One Good Bounce Deserves Another

Whisk and Jumpy were having a typical squirrel-romp through the oak branches, roof-high and fast. Whisk missed a branch on a long jump, and was suddenly falling. Not the first time in his life, but the first time in a long time, and he would catch no end of grief over it. How embarrassing. He spread his paws to cushion the fall when he hit the ground, and hoped there were no cats close by.

Suddenly he realized it was not grass below him. Oh, no, was it that hard stuff they roll their cars around on?

He landed, and bounced back into the air, tumbling over backwards. What was that!?

He landed again, and bounced again, not as high. And getting a little dizzy. This time he sprawled into some fabric, some kind of soft wall, and rolled to the ground. Or whatever it was.

Jumpy was watching from above. “You OK? You were flying, just like the people do when they stand on that thing!”

Now he remembered. Sometimes the people would stand or jump or roll around in this … cage?… this room made out of black fabric with the black, bouncy floor. They would squeal and squawk.

He walked cautiously onto the floor. It yielded to his weight, like there was nothing under it. He jumped onto the wall, and hung there.

“You gotta jump on it, not just walk on it.” Jumpy was sure brave, up there on his branch. Had he ever been on this thing?

Whisk eased down the wall, and stepped back onto the floor. Nothing happened. “You listenin’ to me? Get up on the wall, and jump!”

Yeah, yeah.

He climbed up a little ways, and jumped down, braced for the impact of the ground. Suddenly he was flipped head over paws, and rolled to a stop. This was embarrassing! Just then Singer flew over. Great. Now Singer would tell Jay, and Squawk, and all the other bluejays!

Jumping up on the side, Whisk said, “OK, peanut brain, your turn!”

Jumpy stood up on the branch, posed like a dancer, and leapt into the air. Good grief, what was he doing? Down he came, spread out like he was flying. Just before landing, he turned over and landed on his back! The fool!

Up he bounced, taking a rare opportunity to show off in front of Whisk, who always learned new things before he did. Almost always! Down he came again, tucked into a ball, and bounced up again. Next time down, he was ready for a jump, and timed it perfectly. The canvas threw him almost over the fabric wall, and he grabbed onto the wall two body lengths above Whisk.

Looking down, he said with a smile, “What’s the matter, pal? You’re looking like a chipmunk down there!”

That was too much! The ultimate insult! Jumpy saw the narrowed eyes, and realized he had pushed it a little too far.

“Oops.” With a quick scramble, he got to the top of a post, leapt for the nearest tree, and fled for safety.

“Betcha can’t!”

There wasn’t much that Strider wouldn’t try. This was giving him some pause.

“Go on. The squirrels did it. Had a blast, looked like.”

Hmm. Anything a squirrel could do … would do …

“On purpose?”

Fenix and Felix just laughed. “Of course! At least … how can you really know what a squirrel does on purpose?”

Strider jumped onto the oak, and climbed up to the branch that went out over the trampoline. He sat there, looking. This was crazy. Jumping from a tree to the roof was one thing. From the roof to the ground? Well, depending on the height, and how bad the weather was. But from a tree to something that moved when you landed on it? And looked like it would throw you up in the air again, when you got there?

Cats are not fond of being thrown into the air, even a little ways, even by someone they really like. Hate it, in fact. Despise it. Triggers every panic nerve God gave them, and that’s a lot. Gives them nightmares. Assuming they can sleep afterwards.

“Tell me again, why are we talking about this?”

“We don’t think you can do it. We think you’re scared.”

“Have you done it?”

“Of course not. But you’re crazy, and we’re not. We won’t do it, because it’s dumb. But that never stops you, so we think you’re just afraid.”

Strider thought about that for a minute. Somehow, he felt his reputation was on the line, but couldn’t quite figure out how it made sense that he had to do this, and they didn’t. They were afraid to do this, but that was OK, but if he wouldn’t do it, it was because he was afraid to, and that was shameful? And that was because … why?

Somehow he had gotten off on the wrong foot when the three of them came to this family.

Fenix and Felix had been rescued from inside the wall of a low-rent, dilapidated building, on a hot July 4th weekend. Probably would have died there, if Cowboy hadn’t come in to turn off his computers or something. But Strider was part of that same cluster of wild cats, and he was just as small and cute … hadn’t been trapped in a building, but nonetheless.

Maybe it was because he had sunk his baby incisors into Gardener’s thumb when she dragged him out from under the bush, and was so scared he couldn’t let go. Probably hurt her. That’s why she began hollering and everybody came running to see him hanging there by his teeth. But ever since then, he’s had to prove himself. Over and over. Just never could get past it.

“You asleep up there? Need someone to push you off the branch?”

Cute. Very helpful.

He looked down into the fabric cage. Big deal. Jump down a little ways onto a flat circle, then climb out and drop to the ground, and be done with it.

He walked out on the limb, over the target. OK, just jump down. No big deal.

Just jump. Ready? Sure. OK.

He stood there, looking down. Not quite sure.

Fenix had come up the trunk, and sat on the branch behind him. “Need some help?”

Forget it. He jumped. And seconds later, upside down, out of control, and in full panic, thought it was the stupidest thing he had ever done. As he came down for what he realized would be another bounce, he also realized that they would never, never forget what was now unfolding before their eyes.

He would get even.

“Slowpoke!”

Taran sat on the porch corner, watching Pixie chase Squawk, the bluejay. He was playing with her, sitting on a low branch and chattering until she could stand it no longer and broke into a run towards the tree. As she launched, he would let go of the branch, fall towards the ground, and casually take flight, easily moving out of range.

“You ever caught one?”

“Sure!” answered Taran, trying to remember if he ever had. “Keep trying! You’ll get there.”

“Not,” he added, under his breath.

“I hear you can’t even catch a lizard when Strider runs blocking for you!” replied Pixie, settling in for another run at the bluejay.

Oh. So that story was going around.

Sigh.

Meet these cats again – their worldwide adventures continue in The Oak and the Cliff books!