Number One Watch Cat (Free)

A Cat Tale for Kids and Cat Lovers.

By Erma Aitken Shaver and Chris Shaver
Illustrations by Fran Panza

(My Mom and I co-authored this book. It was her inspiration and genius. I just added some structure and continuity! Its a wonderful story to read out loud to your kids!)

At The SPCA

Jack stared intently through the bars on his SPCA cage at a man he hoped would adopt him. “Look at me. Look at me,” he willed the man. But the man dismissed Jack, and every other cat, with a wave of his hand.

“Where are the dogs I can could train for a watchdog?” he shouted over the nearest SPCA worker. “I want a watchdog.”

“Dogs have to be trained to watch?” Jack thought, surprised. “Dogs must be a whole different animal! Cats are born knowing how to watch. They love to watch. It’s their hobby.”

But as Jack saw the man peering into the dog cages, he decided to make watching his profession as well as his hobby. If it would get him adopted faster he would do anything. Even be a watchdog. Or a watchcat. He was desperate enough to do anything to get adopted.

If you asked him why, Jack would point his paw at his first owner, Charlie. Actually, he would point to Charlie’s multitasking as the culprit. It was multitasking that landed Jack in the SPCA for the second time.

Jack was born in the SPCA. He was chosen by Charlie when he was just a kitten.
Charlie was a young man recently transferred from his native Ohio to a better job in the suburbs of Philadelphia. Charlie came to the SPCA seeking a friend he could talk to when he came home from work. Charlie loved to talk, Jack discovered. There was nothing he liked better, except maybe multitasking while he talked.

Jack soon learned that all Charlie’s favorite things created the crazed multitasking of Charlie. Charlie could email, blog and chat online while talking and texting on his cell phone while listening to his iPod and making tea in his microwave and cooking dinner on his rice steamer. All at the same time.

“Multi-tasking is what a guy’s got to do to get ahead in the twenty-first century,” Charlie told Jack. Charlie’s was so good at multitasking to get ahead that he got sent all the way to Iceland to build a power plant. So this was how Jack knew that multitasking landed him back in the SPCA.

Jack decided that just being a companion cat was not enough to get ahead in this world. He’d need to multitask, like Charlie, to get himself a new owner.

LIFE WITH CHARLIE

Charlie was very apologetic when he told Jack about his move to Iceland. “I wish I could take you with me, but I can’t. I have to sign on for five years and it’s not Reykjavik,” he said.

Jack looked puzzled. He was puzzled. What was Rey-ka-vik?

“Reykjavik is the closest city,” Charlie explained. “But I’ll be living out in the boonies, man – on the fringes. I’ll live in some kind of barracks. No place for little kittens like you. So I’ll take you back to the SPCA. The good people there will find you a new home. But I’ll miss you. We’ve had some good times, haven’t we?”

Jack thought of all the good times they had in the past year. He even remembered why Charlie had named him Jack. It was while Charlie was driving home that first day. Jack was beside him in a special cage. The cage had spaces in the back where the seat belt slid through to keep Jack safe.

Charlie chatted happily all the way home from the SPCA that day…while also talking on his cell phone, sending texts, changing songs on his iPod, and programming his GPS unit to try and find a faster route home.

Charlie had said, “I think I’ll call you Jack after my best friend Bert’s bat. Bert’s bat lives behind the shutter outside of his bedroom window. When we were blogging on his computer one day he told me about his bat. Bert said, ‘I know bats are a great benefit for the public health, the environment and the economy because they feed on bugs that spread disease and damage crops. But this bat spends all his time sleepin’ and swoopin’, swoopin’ and sleepin’, and I worry about him.’ Bert told me he yells out the window at his bat, ‘Take it easy, old pal. Take time to smell the flowers. All work and no play makes Jack a dull bat.’ ”

Jack remembered how Charlie leaned back in the car and laughed at that. Then, while driving down the highway Charlie sent Bert a text message. The car swerved dangerously. “I told Bert I named you after his bat. You don’t mind being named after a bat, do you?”

“Heck, no, Jack is fine,” Jack had thought.

As Charlie Twittered about his new cat named Jack the car swerved again. Charlie laughed. “Good thing cats have nine lives Jack. You’re going to need them with me.”

As a tiny kitten Jack had no way of knowing which of his nine lives he was living. “Did I have a name before?” he wondered. “Beats me,” he thought, deciding not to hurt his brain trying to remember. “Jack is my name.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jack. I’m Charlie.” Charlie reached over to shake Jack’s paw that stuck through the cage just as they reached a stop light.

“Uh oh,” Charlie said, “Here’s church with a message board. What does it say? ‘Man looks at the outward appearance. But the Lord looks at the heart. Samuel 16:7.’ Lots of churches around here and they all have message boards.”

Sitting in the SPCA cage, Jack remembered all the church message boards Charlie had read. Charlie always stopped multitasking a moment to ponder scriptural messages.

CULTURE NIGHT

Soon after Jack moved in, Charlie decided they’d have culture night one night a week. He was going to read the books his mom and dad gave him when he left home. He said, “My Dad gave me his book about Winston Churchill, Britain’s great World War II leader. He said everyone should read about the man who saved Western civilization.

“My Mom gave me her childhood Bible. She said it’s the King James Version, a great masterpiece of English literature – right up there with Shakespeare. Every educated person should read the King James version. Newer translations can’t compare with the King James for literary excellence Mom says.

“My mother is an English teacher. Sometimes I’d think she was a teacher first and a mother second. When I was a kid, she’d go berserk if I didn’t do my homework. Now she’s not too enthused about kids texting, Twittering, and chatting online. She says it’s bad for them, she says. And mixing numbers and letters to make words on the computer is bound to confuse kids who are having trouble with spelling, she says.

“When she first said that, my Dad popped up from behind his newspaper and yelled, ‘Yes, the first thing you know they’re all at sixes and sevens, like my dear, old grandmother. When she was confused, she’d say, “Oh dear, I’m all at sixes and sevens.”’ Then he ducked back down quick as Mom’s wet cleaning sponge came flying in splat against his newspaper.

‘4-warned is 4-armed,’ Dad yelled, drawing two 4’s in the air, and ducking down again in case Mom hurled more flying sponges at him. He cracked us all up laughing.

“My Mom knows engineering students don’t have much time for English courses and she’s always trying to remedy that. I’ll e-mail her and tell her that we are having a culture night every Wednesday. She’ll be glad to hear I’m reading her books. But not too many pages of the Bible, since it’s very deep,” Charlie told Jack.

Jack liked sitting on the kitchen table beside Charlie as he read. Charlie enjoyed imitating the famous Churchill growl when he read the famous “We will fight them on the beaches” speech, growling out, “We will never, never surrender.”

When Charlie was reading, he’d Twitter Churchill’s quotes while growling out Churchill’s famous plea for help from Britain’s allies: “Give us the tools and we will finish the job.”

The Bible readings were slow going until they got to the story of Noah’s Ark, which was a revelation to Jack. “Listen to this, Jack,” Charlie said, “Here’s where it mentions your ancestors.”

“My ancestors?” Jack was astounded. “Me? A stray from the SPCA? A nobody?”

“That’s right, Jack. Had to be,” Charlie said, “Everybody is somebody. We are all in the book. In Genesis 6:20 it says ‘of fowls after their kind, and of cattle after their kind, of every creeping thing of the earth after his kind, two of every sort shall come unto thee, to keep them safe.’ That’s too many characters to Twitter. I’ll put that on the blog.”

Well! After that revelation Jack held his head higher. His tail, too. He was somebody! He had ancestors on Noah’s Ark, no less! And he was now being blogged about.

 CHARLIE LEAVES JACK

“I’ll miss you, Jack,” Charlie said as he packed up Jack’s bed and toys to take to the SPCA. “But it’s the only place I can’t take you. I’ll be living in a barracks on the fringes. But it will really set me up. They’ll pay all my expenses. I can save all my salary for five years. I’ll have bags of money when I get back. A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. But the SPCA people are great and they’ll find you a new friend, don’t worry.”

But Charlie took Jack everywhere in the car with him the week before he left. And there were no shortage of church message boards to interrupt Charlie’s non-stop chatter.

“Uh oh, here’s another church bulletin,” Charlie said, turning down the radio and laying his cell phone down. What does it say? ‘Matthew. 16-26: For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul’?

“That reminds me, Jack, old buddy, this is Wednesday, our culture day. I guess this will have to be our last culture reading. Too bad. But look at it this way. We’ve read most of Churchill. I know we didn’t get much past the begats in the Bible, but we’ve read lots of Church message boards. Let’s face it, you’ve had more Bible readings than most cats your age already. Maybe your next friend will be a Bible reader. If so, I hope for my mother’s sake that it is the King James Version.”

Charlie brought Jack into the SPCA in his cat cage. One harried man sat on duty alone, attending to the comings and goings of people and pets. The man shook Charlie’s hand and said, “How-are-ya-I’m-Fred,” all in a breath. Charlie handed over a bag of cat food and several cans of sardines and a generous donation to the SPCA.

“I’m leaving the cat cage for Jack’s new owner. His name is Jack and he’s one cool cat. He’s had all his shots and will make someone a great friend. Don’t forget to tell them that he likes a sardine on top of his cat chow every day. But it’s got to be packed in olive oil. Great for his fur. Oh, and I’ll e-mail you to see how Jack is doing.”

The busy SPCA man kept saying, “Yeah, yeah.”

Charlie looked at his cell phone and read a text and typed a response while he said, “I’ve got to go catch a plane now.” He gave Jack one last hug and walked off. He turned to wave and was out the door. “Bye, Charlie,” Jack thought sadly.

But a moment later, Charlie stuck his head back in and said, “Don’t forget, his name is Jack.” Charlie’s cell phone rang, he answered, winked and closed the door again.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Fred, and was turning back to business when Charlie poked his head in again and said, “Don’t forget the sardines.” Charlie looked at his watch and mumbled something about the time change in Iceland, and disappeared again.

Both Jack and Fred waited for him to poke his head in again. Jack hoped it would be to say he changed his mind and wasn’t going after all. But, sadly, Charlie was gone.

AT THE SPCA

Jack was in a complete cat funk for a day or two. He tried to cheer himself up by thinking of Noah’s Ark. And how it really was something for a cat to know Bible verses. He decided that the best thing to do was forget his friend Charlie. He needed to spend his time thinking how to get adopted.

“The SPCA is okay,” he thought. “There’s enough to eat, a roof over your head and nice, kind people. But that’s not enough for a cat with ambition.”

Soon after, Jack watched the man who wanted a watchdog walk out the front door with a puppy on a leash.

“That seals it” Jack thought. “I’ll be a watchcat! Why not? I have a natural talent for it. Why not a watchcat?”

With his decision made, Jack was on the lookout for someone who needed a watchcat to come and adopt him. But that was the hard part. For days, people waltzed right by the cat cages, not even looking down at him. They only had eyes for the dogs. Jack tried not to become discouraged. He even tried tail-wagging himself into a pretzel, like a puppy to get attention. But he couldn’t get his hind end to cooperate.

“For sure, dogs are a whole different animal,” he thought. “I’ll just have to fake it – flick my tail and lean against the cage to get attention if someone comes.”

And one day someone did come.

It was early one morning when two older ladies stopped near the cat cage. Jack heard the first one say, “But Peg, I was thinking of getting a puppy.” Then he heard Peg reply, “No, Liz, a cat will suit your needs much better. You need one to watch for those squirrels that have been sneaking down your fireplace chimney. And don’t forget the field mice sneaking in your back door. Living alone as you do, a cat would be a great friend for you and wouldn’t need to be walked everyday – a lot less trouble.”

“Well, maybe you’re right,” Liz said.

“What luck! They need a watchcat!” Jack thought. He flicked his tail as fast as he could and leaned against the cage and purred. “It’s just got to be me.”

“Oh,” said Peg, “look at this handsome fellow. He wants you to pet him. Go ahead.”

Liz stroked Jack’s thick fur and Jack arched his back and nuzzled his cheek into Liz’s arm. As Liz looked into his eyes Jack examined every inch of her friendly face. He was alert but friendly, on guard but protective: the perfect watchcat.

“Alright,” Liz said at last, “I’ll take this one. He’s very alert and he’s so friendly besides.” She signaled to the SPCA man.

“Oh, so you’ve picked Jack, have you?” Fred said. “Well, you won’t be disappointed. He’s one cool cat. He loves people, sees everything this one. Doesn’t miss a trick. Plus, he’s had all his shots. He’ll make a great friend for you. His last owner, who had to leave town to go to the fringes of somewhere – I can’t quite remember – left his cat cage that you can strap in with the car seatbelt. I’ll show you how.”

Fred accompanied them to the car and strapped Jack into the back seat. They were pulling out when Fred ran back and said, “Oh, I forgot, he likes a sardine on his cat chow every day, and, oh, it must be canned in oil, not tomato sauce.” Then he ran back once more to yell, “Don’t forget, his name is Jack.”

Jack couldn’t help grinning. “Fred was just like Charlie,” he thought.

JACK’S NEW HOME

Well! To say Jack was happy didn’t say it by half. But he cautioned himself to keep a cool head like any professional watchcat would do. Sitting in the car on the way home, he took some time to review what was expected of him in his new career. Watch the fireplace chimney for squirrels – yes, I can! Watch the back door for field mice – yes, I can! Be a companion to Liz – piece of cake! After living with Charlie, I can do 20 things at once and still be on the lookout for more.

He could hardly wait to start.

Jack watched carefully from the moment the car pulled in the driveway until the cage door opened up. He liked his new home – a flat-roofed rancher with a big stone fireplace in the living room. Jack was sure he had landed in clover. Like any professional, he took a quick inspection tour. Nice, soft carpet to lie on in front of the fireplace watching for squirrels. Nice, soft doormat in the kitchen to lie on watching for field mice. A wide kitchen window ledge to sit on watching whatever moved outside. And a nice soft bed in Liz’s bedroom. He’d sleep at the foot of her bed and protect her from any stray critter that might sneak in at night.

“This house is just made for a watchcat,” he thought.

It was a big improvement over Charlie’s second floor bachelor digs. Salvation Army store modern, was what Charlie called it. Jack was launched on his new career in a fine new home.

WATCHCAT ON THE JOB

After his first day on the job, Jack took stock. He was pleased to report to himself that he had put the fear of cats into every critter on the property. They knew he was there alright. No more squirrels down the chimney. No more mice coming in the back door. And Liz was a good friend. A bit fussier than Charlie, no doubt. But there was no multitasking going on. While she was petting him, she did it with both hands. Jack couldn’t complain on that score.

Sometimes he tried to show his appreciation to Liz by going outside and bringing her a gift – usually a dead mouse – which he’d lay proudly on the front doorstep before letting out a “merow” to get in. “Oh Jack,” Liz would say, backing away, “you can’t bring that in here!” Jack would leave it there and just walk on by, head and tail held high thinking, “That’s gratitude for you.”

Each morning Jack perched on the kitchen window ledge. He kept on high alert for squirrels or mice or anything that moved in Liz’s spacious backyard. When he’d spy something, he’d leap to the back door and “merow” to be let out to continue his outside surveillance. After a thorough investigation outside, he’d “merow” to come back in. Liz didn’t have a cat door for fear that mice would come in.

But Jack was at his watchcat best when company came. He’d enter the room stealthily – best not to appear too friendly when on the job. Then he’d hunker down on all fours, eyes closed into slits, inscrutable. He watched every move – ready to spring, tooth and claw, at any threat to his friend, Liz. He could report total success in that area too. Of course, he had to admit that, except for her son, Andy, who came once in a while to fix things, most visitors were older ladies and altogether harmless.

“But,” Jack told himself, “older ladies have been known to go berserk. Charlie said his mother went berserk if he didn’t do his homework. So best to err on the side of caution.

WATCHCAT GONE WRONG

Liz couldn’t have been more different than Charlie if she tried. Life with Liz happened one thing at a time. Breakfast (always with a sardine on top!) was followed by lunch which was followed by dinner. Liz moved slowly. When she made tea in the microwave, she stood right in front of it and waited for the bell to ring. When she cleaned the dishes, she hummed to herself. That was as close as she came to multitasking. At night, Jack could lay comfortably on Liz’s lap while she read or watched television. She almost never moved to disturb him.

It was true that Liz liked to talk on the phone like Charlie. But where Charlie had cellphones and cordless phones, Liz had a phone with a long accordion extension cord. Liz’s son, Andy, insisted that she keep a cell phone in her car for emergencies. But Liz and all her friends had plug-in phones in their homes with long cords. She’d say, “I don’t need a phone that you have to take a college course to use. And don’t talk to me about computers!”

So she’d sit on the sofa, or at the kitchen table, or on her stool after lunch usually. She’d talk to her friends and swing that long cord. “No computer!” Jack thought as he swatted the extension cord on the phone. If Charlie were here, he would say Liz was a snail-mail person in a Twitter-texting world.

Liz seemed happy, though. She liked to write letters to friends and put them in envelopes and peel her stamps and put them on the envelopes. She liked to put her letters in her mailbox and say good morning to the mailman when he picked the letter out of her mailbox on his daily rounds.

Jack liked watching the mailman. But that phone cord was another matter. Jack didn’t know why he wanted to pounce and destroy that phone cord. But the more it swung through the air, the more riled up he became.

Maybe it was the big old phone receiver that covered the entire side of Liz’s head. Jack tried to tell himself that anything that was attached to that long, swinging phone cord couldn’t be good for Liz. “Sitting there with a machine stuck on the side of your head for a half-hour can’t be good for man nor beast – nor cat,” he thought.

When attacking the phone cord didn’t work, Jack tried to break up Liz’s long gab fests any way he could. He’d scratch Liz’s pants leg. Failing that, he’d “merow” beside his water dish. Then he’d “merow” to get out and “merow” to get back in. But none of these ploys worked.

The only way to get Liz off the phone was to do battle with the phone cord. Jack would time his attack. He’d wait until the phone cord was on the downswing. Then he’d spring. His whole body would hit the cord, all four paws getting tangled up in the accordion curls, until Liz would finally say, “I guess I’d better hang up and untangle this crazy cat before he chokes himself.”

“She’s safe at last!” Jack would think as Liz helped him free of the snarl. Then, just as soon as he saw Liz was safe, he’d take a well-deserved catnap.

WATCHCAT FINDS LOVE

Jack liked sitting at the kitchen table with Liz, watching while she practiced her favorite game, Scrabble. Sitting around the kitchen table reminded him of culture nights with Charlie. One day while Jack sat with Liz and listened to all the words she chose for Scrabble, the phone rang.

“Oh, Peg, how are you?” she asked. “Guess what I’m doing? Playing Scrabble all by myself. Yes, Jack is here, but he’s no help. I’ve tried to teach him the game but he refuses to learn.”

Jack thought, “A professional watchcat has more to do than play silly word games.” He sprang to the window ledge with a disdainful flick of his tail. He didn’t want to get started with that phone cord. Better for him to see what was happening outside.

Just then Jack saw the little female cat that had just moved in next door out in his yard. “She’s looking at me,” Jack thought. He watched the feline flick her tail this way and that. Then she turned away, gave him a saucy backwards glance and sashayed into the hedge.

“I should stay inside and get Liz off the phone,” Jack thought. “I’m a watchcat. And I’m supposed to be on duty… But then again,” he reasoned with himself, “even a professional watchcat needs some time off. Like Charlie’s friend Bert said, ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull cat.’ Well, Bert said that about his bat, but it goes for cats, too. And if I go outside, I can keep an eye out for field mice in the hedge at the same time. That’s it – I’ve got some multitasking to do!”

Jack leaped from the window ledge to the kitchen door and called to Liz, “Merow!”

“Oh, Peg, Jack’s merowing to get out. I guess he’s trying to get me to hang up. Hold on while I let him out.”

Jack thought, “I’ll be outside watchcatting and multitasking.”

Liz opened the door and Jack walked outside. He looked over his yard, a proud watchcat. He was the first watchcat to succeed in a dog’s world. “Being the first in your field had definite advantages,” he thought. “You get to make up your own rules.”

Then Jack spied the little cat from next door gazing out at him from beneath the bushes. He looked back at the house to make sure no mice were lurking near the back door. He stood still and waited for a long second until he was sure she saw him. Then he sasheyed across the lawn toward the hedge with the sun in his face.

“What a purr-fect day to be a cat,” he thought.