-up wood table; a cabinet with a door that won’t close; and a grandfather clock that looks older than my actual grandfather with more broken parts than working ones.

  “What’s a giant clock doing in an old shack?” I ask Becca.

  “Don’t know.” She shrugs. “It was here when we bought the property. My parents thought someone would come back for it only no one ever did so they left it here.”

  Another puzzle for me to solve, I think. That makes three mysteries:

  How did the zorse end up on Wild Oaks Animal Sanctuary?

  Why was the grandfather clock left in the shack?

  Who tossed the kittens into the dumpster?

  Naturally Leo, the robot-gadget geek, falls in love with the clock. But we forbid him to touch it until we’re done cleaning.

  An hour later, the shack is transformed. No dirt or feathers or cobwebs. And the window is so clear it’s almost invisible, like I could reach my hand through it and grab a pine branch.

  We’re filthy and exhausted but grinning. Working hard never felt so good.

  “Here’s our reward,” Becca announces, grabbing a bag I hadn’t noticed from her box. She lifts out chips and drinks, and we sit in now-clean chairs at the slanted table.

  This is my chance to get some answers.

  “So what’s the story with Zed?” I ask, my chair wobbling a little as I lean toward Becca. “You said he had an interesting past.”

  “He sure does!” Becca rips open the bag of corn chips, her dark eyes shining. “Most animals come to Wild Oaks Animal Sanctuary because they’ve been mistreated. Starved, beaten, abandoned … it’s always heartbreaking.” She pauses to crunch a chip. “A few months ago we started hearing stories of zebra sightings in the woods.”

  “He’s a zorse, not a zebra,” Leo points out with a wag of his finger.

  “No one could get close enough to know what he was,” Becca says. “A hiker took a photo of him grazing with wild deer but the photo wasn’t very clear. Still, you could tell he was injured—ugly gashes and dried blood all over.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible.” Frowning, I set down my cherry juice pouch.

  “Terribly terrible.” Becca sighs. “When Mom saw the photo, she checked with zoos in the area, but none were missing a zebra. Mom studied the photo and guessed he was a crossbreed. She also guessed he was someone’s pet because he was wearing a fly mask. Still, she couldn’t find any missing pet reports for a zebroid.”

  “Zee-what?” I knit my brows.

  “I can answer this,” Leo says with a knowing lift of his chin. “A zebroid is the offspring of a zebra or other equine, such as a donkey or mule—more commonly known as zedonk, zonkey, zorse, or zebrule.”

  “Exactly.” Becca smiles at him. “Mom went into rescue mode, coming up with a plan to catch Zed. She formed a team
of volunteers and they set up a camouflaged corral, not much bigger than this.” She gestures around the clean shack. “They placed a bucket of oats to lure Zed inside the corral then propped open the gate. Mom and her team hid close by, waiting.”

  “Like spies on a stakeout,” I say. One of my biggest dreams is to be part of a for-real stakeout.

  Becca nods. “They waited for hours and almost quit—then Zed appeared. He sniffed the air like he was suspicious but was too hungry to resist yummy oats. Once Zed entered the corral, the team trapped him inside, quick as a leap. They thought he’d be wild because zorses have personalities more like zebras than tame horses. But then he walked right up to Mom and nuzzled her, tame as a kitten.” Becca kisses her purring black kitten. “Zed was in bad shape, though, thin and scarred like he’d been beaten, so it took weeks to get him healthy.”

  “He looked healthy enough galloping through traffic,” I say.

  “Traffic?” Leo tilts his head.

  “Zed freaked out and ran into traffic this morning,” Becca explains, “but Kelsey rushed to the rescue. Like a real hero.”

  “Hero?” Leo glances at me doubtfully. “Her?”

  “Kelsey captured Zed by bribing him with cookies—which was brilliant!” Becca shines her smile on me, and it feels great. “I was afraid Zed would cause an accident or get run over. He’s such a sweetie I wish I could keep him—but then I always feel that way about the animals we foster. Well, except for the alligator.”

  “You have an alligator?” Leo perks up. “Cool!”

  “Not so cool when he tries to chomp off your hand.” Red, blue, and purple rings glitter as Becca wiggles her fingers. “Luckily I have quick reflexes.”

  I nod but my thoughts are still on Zed and his mysterious past. “What will happen to Zed now?” I ask.

  “We’ll foster him until his owners show up.”

  I frown. “But what if his owners are the ones who hurt him?”

  “Without proof of abuse, they’ll get him back.” Becca crumples the chip bag, tosses it at the trash, but misses, and it bounces onto the floor.

  “That’s just wrong,” I say, picking up the crumpled bag and tossing it into the trash. “He belongs with someone who loves him.”

  “He’ll stay with us until someone claims him—and that could be weeks, months, or longer. No one has responded to the flyers we posted.”

  “Is that one of the flyers?” Leo asks, pointing to a rolled-up piece of paper poking out from Becca’s jeans pocket.

  “No, this one is about a lost dog. Officer Skeet, the animal control officer, had a flyer for a missing labradoodle when he stopped by the vet while I was there.”

  Becca unfolds the paper for us to read.

  MISSING LABRADOODLE

  Last seen on March 14 near Pleasant and Trent.

  Jasper is male, caramel-colored, three years old, wearing a blue collar.

  If found, call 555-2929.

  REWARD: $100.

  “Poor Jasper,” I say. My heart aches for my own dog. At least I can see Handsome when I visit Gran. Jasper’s owner may never see him again.

  “Officer Skeet asked me to tell all my friends to look for him,” Becca adds.

  “I will,” I say then jump with a jolt as the name “Skeet” clicks in my head. “Wait a minute. Is Officer Skeet related to Burton Skeet?”

  “Um … yeah.” Becca doesn’t meet my gaze, tracing her finger across a stain on the table. “He’s Skeet’s uncle.”

  Leo smashes his juice pouch in his hands. “Is he a jerk like Skeet?”

  “No—he’s super nice and helps lots of animals,” Becca adds. “He likes to entertain kids at the hospital by dressing up in fun costumes. Last week he climbed into a well to rescue some baby ducks. Besides, Burt—I mean—Skeet is okay, I mean, he’s not bad if you get to know him.” Becca glances down so that her hair falls forward and her pink streak brushes her cheek. Is she blushing? Does that mean she actually likes Skeet? Yuck.

  I say nothing because nothing is the nicest thing I can say about Skeet.

  Leo goes silent too, staring out the window. Is he remembering the time Skeet crammed him in a locker and bounced a basketball off the locker door? Or when Skeet tossed Leo’s gym clothes into the girls’ bathroom?

  The clubhouse that is supposed to unite us suddenly seems cramped. The only sounds are the kittens clawing each other playfully in their fuzzy kitty bed and Becca drumming her fingers on the table.

  Abruptly, Leo stands and brushes dirt off his vest. “I have an important announcement.”

  Uh-oh, I think. There’s no guessing what Leo will say.

  Becca looks uneasy too. “About what?” she asks.

  “A serious matter.” Leo lifts his shoulders as if carrying a heavy weight of responsibility. “Our club name.”

  “Great!” Becca smiles. “What?”

  “Autonomous Warriors for Felis Catus Silvestris.”

  Becca’s smile fades. “Huh?”

  “It’s a fitting name for a secret club to protect kittens. Bonus feature—we can each choose a secret robotic name. Mine is Lifelike Electronic Organism Programmed for Observation and Logical Destruction. Get it? It’s an acronym for me—L-E-O-P-O-L-D?”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “We are not robotic warriors.”

  “Kelsey’s right. It’s nice of you to come up with a club name but—” Becca pauses, biting her lip. “Sorry, but it’s … um … too complicated.”

  Leo slumps in his chair. “You don’t like it?”

  “I don’t even know what it means,” Becca admits.

  “But your cousin is a vet tech and your mother rescues animals,” he points out. “Surely you recognize the scientific name for cat?”

  “Why not just say cat?” Becca’s tone is gentle like she’s trying really hard not to hurt Leo’s feelings. “A club for helping animals needs a short name that represents each of us.”

  “A valid point.” Leo taps his chin thoughtfully. “In that case, I propose we combine words to define ourselves. Each of us will choose one word.”

  “Oh, I like that. And so does Chris—that’s what I’m calling my kitten. It’s after the famous designer Christian Dior, who started a movement in the ’50s for leopard-print fabrics,” Becca adds, smoothing her hand across her yellow-and-black spotted shirt. “We wouldn’t be in this clubhouse if not for our kittens. So my word is ‘cat.’”

  “Curious,” Leo says.

  “What’s curious?” I ask.

  “It’s my word. Curiosity is the spark that inspires questions, and questions lead to discoveries, and discoveries can change the world.”

  “Perfect.” Becca smiles. “So we have Curious Cat … and what else?”

  Becca and Leo turn to me. But I have no clue what to say. I like cats—only Becca already took that word. Curious would have worked too. What else is there? I’m just an ordinary girl with ordinary interests like board games, bike riding, animals, reading, and puzzles. The only thing unusual about me is the backpack hidden on the top shelf of my closet. I created it after reading Harriet the Spy.

  “Spy,” I say before I lose my courage. “That’s my word.”

  They don’t laugh or tell me I’m silly. I let out the breath I’ve been holding.

  “It’s unanimous.” Leo dramatically taps a drumroll on the table with his fingers. “Our club name is Curious Cat Spy Club.”

  “CCSC for short,” Becca adds.

  I nod, solemnly gazing down at our kittens. They would have died if Becca, Leo, and I hadn’t worked together. We’re so different. Becca is outgoing, I’m quiet. And Leo … well, Leo is a challenge. Kids at school would never expect us to be friends but here in our clubhouse we’re united. And it’s a great feeling.

  Leo says we need to make a cat care schedule. Becca volunteers for morning an
d night shifts since she lives closest. I’ll bike over after school (if I’m not grounded for losing Dad’s cookies). Leo says he can come after school except on Tuesdays and Thursdays when he has flute and fencing lessons. We also agree to keep the kittens a secret—which means keeping our friendship a secret too.

  Becca comes up with a secret hand-bump: we bump knuckles twice with our fingers curved like a C then trace an S in the air.

  “I’ll create a secret code and language,” Leo offers.

  “And I’m the clue holder.” I wave the Dalton’s Pet Supply receipt from the plastic bag. “This clue may lead us to the villain who dumped our kittens in the trash. We have to check this out soon.”

  “Tomorrow works for me,” Becca says.

  Leo nods. “Me too—after we feed the kittens.”

  We hand-bump on it.

  We have a club name, a clubhouse, a clue, and our first mission—track down the cat dumper.

  - Chapter 6 -

  Kelsey the Spy

  “Where were you?” Mom asks when I get home, her gaze sweeping over the dried mud and bird poop on my ripped jeans.

  “With new friends,” I say, hoping she’ll be so glad I’m finally making friends that she won’t ask how I got so dirty.

  “School friends?” Mom puts down her gardening magazine. She’s still wearing her daisy-print smock from the florist shop where she works. “Or friends you met at the library?”

  Library? Oh yeah. I forgot I told her I would go to the library after I delivered Dad’s cookies … the ones I never delivered. I am so going to be in trouble.

  “School friends,” I say and move toward the hall, eager to escape to my room. “I better go clean up before dinner.”

  I make it halfway down the hall before I hear Dad call my name.

  “Wait a sec, Kels,” he says, coming out of the kitchen with his hands padded in potholders. He smells of spices and tomatoes so I know he’s making his special lasagna. He loves cooking and baking so much. I really, really dread telling him what happened to his cookies.