How to Moon a Cat Read Online Free
Author: Rebecca M. Hale
his bike and pedaled off down the street. He had a few more stops to make in the city before leaving for the next leg of his journey.
Chapter 2
BEHIND THE WALL
TWO WHITE CATS with orange-tipped ears and tails sat at the edge of the kitchen in the second floor apartment above the Green Vase showroom, watching as I bent down near the back wall to study what remained of the bottom corner’s frayed wallpaper.
Sometime during the night, a creature with sharp scraping claws—that is, Rupert the cat—had ripped open a triangular hole, about six inches across at its base, from the lower section of wallpaper. A telltale clump of fluffy white hair had been left on the floor near the opening.
“All right,” I said briskly, tapping the wall as I stood up. With a quick nod to my cat audience, I turned toward the kitchen table and the home improvement book that lay open on its surface. “Let’s go through this one more time.”
My eyes skimmed over the paragraphs describing wallpaper removal.
“Gloves?” I asked in a stern professional voice.
I stretched my arms out in front of my chest and tugged, one at a time, at the cuffs of the thick rubber gloves encasing my hands.
“Check,” I confirmed, glancing at the cats as I released the right cuff. The elastic rubber snapped back into place with a loud smacking pop .
“Coveralls?” I ticked off the list, lightly stamping my feet to flap the loose vinyl fabric of the orange jumpsuit that covered my T-shirt and blue jeans.
“Check.”
“Goggles?” I asked, thumping the rubber thumb of my glove against the rim of the protective gear strapped around my head. It had been a tight fit, but I had managed to stretch the goggles over the plastic frames of my bifocal eyeglasses. An uncomfortable pressure was beginning to pinch at my ears. This project, I hoped, wasn’t going to take very long to complete.
“Check.”
“Face mask?” I slid the cup of a white cotton mask down over my nose and mouth and gave out a much more muffled “Check.”
I turned to model my home improvement costume to my feline observers.
Isabella’s sharp pixielike face carefully scrutinized my altered appearance. She raised her right paw in the air and made a series of intricate clicking noises with her mouth as if she were issuing instructions. There were few aspects of my life, in Isabella’s opinion, that couldn’t be improved by her modifications.
A slender cat with a proud, angular head and a silky white coat, Isabella had the color point pattern typical of a Siamese. But instead of brown or gray, the darker hair on her ears and tail was a peachy orange shade, probably inherited from a tabby ancestor. The orange and white fur of her coat paired with ice-blue eyes to make a stunning combination, a fact of which she was well aware.
Isabella carried herself with an elegant, regal poise, the self-appointed queen of all she surveyed. She was, for the most part, a benevolent ruler, although her patience was frequently tested by her lowly subjects: Rupert, who usually ignored her commands, and me, who rarely understood them.
After a long string of Isabella chatter and paw-waving, I nodded a pretended acknowledgment of her cat commentary and shifted my attention to her brother.
Even if he didn’t match her in physique, Rupert’s chunky fluff of feathery hair matched his sister’s in coloring. He had inherited the tabby forebear’s more rounded figure, longhaired coat, and voracious appetite. He was content to play the sloppy joker, lolling about for hours on end in a sleepy, punch-drunk haze. Most days, the hunger pangs of an empty stomach were all that could wake Rupert from the pleasure of his daydreams.
Every so often, however, a short burst of insuppressible energy would sweep over him, and he would set off on a scrambling, high-speed sprint across the slick wooden floors of the Green Vase showroom, a furry white hazard to any antique—or human—that might cross his wild slinging
Chapter 2
BEHIND THE WALL
TWO WHITE CATS with orange-tipped ears and tails sat at the edge of the kitchen in the second floor apartment above the Green Vase showroom, watching as I bent down near the back wall to study what remained of the bottom corner’s frayed wallpaper.
Sometime during the night, a creature with sharp scraping claws—that is, Rupert the cat—had ripped open a triangular hole, about six inches across at its base, from the lower section of wallpaper. A telltale clump of fluffy white hair had been left on the floor near the opening.
“All right,” I said briskly, tapping the wall as I stood up. With a quick nod to my cat audience, I turned toward the kitchen table and the home improvement book that lay open on its surface. “Let’s go through this one more time.”
My eyes skimmed over the paragraphs describing wallpaper removal.
“Gloves?” I asked in a stern professional voice.
I stretched my arms out in front of my chest and tugged, one at a time, at the cuffs of the thick rubber gloves encasing my hands.
“Check,” I confirmed, glancing at the cats as I released the right cuff. The elastic rubber snapped back into place with a loud smacking pop .
“Coveralls?” I ticked off the list, lightly stamping my feet to flap the loose vinyl fabric of the orange jumpsuit that covered my T-shirt and blue jeans.
“Check.”
“Goggles?” I asked, thumping the rubber thumb of my glove against the rim of the protective gear strapped around my head. It had been a tight fit, but I had managed to stretch the goggles over the plastic frames of my bifocal eyeglasses. An uncomfortable pressure was beginning to pinch at my ears. This project, I hoped, wasn’t going to take very long to complete.
“Check.”
“Face mask?” I slid the cup of a white cotton mask down over my nose and mouth and gave out a much more muffled “Check.”
I turned to model my home improvement costume to my feline observers.
Isabella’s sharp pixielike face carefully scrutinized my altered appearance. She raised her right paw in the air and made a series of intricate clicking noises with her mouth as if she were issuing instructions. There were few aspects of my life, in Isabella’s opinion, that couldn’t be improved by her modifications.
A slender cat with a proud, angular head and a silky white coat, Isabella had the color point pattern typical of a Siamese. But instead of brown or gray, the darker hair on her ears and tail was a peachy orange shade, probably inherited from a tabby ancestor. The orange and white fur of her coat paired with ice-blue eyes to make a stunning combination, a fact of which she was well aware.
Isabella carried herself with an elegant, regal poise, the self-appointed queen of all she surveyed. She was, for the most part, a benevolent ruler, although her patience was frequently tested by her lowly subjects: Rupert, who usually ignored her commands, and me, who rarely understood them.
After a long string of Isabella chatter and paw-waving, I nodded a pretended acknowledgment of her cat commentary and shifted my attention to her brother.
Even if he didn’t match her in physique, Rupert’s chunky fluff of feathery hair matched his sister’s in coloring. He had inherited the tabby forebear’s more rounded figure, longhaired coat, and voracious appetite. He was content to play the sloppy joker, lolling about for hours on end in a sleepy, punch-drunk haze. Most days, the hunger pangs of an empty stomach were all that could wake Rupert from the pleasure of his daydreams.
Every so often, however, a short burst of insuppressible energy would sweep over him, and he would set off on a scrambling, high-speed sprint across the slick wooden floors of the Green Vase showroom, a furry white hazard to any antique—or human—that might cross his wild slinging
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