Space Taxi Read online

  Just when I didn’t think my day could get any weirder, along comes a talking cat! I wonder if cats on Earth can talk, too, but they just hide it.

  The cat continues. “If Mr. Fitch comes peacefully, he will save himself a lot of trouble.”

  “Not going to happen, cat!” Mr. Fitch says. Then he reaches one arm over his head and grabs the cat by the scruff of his neck.

  “Look, kid,” Mr. Fitch says in a calmer voice. “Who you gonna believe—me, an upstanding citizen of Delta Three, or this ratty ball of fur who must have scored a free ride in your dad’s taxi to get here?”

  He dangles the cat in front of him.

  I step closer to get a better look. It really IS the same cat! So it wasn’t my petting him that made Mr. Fitch sneeze the whole ride. It was because the cat was actually hiding IN the car with us!

  “Unhand me, you brute!” the cat hollers, waving his paws in the air, claws extended. “You are under arrest for trying to sell secret documents to B.U.R.P., one of the universe’s biggest criminal organizations.”

  “I am merely here on business,” Mr. Fitch says. “Then this creature jumped on me. Now be a good boy and go tell your father I am ready to leave. And this little stowaway will be staying behind this time!”

  The cat hisses.

  I look from one to the other. How am I supposed to know who to believe? Mr. Fitch may be bossy, but that doesn’t mean he’s a criminal. And he’s a grown-up, while the cat, well, he’s a cat!

  Mr. Fitch sneezes. He tightens his grip on the cat, who whimpers.

  “What’s it gonna be, kid?” Mr. Fitch asks in a low voice.

  The cat whimpers again.

  Mr. Fitch snarls.

  I may not know what’s really going on, but I know you shouldn’t hold a cat like that. “Quick!” I tell the cat. “He’s allergic to you! Ruffle your fur or something.”

  The cat flails his arms and legs and shimmies his body until dander and fur fly in all directions. Mr. Fitch tries to hold his breath. His face gets redder and redder until he finally has to take a breath. Then he has a massive, snot-filled sneezing fit and loosens his grip, and the cat squirms away.

  “This animal doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Mr. Fitch says, backing away from the cat and holding up his briefcase like a shield. Peering over the top and breathing hard, he says, “There’s nothing in here but boring business stuff.”

  Before my eyes, the cat’s tail hinges open right at the green line. A laser light shoots out and zaps a hole in the briefcase! Okay, cats on Earth DEFINITELY can’t do that.

  Mr. Fitch yelps and drops his briefcase. It crashes to the ground and springs open. Documents marked TOP SECRET: PROPERTY OF THE ISF spill out all over the ground.

  “He planted those there!” Mr. Fitch yells, stomping on them. “That cat is setting me up!”

  The cat stands up on his hind legs, unzips a pocket hidden behind a patch of gray fur, and pulls out an official badge. He holds it up so I can see his picture with the words INTERGALACTIC SECURITY FORCE OFFICER printed below it.

  Mr. Fitch tries to kick at the badge. The cat twists out of the way before the heavy foot can connect with his paw. Mr. Fitch winds up losing his balance and crashes to the alley floor.

  The cat points a paw straight at Mr. Fitch, and a silver rope shoots out from between two claws.

  “Oomph!” Mr. Fitch says as the rope tightens around his wrists and ankles. Then he has another sneezing fit.

  The cat runs over to me, stands on two legs, and shakes my hand.

  At that moment my father rounds the corner of the alley. His eyes widen as he takes in the scene. Then he smiles and shakes his head. “You know, Archie, if you wanted to get a cat this badly, you could have just asked.”

  We all laugh. Well, not Mr. Fitch.

  Chapter Seven:

  A New Job

  “Intergalactic Security Force officer Pilarbing Fangorious Catapolitus at your service,” the cat says, bowing to my father. “Sorry about stowing away in your trunk.” To me he says, “I am grateful for your aid, young Earth boy. You are very brave. I will see to it that you are well rewarded.”

  I blush and finish gathering up the papers while the cat—whose name is way too long for me to remember—tells my dad the whole story. Dad agrees to bring the space cat and his captive to ISF headquarters.

  The cat leads a red-faced and sneezing Mr. Fitch into the backseat and buckles him in. Then he nudges him with the tip of his pink nose and Mr. Fitch immediately falls into a deep sleep. That’s a handy trick! Maybe I could use that on Penny when she wants to play one more game of pretend-Archie-is-a-horsie.

  “How are you holding up?” Dad asks me as we strap ourselves in.

  “I’m fine. You know, just a regular day. I copilot a space taxi, almost float off a planet, talk to a cat, help catch a criminal. And all before breakfast!”

  He laughs. “It’s not over yet.”

  As I smooth out my map, I ask, “Hey, can the cats on Earth talk, too?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. Only the ones from Friskopolus, otherwise known as the Cat Planet. That’s where we’re headed now.”

  Dad tells me the coordinates, and I ask the map to show me Friskopolus. Lines shoot out from the image of the little taxi and I quickly plan out the route. I don’t want to brag, but I’m getting good at this. I whisper “thank you” to the map, and it almost seems to quiver a bit in response. Then again, I haven’t slept in a really long time.

  “So, Cat,” Dad says once we’re on our way, “how did you know Fitch was headed here?”

  The cat pauses from cleaning behind his ear with his paw to answer. “I’ve been tracking him for months. Following him in my own police car would have been much too suspicious. I’d given up hope until you two came along and I saw my chance. I won’t forget you and what you’ve done to help bring peace to the universe.”

  “We won’t forget you, either,” I say. “Um, what was your name again?”

  “Pilarbing Fangorious Catapolitus,” the cat replies.

  I glance at Dad. He shrugs.

  I turn back to the cat. “That’s a big name for a little cat. Or even a big cat, like you. Do you have a nickname?”

  The cat shakes his head.

  “Okay. How about I call you… Mr. Bubbles!”

  The cat frowns, which is something space cats must be able to do.

  “Fluffy?”

  He narrows his eyes at me.

  “Hmm. You probably won’t like Snowball, then.”

  The cat growls.

  Dad and I laugh. “Just kidding,” I say. “I’ll try to come up with a really good name for a space police cat.”

  I sit back and enjoy watching all the stars glitter around us like billions and billions of fireflies. It might be years before I get to see this view again. Maybe when I grow up, I could get a job with Dad. That would be so awesome.

  Mr. Fitch’s snoring from the backseat is actually kind of soothing.

  I hear a rustling behind me and turn to look. The cat is digging around in his fur pockets. He pulls out a pair of dark sunglasses and slips them on.

  “That’s it!” I shout. “I’ll call you Pockets!”

  The cat shrugs. “That is acceptable.”

  “What else have you got in there?” I ask, peering over the seat.

  “Ah, the question should be what don’t I have in there.” He lifts his shades with one paw and winks at me.

  I smile and turn back around. I can see from the map that we’re about to reach the planet’s atmosphere. A few minutes later our wheels touch down on a busy landing field behind Intergalactic Security Force headquarters. Spaceships and space police cars of all different shapes and sizes are landing and taking off.

  We are met by two giant cats wearing official ISF badges around their necks. They place a groggy Mr. Fitch onto the back of a little buggy and drive away with him.

  Dad and I follow Pockets into the main building. I have to step over lar