Read Online How to Moon a Cat by Rebecca M. Hale - Free Book Online
Authors: Rebecca M. Hale
Ads: Link
But this was more than the typical excursion her person was about to embark on, and she would no doubt need Isabella’s expert feline guidance.
Isabella twitched her whiskers as she came to the inevitable conclusion. She would have to convince her person to take the cats along with her to Nevada City.
As Isabella stared at the rustling duffel bag, pondering how best to instruct her person on this topic, she heard the familiar knocking engine of a pickup rumbling into Jackson Square.
Isabella trotted across the bedroom to the window overlooking the street. She propped her front feet on the edge of the sill and poked her head through the slats in the blinds. Down below, the pickup’s rusted frame puttered to a stop in front of Monty’s art studio. The driver’s side door swung open with a loud creak, and a wrinkled old man in frayed overalls limped out of the cab.
Harold Wombler glanced up at Isabella’s window as he rubbed a sore spot in the crook of his neck. Seeing her tiny white face in the blinds, he nodded an acknowledgment, his version of a friendly gesture.
Isabella watched as Harold hobbled around to the truck’s back bed. His gnarled hands clamped down on the handle to the dented tailgate and dropped it into a horizontal position. With effort, he lifted a large object out of the bed and set it on the sidewalk.
Isabella’s face registered bewilderment as she tried to figure out what Harold was doing with this strange wheeled contraption.
With a rueful grimace at Isabella’s confused expression, Harold rolled the object to the street side of the truck to give her a better view. He pointed emphatically at a compartment positioned over the wheels. Then he turned to look up at her window to see if she’d understood his meaning.
Isabella’s ears flattened against the side of her head. She leaned away from the glass, her blue eyes glaring a sharp rebuff to his suggestion.
Harold shrugged his shoulders at her, crimping his lips into a frustrated expression. This was the best he had been able to come up with under the circumstances.
With a resigned sigh, Isabella stretched her right paw through the slats of the blinds and tapped it against the window ledge, indicating her reluctant agreement to his proposal.
She dropped back down to the floor of the bedroom. Her slender pipe of a tail swished back and forth as the orange tips of Rupert’s ears began to emerge from the opening in the duffel bag.
Her brother, she thought as she strolled across the room, was about to get a much-needed pounce.
Chapter 9
THE CAT-MOBILE
I WOKE THE next morning to a jarring bang against the front door.
Rubbing my eyes, I glanced sleepily at the nightstand beside the bed and then down to the alarm clock lying on the floor in front of it. Someone—or, more likely, some cat—had knocked the clock off the stand in the middle of the night, disengaging its settings.
My eyes jumped to the two furry bodies sprawled across the covers and narrowed suspiciously. Rupert and Isabella had begun registering objections to today’s trip from the moment I pulled my duffel off the closet’s top shelf. It had been several months since I’d left them alone overnight, but neither cat had forgotten the significance of a packed bag.
A further barrage of pounding prevented me from interrogating the alarm clock saboteurs. Muttering under my breath, I hopped out of bed and struggled into my T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.
“Coming!” I hollered as I pulled a quick comb through my hair and scooped up the duffel bag. A pattering of feline feet trailed behind me as I hurried down the staircase to the second floor. All the while, the thumping against the downstairs door continued to increase in intensity.
“I should’ve had Harold install a doorbell,” I said as I skidded across the kitchen and thudded down the stairs to the showroom. Turning the corner at the bottom of the steps, I stopped and stared at my tall, skinny neighbor as he swung
Isabella twitched her whiskers as she came to the inevitable conclusion. She would have to convince her person to take the cats along with her to Nevada City.
As Isabella stared at the rustling duffel bag, pondering how best to instruct her person on this topic, she heard the familiar knocking engine of a pickup rumbling into Jackson Square.
Isabella trotted across the bedroom to the window overlooking the street. She propped her front feet on the edge of the sill and poked her head through the slats in the blinds. Down below, the pickup’s rusted frame puttered to a stop in front of Monty’s art studio. The driver’s side door swung open with a loud creak, and a wrinkled old man in frayed overalls limped out of the cab.
Harold Wombler glanced up at Isabella’s window as he rubbed a sore spot in the crook of his neck. Seeing her tiny white face in the blinds, he nodded an acknowledgment, his version of a friendly gesture.
Isabella watched as Harold hobbled around to the truck’s back bed. His gnarled hands clamped down on the handle to the dented tailgate and dropped it into a horizontal position. With effort, he lifted a large object out of the bed and set it on the sidewalk.
Isabella’s face registered bewilderment as she tried to figure out what Harold was doing with this strange wheeled contraption.
With a rueful grimace at Isabella’s confused expression, Harold rolled the object to the street side of the truck to give her a better view. He pointed emphatically at a compartment positioned over the wheels. Then he turned to look up at her window to see if she’d understood his meaning.
Isabella’s ears flattened against the side of her head. She leaned away from the glass, her blue eyes glaring a sharp rebuff to his suggestion.
Harold shrugged his shoulders at her, crimping his lips into a frustrated expression. This was the best he had been able to come up with under the circumstances.
With a resigned sigh, Isabella stretched her right paw through the slats of the blinds and tapped it against the window ledge, indicating her reluctant agreement to his proposal.
She dropped back down to the floor of the bedroom. Her slender pipe of a tail swished back and forth as the orange tips of Rupert’s ears began to emerge from the opening in the duffel bag.
Her brother, she thought as she strolled across the room, was about to get a much-needed pounce.
Chapter 9
THE CAT-MOBILE
I WOKE THE next morning to a jarring bang against the front door.
Rubbing my eyes, I glanced sleepily at the nightstand beside the bed and then down to the alarm clock lying on the floor in front of it. Someone—or, more likely, some cat—had knocked the clock off the stand in the middle of the night, disengaging its settings.
My eyes jumped to the two furry bodies sprawled across the covers and narrowed suspiciously. Rupert and Isabella had begun registering objections to today’s trip from the moment I pulled my duffel off the closet’s top shelf. It had been several months since I’d left them alone overnight, but neither cat had forgotten the significance of a packed bag.
A further barrage of pounding prevented me from interrogating the alarm clock saboteurs. Muttering under my breath, I hopped out of bed and struggled into my T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.
“Coming!” I hollered as I pulled a quick comb through my hair and scooped up the duffel bag. A pattering of feline feet trailed behind me as I hurried down the staircase to the second floor. All the while, the thumping against the downstairs door continued to increase in intensity.
“I should’ve had Harold install a doorbell,” I said as I skidded across the kitchen and thudded down the stairs to the showroom. Turning the corner at the bottom of the steps, I stopped and stared at my tall, skinny neighbor as he swung
Similar Books
