Read Online The Visitor by K. A. Applegate - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: K. A. Applegate
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just leaping to the top of a two-story building.
And it was totally
nothing
. It was just automatic. I wanted to jump, so I did. I wanted to stick the landing on a narrow two-inch-wide rail, and of course, no problem.
Compared to a cat, the best gymnast who ever lived is like a big staggering cow or something.
âUm, Rachel, what exactly are you doing?â Jake asked.
They were all standing there looking at me. I had totally forgotten they were still around.
I said. I jumped back down to the grass.
Okay, get the job done first,
I ordered myself sternly.
You can worry about the Kitty Olympics later
.
I started again toward the house, but this time something forced me to stop. It was a telephone pole. The smell that emanated from it was overpowering.I went over to it. I sniffed it again and again in short snorts of air. The air was trapped in a series of chambers above my palette. It would be held there even while I went on breathing. That way I could get every possible bit of information from that smell.
It was definitely a tomâs scent. A tomcat had marked this pole by peeing on it. He was a dominant cat. Very dominant. His smell made me nervous. Not afraid, just a little less arrogant than I had been. If this cat appeared, I would have to submit. I would have to make myself smaller and less threatening and accept his dominance.
Or I could fight him and get my butt kicked.
It was just the way things were. It was all there in the smell of his urine, where any cat could read it.
I resumed trotting toward the Chapman home.
Tobiasâs voice was in my head.
I said.
he said doubtfully.
That got my attention. It was like a dash of cold water in my face. I focused my human mind and tookgreater control over the catâs mind. But it wasnât easy. The catâs mind did not even understand the notion of obeying.
So I used something the cat would respond to. I conjured up the memory of the big tomâs smell. That triggered the catâs submissiveness. I felt my part of the collective mind grow larger.
Tobias said.
. And Chapman belongs to Visser Three. Donât forget that.>
I trotted to the cat door. Chapman. Visser Three. Big deal. I was a combination of Rachel and Fluffer. What did I care about Chapman and Visser Three?
The light inside the house was bright. My eyes adjusted instantly. My nose picked up the smell of cat food, too dry and old to interest me. I also smelled the humans: Melissa, Mr. Chapman, and Ms. Chapman. Donât ask me how I knew that what I smelled were those three people. I just knew.
I spotted a cockroach in the dust balls in the dark beneath the refrigerator. No interest to me. Roaches made interesting scratchy noises sometimes, and they were fun to watch run. But they smelled wrong. They were not prey.
Swift movements!
Feet. Human feet. I didnât bother looking up. It was Ms. Chapman.
High-pitched sounds coming from the motor of the refrigerator. They were annoying. There were also the sounds of birds outside. They had a nest up under the eaves.
Then the sound of Melissaâs voice.
Where was she? I didnât see her anywhere. The sound was muffled.
I tried to focus. My ears moved to point toward the sound. It came from above me. Above and far away.
She was in her bedroom, thatâs where. I couldnât hear the words clearly, but I knew that she was muttering to herself.
I trotted across the kitchen floor. I
And it was totally
nothing
. It was just automatic. I wanted to jump, so I did. I wanted to stick the landing on a narrow two-inch-wide rail, and of course, no problem.
Compared to a cat, the best gymnast who ever lived is like a big staggering cow or something.
âUm, Rachel, what exactly are you doing?â Jake asked.
They were all standing there looking at me. I had totally forgotten they were still around.
Okay, get the job done first,
I ordered myself sternly.
You can worry about the Kitty Olympics later
.
I started again toward the house, but this time something forced me to stop. It was a telephone pole. The smell that emanated from it was overpowering.I went over to it. I sniffed it again and again in short snorts of air. The air was trapped in a series of chambers above my palette. It would be held there even while I went on breathing. That way I could get every possible bit of information from that smell.
It was definitely a tomâs scent. A tomcat had marked this pole by peeing on it. He was a dominant cat. Very dominant. His smell made me nervous. Not afraid, just a little less arrogant than I had been. If this cat appeared, I would have to submit. I would have to make myself smaller and less threatening and accept his dominance.
Or I could fight him and get my butt kicked.
It was just the way things were. It was all there in the smell of his urine, where any cat could read it.
I resumed trotting toward the Chapman home.
I said.
That got my attention. It was like a dash of cold water in my face. I focused my human mind and tookgreater control over the catâs mind. But it wasnât easy. The catâs mind did not even understand the notion of obeying.
So I used something the cat would respond to. I conjured up the memory of the big tomâs smell. That triggered the catâs submissiveness. I felt my part of the collective mind grow larger.
. And Chapman belongs to Visser Three. Donât forget that.>
I trotted to the cat door. Chapman. Visser Three. Big deal. I was a combination of Rachel and Fluffer. What did I care about Chapman and Visser Three?
The light inside the house was bright. My eyes adjusted instantly. My nose picked up the smell of cat food, too dry and old to interest me. I also smelled the humans: Melissa, Mr. Chapman, and Ms. Chapman. Donât ask me how I knew that what I smelled were those three people. I just knew.
I spotted a cockroach in the dust balls in the dark beneath the refrigerator. No interest to me. Roaches made interesting scratchy noises sometimes, and they were fun to watch run. But they smelled wrong. They were not prey.
Swift movements!
Feet. Human feet. I didnât bother looking up. It was Ms. Chapman.
High-pitched sounds coming from the motor of the refrigerator. They were annoying. There were also the sounds of birds outside. They had a nest up under the eaves.
Then the sound of Melissaâs voice.
Where was she? I didnât see her anywhere. The sound was muffled.
I tried to focus. My ears moved to point toward the sound. It came from above me. Above and far away.
She was in her bedroom, thatâs where. I couldnât hear the words clearly, but I knew that she was muttering to herself.
I trotted across the kitchen floor. I