Strange Happenings (2 page)

"Right here," came a voice from the huge boy.

A shock ran through Tom from the tip of his nose leather to the tip of his tail. He understood: He had a tail because he'd become a cat. A cat that looked exactly like Charley, even as Charley now looked exactly like Tom.

They had exchanged bodies.

Tom lifted a hand in front of his face. It was a paw covered with black-and-gray fur. "Cool," he said. "I've become a cat."

"Let's go," Charley urged, and gave Tom a gentle spank on his rump to get him out the door.

Though Tom had spent his whole life in that neighborhood, going home was like traveling through a foreign county. Everything was gigantic. Even things he could recognize—like mailboxes—appeared to be twisted into odd shapes. What's more, he seemed to be at the bottom of a sea of smells. One moment he sensed something delicious to eat. The next moment he had a trembling awareness of danger that was almost instantly followed by a whiff of calm. That in turn was taken over by the delicate scent of friendship. Tom, who had never been aware of such smells, was astonished he could identify them so clearly.

Even more amazing was that his body felt so different. He had never thought much about having hands and feet, or a head, for that matter, unless he bumped himself. Now he felt loose and jangly, as though he were not tied together tightly. He was also very aware of his skin. Some spots felt so dirty he had a desire to lick them clean. Other places itched and were in need of scratching. He even had a desire to stretch out and flex his nails into something deep and soft, like a nice stuffed chair.

The only reason he didn't do all these things was because he was having trouble keeping up with Charley, who was striding along on long human legs.

"Come on, now. Don't dawdle," Charley kept saying. Tom, fearing he would not be able to get back home on his own, hurried.

They reached the house. Tom was about to open the door when he realized he could not do it. Charley did.

"Oh, there you are," came the familiar voice of Tom's father. "I was getting worried about where you were."

Tom answered. He said, "Charley and I went for a walk," but the only sound he heard was a meow.

"That cat seems to know," Tom's father said with a good-natured laugh. "Where were you?"

"Just hanging around the neighborhood," said Charley vaguely.

"Don't you have homework to do?"

"No problem. I just have to start writing an essay called 'The Most Exciting Thing That Ever Happened to Me.'"

"Interesting. What are you going to write about?"

"Don't know. But I'm really looking forward to it."

"Hey," said Tom's father, "I love to hear that enthusiasm for a change."

Tom, curling about Charley's feet, felt contented. "I'm going off to sleep," he announced. Charley reached down and gave Tom a reassuring scratch behind the ear.

Tom strolled over to his own bed, leaped up, found the cat's pillow, and closed his eyes. In moments he was asleep, purring gently.

Charley sat down to compose the essay.

***

During the next few days, all went well. Tom enjoyed doing nothing, sleeping all day on his own bed. Occasionally he slept in a different place. Once, he went for a stroll in the backyard.

Meanwhile, Charley lived Tom's life. He went to school. He played with Tom's friends. He enjoyed Tom's family.

 

On the fifth day Tom began to get restless. He was bored with just sleeping. He would have watched television, but he had to wait for others to turn the TV on, and they didn't always choose his favorite programs.

Twice, Tom started to read the daily newspapers only to be picked up and placed firmly in the litter box. He was not being understood.

Frustrated, Tom ventured onto the streets. Once there he narrowly avoided being hit by a car, had his tail pulled by an infant, was teased by an older child, and then was chased by a dog. By then he'd begun to think he'd had enough of being a cat. He took a nap.

That afternoon, when he got home from school, Charley put his schoolbooks down and said, "Today was not a good day!"

Tom awoke, yawned, stretched, and looked around. "What's the matter?"

"Remember that essay?"

"'The Most Exciting Thing That Ever Happened to Me'?"

"Exactly," Charley said. "You know how hard I worked on it. It was due today. When we got to the moment to share papers, I volunteered to read mine."

"Mr. Oliver must have been surprised."

"He sure was. I guess you never volunteered for anything."

"No way," Tom agreed.

"Anyway, he called on me and I read."

"What happened?"

Charley held up the pages he had written. "He said my work was a fine piece of writing, but he didn't want fiction. He wanted something
real.
"

"What did you write about?"

"Transformation: 'How I, Once a Boy, Became a Cat.' Though the whole class liked it and Mr. Oliver admitted it was fun, he said I have to do the whole thing again. Make it real. But every word of it was true!" Disgusted, Charley threw his paper onto his desk.

Tom scratched himself beneath the chin. "You could write about that time you caught a mouse."

"Oh sure. As if he'd believe that," said Charley, and he went off in a huff.

Tom, reminding himself that he wanted to talk to Charley about going through the transformation process again, was just about to slip back into a nap when something Charley had said floated through his mind. What was it? Oh yes ... did Charley say that the subject he had written about was,"
How I, Once a Boy, Became a Cat"?

Surely what Charley meant to say was the other way around—that is, "How I, Once a Cat, Became a Boy." Or was he writing about how
he,
Tom, became a cat?

It was too confusing. Tom yawned and shut his eyes again. But he could not sleep. What Charley had said bothered him.

At last he got up and looked around for Charley, but the boy had gone out. Back in his room, Tom noticed that the paper Charley had written was lying on the desk.

He read it. It was just what Charley had said: a report about a boy who had turned into a cat. This boy, so Charley had written, wished to become a cat and sleep all the time. That was familiar enough. In fact, as Tom went through it, the whole story was his
own
experience. However, in Charley's story, the boy's name was Charley and the cat's name was Felix.

Why,
Tom wondered,
would Charley have everything the same,
except
the names?

"Hey, Charley," Tom said that night as Charley sat at the desk working on his new essay. "I read your essay."

Charley glanced around. He seemed surprised. "That's not like you."

"You left it out."

"Whatever. Did you ... like it?"

"It was fine," said Tom. "It was pretty accurate, too. Except for two things."

"What's that?"

"You changed the names around. You called the boy Charley and the cat Felix."

"Oh, right," said Charley, turning back to his work.

"How come you did that?" Tom asked.

"It was supposed to be true," Charley muttered.

Tom frowned. "I don't follow."

Charley turned around to gaze at Tom evenly. "I guess there's no harm in telling you
now.
"

"Telling what
now?
"

"Well, before I introduced myself to you and you took me in, I was once a boy, and my name was Charles."

"You
were?
"

"See, I was bored with my life—so bored, I began thinking that things would be better if I were a cat. As it turned out, I met a cat. Or rather, this cat introduced himself to me. His name was Felix. Felix knew about one of these neighborhood wizard-cats. Sound familiar? You can guess the rest."

As Charley was telling this story, Tom felt increasingly troubled. "Charley," he said, "are you telling me—as you sit at
my
desk, wearing
my
clothes, doing
my
homework, looking like
me
—that at one time
you
were a boy and
then
became a cat? But then you decided you didn't want to be a cat and so became me instead?"

"You've got it."

"But ... but why didn't you and that Felix just change back to what you were?"

"Felix didn't want to be a cat again."

"He didn't?"

"Nope."

"Charley, are you saying you found me and tricked me into—"

Tom interrupted, "It was what you wanted, too."

"But that's outrageous!" cried Tom. "Anyway," he said, "I've had enough of sleeping. I want to change back."

"Sorry," Charley said. "Too late for that."

Tom, who was becoming increasingly upset, stared at Charley. "What do you mean?"

"I prefer being a boy again. This is a great place and your family is nice." So saying, he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

At first Tom was too astounded to do anything. Then he leaped off the bed and headed right for the door, only to remember that he had to get a person to open it for him. He called to Charley, but it was not Charley who came. It was his mother.

"Want to go out?" she asked, reaching down and chucking Tom under the chin.

"Of course I want to go out," Tom said in a rather irritated way. But when he spoke, all his mother heard was caterwauling.

"Isn't it cute the way cats talk," she said as she scooped him up and set him gently but firmly out the front door. "Now go play."

An indignant Tom looked up and down the street. It was all very different since he had become a cat. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to sort out the many scents. Then he began to go toward what he hoped would be an audience with Maggie.

It took a while, but at last Tom found the abandoned building. Once again he went into the basement, then to the long, dimly lit hallway, passing through the multitude of cats. The large tiger cat sat in front of the doorway at the end of the hall.

"What can we do for you?" asked the large cat.

Tom said, "A transformation."

"With whom?"

"With the one I was transformed from."

"Is he here?"

"Well, no."

"Then forget it. Anyway, Maggie's out."

"Where?"

"Hey, pal, she has her own life."

"But..."

"Beat it, tomcat," snarled the large cat, and he hissed. Tom backed away and made his way home.

That night Tom had it out with Charley.

"The point is," Tom said hotly, "you weren't being honest with me. In your paper you said you were a boy."

"I was."

"Then you became a cat, and now you're a boy again."

"All true."

"Now you say you have no desire to change back."

"I'm being honest, dude," said Charley. "Come on, you
wanted
to sleep all day, didn't you? Just lay about."

"I know. But that's more boring than staying awake."

"Hey, Tom, you made a deal. If you don't like it, go find another kid who is as bored with things as you were. Believe me, there are plenty of them. A lot of the cats at Maggie's used to be kids who were bored with their lives."

"Is that true?"

"Half the kids in your class used to be cats!"

Tom was shocked. "They were?"

"Trust me," said Charley. "You know the story:

Kids get bored. Want to sleep all day instead of going to school. Bingo! Kids become cats. Cats become kids. They're the lively ones, always raising their hands."

"But I want to be a
human,
" Tom cried. "Not some cat!"

"Go find a kid to exchange with you. Now please, leave me in peace. I have to write this essay."

"But..."

Suddenly, Charley picked Tom up, and despite Tom's howl of protest, put him out of the room.

Tom slipped from the house through an open window. It was quite late, and the moon was large in the sky. He went around to the backyard, climbed the fence, and sniffed. The air was full of pungent smells. The only one he found interesting was the scent of his own home. It made his heart ache. Lifting his head, he let out a long piercing howl of misery. Then another.

A window opened. A voice growled, "Shut up, cat! I'm trying to sleep!"

A mournful Tom slunk out of the yard and onto the street. A thousand distinct odors wafted through the air, a tapestry of smells too complex for Tom to untangle.

He wandered on, paying little attention to where he was going, up and down streets, through alleys, along back fences.

Tom had been walking for about an hour when he heard spitting and hissing. He stopped and listened. It was a catfight. He looked to see where it was coming from, spied an alley, and trotted over.

At the far end of the alley were two cats. One was a sleek brown Siamese, the other a gray cat. The gray one had been forced back against the fence by the Siamese.

"Help!" cried the gray cat. "Help!"

Hardly thinking of what he was doing, Tom let out a howl and dashed down the alley. The Siamese turned to confront him. Tom leaped over him and came down beside the gray cat. Tom hissed, showed his fangs, and raised a claw-extended paw.

The Siamese, confronted by two cats, backed off, turned, and fled.

"He's gone," Tom said, panting to catch his breath.

"Thank you," the gray cat replied.

Tom turned and looked at this other cat for the first time. "Hey, you're Maggie, the wizard-cat!" he cried.

"Do I know you?" said Maggie.

"My name is Tom. You transformed me from a boy. The cat was named Charley."

"I'm sorry. I can't remember. These transformations come by the litter. After a while all you people look alike."

"We do?"

"A certain blandness. No show of emotion. As if you can't bother. So, sorry, I don't remember you. But I'm ever so grateful. If I can return the favor ..."

"Oh, but you can," Tom said eagerly.

"How's that?"

"Transform me back."

"To what you were?"

"Right."

"How does the other one—the one I transformed you with—feel?"

"I don't think he wants to switch."