The Crabby Cat Caper Read online

  Beverly Lewis Books for Young Readers

  PICTURE BOOKS

  Annika’s Secret Wish • In Jesse’s Shoes

  Just Like Mama • What Is God Like?

  What Is Heaven Like?

  THE CUL-DE-SAC KIDS

  The Double Dabble Surprise

  The Chicken Pox Panic

  The Crazy Christmas Angel Mystery

  No Grown-ups Allowed

  Frog Power

  The Mystery of Case D. Luc

  The Stinky Sneakers Mystery

  Pickle Pizza

  Mailbox Mania

  The Mudhole Mystery

  Fiddlesticks

  The Crabby Cat Caper

  Tarantula Toes

  Green Gravy

  Backyard Bandit Mystery

  Tree House Trouble

  The Creepy Sleep-Over

  The Great TV Turn-Off

  Piggy Party

  The Granny Game

  Mystery Mutt

  Big Bad Beans

  The Upside-Down Day

  The Midnight Mystery

  Katie and Jake and the Haircut Mistake

  www.BeverlyLewis.com

  The Crabby Cat Caper

  Copyright © 1997 by Beverly Lewis

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6073-4

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  Cover illustration by Paul Turnbaugh

  Story illustrations by Janet Huntington

  For Janet Huntington,

  who draws the pictures

  in these books

  and

  who lives with

  two very crabby cats—

  Nancy and Little John.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title page

  Copyright page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  The Cul-De-Sac Kids Series

  About the Author

  Other Books by Author

  Back Cover

  ONE

  “Yucko,” said Dee Dee Winters. “Thinking up riddles is hard.”

  She stared out her bedroom window. She tapped her pencil on the desk.

  It was almost summer. The last day of May.

  Two weeks till summer vacation.

  Two days till the school carnival.

  Meow. Mister Whiskers curled against Dee Dee’s legs.

  “I have to write a riddle for school,” she told him. “Any ideas?”

  Merrrt. Mister Whiskers shook his furry body. His name tag jingled.

  “Don’t tell me no,” Dee Dee said. “You haven’t even tried.”

  Mister Whiskers found a sunny spot on the floor. He licked his sleek, gray coat.

  His whiskers wiggled. They waggled.

  Purrr. The sound was like a motor boat. A soft, distant one.

  “Is that all you have to say?” Dee Dee rolled her dark eyes. “You’re no help.”

  Mister Whiskers stretched his soft body against the carpet.

  “So . . . just like that, you’re takin’ a nap?” Dee Dee said.

  The long whiskers twitched. Dreamland was on its way.

  What can I expect? she thought. He’s a cat. A crabby little cat.

  She was right. Mister Whiskers was definitely crabby. Sometimes worse than crabby. Sometimes he took risks.

  Big ones!

  Daring thrills and certain chills.

  Potted plant spills from windowsills.

  Sometimes he set off fire drills.

  That’s what Mister Whiskers was all about.

  Dee Dee picked up her pencil. She decided to try to write the riddle again.

  “Everyone in class has to write one,” Dee Dee explained to her sleepy cat. “The riddle is due Monday.”

  She checked her kitty calendar. The May border had cat paws along the side.

  “This is Friday afternoon,” Dee Dee said. “I better hurry.”

  Mew. Mister Whiskers opened one droopy eye.

  “You agree with me? Well, it’s about time.” Dee Dee laughed.

  She picked up her pencil. She wrote:

  A Riddle

  by

  Dee Dee Winters

  She stopped. “Now what? What comes next?”

  Mister Whiskers didn’t open his eyes this time. The cozy cat was somewhere in snooze land. Probably dreaming about his supper. Or his next adventure.

  Dee Dee made kissy noises. She did it three times.

  No response.

  “Fine and dandy,” she whispered. “Sleep your life away.”

  But Dee Dee didn’t want Mister Whiskers to sleep. Not at all. She wanted his eyes wide open. She wanted his tail jerking.

  Dee Dee wanted company. Someone to talk to. Even if it was only cat chat!

  TWO

  Dee Dee started to write again. But her pencil was dull. She went to her pencil sharpener. All the while, she was thinking about her riddle.

  “I’ve got it!” she said at last. “I know what I’ll write!” Dee Dee hurried to her desk.

  Neatly, she printed these words:

  I am green.

  I make a certain cat hiss.

  I have blinky eyes and eat flies.

  Who am I?

  Hint: My name starts with C.

  She put her pencil down and read the riddle and the hint. She thought about it.

  Then she read it again. This time out loud.

  Dee Dee wasn’t sure if she liked it. “Everyone will know the answer,” she said. “It’s too easy.”

  She thought about Jason Birchall’s frog, Croaker. The bullfrog made her cat go crazy. Totally goofy.

  The Cul-de-sac Kids were going to take pets to the school carnival. They wanted to walk around and show them off.

  Yesterday, they’d had a big meeting about it. A Cul-de-sac Kids meeting. All pet decisions had been made.

  Stacy Henry was taking Sunday Funnies, her white cockapoo. Dunkum Mifflin was putting a leash on his rabbit, Blinkee.

  Eric Hagel was taking Fran the Ham, his girl hamster. He would carry her around in his shirt pocket.

  Shawn Hunter was taking Snow White, his floppy-eared puppy. Carly and Jimmy Hunter wanted to take their pet ducks, Quacker and Jack.

  Ducks at a carnival? thought Dee Dee.

  She had nearly burst out laughing. How could that possibly work? But she’d kept quiet at the meeting.

  And there was Croaker to think about.

  She’d asked Jason to keep his bullfrog home. “Don’t frogs need to be in water?”

  At first, Jason argued. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want Mister Whiskers to have a hissy fit.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “So please keep your frog at home!”

  Jason had pouted.

  But Dee D
ee won him over. “I’ll make some cookies.”

  “My favorite?” Jason asked.

  Jason wasn’t supposed to eat chocolate. It wound him up. But carob chip cookies tasted a lot like chocolate chip cookies.

  “I’ll bring them to school on Monday,” Dee Dee said.

  So it was settled.

  Mister Whiskers could attend the carnival purrfectly happy. And Croaker would stay home in his aquarium.

  Where he belongs, thought Dee Dee.

  She stood up and looked out the window. From her bedroom, she could see Blossom Hill School. Jason’s father and some other men were working. They were building the booths for the carnival.

  “I can’t wait till Monday,” Dee Dee said. “The carnival will be so much fun!”

  She turned to look at her cat.

  But Mister Whiskers was gone.

  “Where’d you go?” Dee Dee said.

  She searched under her bed. It was Mister Whiskers’ favorite hiding spot. “Here kitty, kitty,” she called.

  No cat.

  She ran downstairs to the kitchen.

  Maybe he’s hungry, she thought.

  But Mister Whiskers wasn’t eating from his dish. He wasn’t drinking milk from his bowl, either.

  “Where are you?” she cried.

  She checked under the telephone table. Sometimes he sat on the phone book.

  Today, he wasn’t there.

  She searched all the windowsills. Mostly the ones with potted plants.

  No Mister Whiskers.

  Where could he be? she thought.

  Then she had an idea.

  Maybe he’d gotten out. He liked to run loose in the cul-de-sac. He was always running away.

  The back screen door hung open sometimes. It had to be tugged hard to give it a snug fit.

  Eagerly, Dee Dee checked the front and back doors. They were shut tight. There was no way for Mister Whiskers to escape. Not today.

  Dee Dee was stumped. Her cat had tricked her.

  “You’ll be sorry!” she hollered up the steps. “You won’t get your afternoon cookie.”

  She sat down on the living room floor.

  Under her breath, she counted. “One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .”

  Before she got to five, Mister Whiskers came. He padded down the steps, looking shy. A little uneasy, too.

  Dee Dee saw bits of paper around his mouth. “What have you been doing?” she said.

  Meow. Mister Whiskers stared at her with his sly yellow-orange eyes. Slowly, he blinked.

  “Come here, you!” She picked the pieces out of his whiskers.

  Finally, all the bits of paper were in the trash.

  Dee Dee remembered the way her cat had blinked at her. Something else had eyes like that. Well, sort of.

  Croaker, Jason’s bullfrog, had tricky eyes, too.

  “You stay right here.” Dee Dee wagged her finger in his furry face. “Don’t you dare move!”

  She ran upstairs. She ran so fast, her hair bow fell off.

  Dee Dee was determined. She was going to find out what trouble Mister Whiskers was up to.

  Right now!

  THREE

  Dee Dee scurried to her bedroom. Slowly she scanned the room with her eyes.

  Then she spotted it. Plain as day.

  There, on the floor, were pieces of shredded paper. Right beside her desk.

  “Why, that little crab cake!” Dee Dee muttered. “He tore up my riddle.”

  Then she remembered. The riddle was about Croaker. She’d read it out loud.

  But she thought Mister Whiskers hadn’t heard it. She thought he was sound asleep.

  He tricked me again, she thought.

  Dee Dee dashed downstairs. “You really don’t like that bullfrog, do you?” she said.

  Merrrt. The furry face replied. It was cat chat for “nope.”

  “Well, I don’t blame you,” Dee Dee said. “But that doesn’t mean you can rip up my riddle.”

  Mister Whiskers slinked down. Like he was going to pounce on a mouse.

  “OK, that does it,” Dee Dee said. “Crabby cats don’t sleep in my room. Downstairs—to the cellar!”

  Meoorsy?

  “That’s right, the cellar,” she insisted.

  Mister Whiskers hated the cellar. It was dark, musty, and lonely.

  No people.

  No soft beds.

  No canned tuna!

  Mister Whiskers’ face suddenly changed. No more sly look. Not the uneasy-looking one, either. The kind that said: I’m in trouble!

  Now the kitty mouth was turned down. The eyelids drooped to narrow slits. A very sour look ruled his face.

  Dee Dee tore into him. “What a crab cake you are! Why don’t you behave yourself?”

  He whined and spit like he’d been kicked.

  Dee Dee said, “You must learn a hard lesson.”

  She leaned over to pick him up.

  Whoosh! Mister Whiskers flew out of her reach.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “Come back here!”

  Dee Dee chased her cat around the living room.

  Mister Whiskers darted into the dining room. And sailed under the table. He weaved through the maze of chair legs. Always, just out of her reach.

  “Mister Whiskers!” she squealed. “Stop!”

  But it was no use. Her cat was angry.

  Cellars were for dogs. And garbage cans.

  Cats deserved far better.

  Dee Dee was almost certain those were Mister Whiskers’ kitty thoughts.

  Out of breath, she stopped trailing him. She sat down on one of the dining room chairs.

  A great idea popped into her head, and she began to smile.

  “Wanna bake some cookies?” she called. “Here kitty, kitty . . . cookie.” That would surely bring him running.

  Fast as a mouse, Mister Whiskers jumped up on her lap. He licked his chops. He looked so cute—eyes all perky. Tail all swishy.

  As she stared at him, Dee Dee felt sorry. Her great idea fell flat. She couldn’t banish Mister Whiskers to the cellar.

  Not now. Not later.

  “Aw, you silly crab cake,” she said. And Dee Dee kissed his soft, little head.

  Meoorry.

  “I know you’re sorry,” she said. “Now, let’s bake Jason’s cookies. He’ll keep his frog home from the carnival if we do.” She grinned at her cat. “Then you can go with me.”

  Mister Whiskers seemed pleased. He puffed out his body and nuzzled Dee Dee’s face.

  “Wanna help?”

  She didn’t have to ask twice. Dee Dee knew her cat well. Very well.

  FOUR

  After supper, Mrs. Winters served dessert.

  Dee Dee carried in a bowl of peaches. Next came some whipped cream—the real stuff.

  “Yummers!” she said.

  Mister Whiskers was perched on the floor beside her chair. His eyes were on the sweet whipped cream.

  “I made carob chip cookies today,” Dee Dee announced. “My cat and I did.”

  Her father’s eyes danced. “Sounds delicious.”

  Dee Dee set a plateful of cookies on the kitchen table. “We made extra,” she said.

  Her mother smiled. “You must’ve cooked up something with your cul-de-sac friends.”

  Dee Dee nodded. “Jason wanted to take his frog to the school carnival. But if he did, then I couldn’t take Mister Whiskers.”

  Her father looked up. “Why not?”

  “Because my cat hates that frog,” she said.

  “Well, seems to me your cat pretty much runs things around here,” her father said.

  “I know,” Dee Dee said. “But he’s so cute and cuddly—that’s why.”

  But she knew differently. Mister Whiskers was a cranky, crabby cat. That’s why he got his way. Most of the time.

  “Anyway, we made the cookies for Jason,” Dee Dee explained. “He won’t mind leaving his frog home.”

  Her parents traded glances.

  Dee Dee notice
d. “Well, I am being nice to Jason,” she said. “Not mean like Mister Whiskers is sometimes.”

  “Not just sometimes,” her father said. “That cat is a real pain most of the time.”

  Dee Dee reached down and tickled Mister Whiskers’ neck. She hoped he hadn’t heard.

  After supper, Dee Dee played with her cat. She scratched his left ear. Mister Whiskers liked it there best.

  “You did a good job today,” she said. “You licked the cookie bowl nice and clean.”

  Meoow-mew.

  “You’re welcome,” Dee Dee said. “Now I have to write my riddle for school.”

  She carried the cat upstairs. “Promise not to eat my homework this time?”

  Mister Whiskers was quiet.

  “Oh, you’re not making any promises, is that it?” Dee Dee sighed. She frisked Mister Whiskers’ chin.

  “To be truthful, I didn’t like the bullfrog riddle either,” she told her cat.

  Dee Dee picked up her pencil. She set to work.

  Mister Whiskers helped, too. He helped by settling into a cozy spot. Right on Dee Dee’s bed.

  It sure beat the cellar. Any day!

  FIVE

  The next day was Saturday.

  Dee Dee’s doorbell rang after breakfast.

  Mister Whiskers was sunning himself. He liked to sit by the living room window.

  When the doorbell rang, he sniffed the air. He could almost smell a bullfrog.

  Dee Dee opened the door.

  “Hi, Jason,” she said.

  Jason hopped around a bit. Then he said, “I came over for my cookies.”

  Dee Dee frowned. “That’s not what we agreed on.”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “I can’t wait till Monday. I want them now.”

  “Well, too bad.” Dee Dee reached for the doorknob.

  Jason stuck his foot in the door. “The deal’s off. I’m taking Croaker to the carnival.”

  With that, he pulled his bullfrog out of his jacket.

  Mister Whiskers spied the frog. In a flash, he leaped off his window perch.

  Hiss-ss! Phttt! He was going goofy.

  “Get your cat away!” Jason hollered. “I mean it!”

  Just then Mrs. Winters came into the living room. “What on earth is going on?”

  She saw Jason holding his bullfrog.

  “Uh, Jason,” she said, “would you mind stepping outside with that uh . . . uh . . .”