Spy Cat
Authors: Peg Kehret
The Smell of Fear
Pete crouched on Alex’s window ledge with his nose to the screen, glad that Alex liked fresh air at night even in winter. Pete inhaled deeply as he peered through the dark trees toward the house next door. His fur rose along the ridge of his back. He smelled fear, sharp animal fear, although he couldn’t tell what kind of animal was in danger.
Something was wrong at Mary’s house.
A van stood in the neighbor’s driveway, its rear door open.
As Pete watched, a figure hurried to the van and placed a large object inside. Pete tried to slide the window open farther, but it held fast. Frustrated, he pawed at the window.
The figure returned to the house and came back a few seconds later carrying another object. It’s the burglar, Pete realized. He’s stealing things out of Mary’s house!
SPY
CAT
OTHER BOOKS BY PEG KEHRET
Abduction!
Cages
Danger at the Fair
Don’t Tell Anyone
Earthquake Terror
The Ghost’s Grave
Horror at the Haunted Museum
I’m Not Who You Think I Am
Night of Fear
Nightmare Mountain
Searching for Candlestick Park
Sisters Long Ago
The Stranger Next Door
Terror at the Zoo
PEG KEHRET
AND PETE THE CAT
SPY
CAT
PUFFIN BOOKS
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First published in the United States of America by Dutton Children’s Books,
a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2003
Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2004
This Sleuth edition published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2008
Copyright © Peg Kehret, 2003
All rights reserved
CIP Data is available
Puffin Books ISBN: 978-1-101-66174-1
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
True friends enrich our lives and encourage the best in us.
To Larry Karp, a fine writer, who lets me play with his musical animals
To Myra Karp, whose many talents include seven-layer chocolate cakes and the world’s best pizza
To Erin Karp, cat-loving attorney and honorary daughter
—
P.K.
To my friends, Daisy and Molly
—
PETE
Prologue
E
very animal,
human or other
,
needs work that matters. I am Pete the cat, and I have more than one
important responsibility. I’m an excellent lap-warmer
,
a fearless protector of my family
,
and a published author. You are reading my second book
,
and I must say that this part of my job doesn’t get any easier.
When I first approached the keyboard
,
I had no desire for literary fame. I wanted to write because I had heard that every computer has a mouse. Then I got interested in the story that my person
,
Peg
,
was working on
,
so I began to add my ideas to hers. We ended up writing a novel together and we had fun doing it.
When I first discovered that my big white-and-brown cat, Pete, knows how to read and write, I was shocked. His papers from the humane society said “good with children,” but there was no hint of any literary ability, so you can imagine my surprise when he began adding pages to the book I was writing.
I know how to talk
,
too
,
but she hasn’t yet learned to understand me. Humans think they are smarter than the rest of us animals when any cat knows it’s the other way around.
In the first book that Pete and I coauthored,
The Stranger Next Door
, I wrote the parts about people and he wrote the parts about the cat. We did that with this book, too. His parts are in italics so you can tell which ones they are.
Actually
,
the cat’s parts are in italics because they are the most important.
I thought Pete would get tired of writing after the first book, but when I started this story I left my computer on at night, in case he wanted to add something. Sure enough, the next morning there were two pages told from the cat’s point of view.
She hasn’t grown tired of writing
,
so why would I? Writing is challenging
,
fun
,
and satisfying—like catching a fly. I used to spend my nights batting at catnip-scented balls and trying to wake up my people. Now I write novels because novelists get to go to bookstores and put their paw prints in their books. No one ever got famous by playing with catnip balls.
All of the characters in this book except one are fictional. I’m sure you’ll be able to tell which one is real.
These was no need to make up a cat character when a clever
,
courageous
,
and capable cat like me was willing to be in the story. If you ever need to describe me
,
remember the three C’s.
It should really be four C’s—add one for “corpulent.”
Corpulent! There isn’t an ounce of fat on me. That uninformed veterinarian who suggested diet cat food doesn’t know muscle when he sees it.
Having a cat as my coauthor has worked well. The only problem we had on this book was when Pete kept changing the cover so that his name was in bigger letters than my name. Our editor vetoed that.
I did most of the work
,
so I should get most of the credit
,
but I settled for extra kitty num-num.
Enough of this explanation. Here is the second story that Pete and I wrote together.
A
lex Kendrill was
pouring cat food into Pete’s bowl when his little brother, Benjie, raced into the
house.
“The new neighbors are here,” Benjie shouted, “and we’re going to like them!” The door slammed shut behind him.
Pete
,
Alex’s big white-and-brown cat
,
quit rubbing against Alex’s legs and ran under the table. He peered out
,
hoping Benjie would leave so Pete could eat breakfast in peace. Pete liked Benjie
,
but he didn’t like all the loud noises that Benjie made.
“Do they have boys?” Alex asked.
Alex’s family had been one of the first to move into a new housing development. Every time another family moved in, Benjie hoped they would have boys his age, but it hadn’t happened yet.
Benjie took two cookies out of the cookie jar and a
small can of apple juice from the refrigerator. “So far I only saw a girl and an old woman,” he said as he popped open the juice. “Maybe the boys are coming with their dad.”
“How do you know we’re going to like them?”
“Because they have a whole bunch of animals.”
“What kind of animals?” Alex asked.
Pete’s tail swished back and forth. He hoped a pack of dogs didn’t move in next door. Even though Pete was kept inside
,
he escaped whenever he could. If dogs lived next door
,
he’d have to be more cautious.
“I didn’t actually see any animals,” Benjie admitted, “but I saw a cage with a blanket over it, and some carriers like the one we use when we take Pete to the vet.”
Pete growled. He wished Benjie wouldn’t talk about the vet.
Benjie grabbed his binoculars and the backpack that he called his spy kit. “I’ll be out in front,” he said.
“Mom and Dad don’t want you spying on the neighbors,” Alex said.
“How else will we know if they have boys or not?”
Benjie went out, letting the door bang behind him.
Pete returned to his breakfast.
Alex turned on the computer. While he waited to get connected to the Internet, he read his homework assignment: “Write three paragraphs or more about the history of Oklahoma.”
With any luck he would find everything he needed to know on the Internet. He could finish the assignment quickly and spend the morning on more important things, such as asking Rocky to come over to shoot baskets.
When his search results appeared on the screen, he clicked on the most promising site and began to read. Oklahoma history turned out to be more interesting than he had expected. He especially liked a picture that showed an oil well on the grounds of the state capitol building.
Half an hour later Alex was printing out his report when he heard four knocks at the back door in the special rhythm that Rocky always used. “Come on in!” Alex yelled.
“Alex?”
“I’m in the family room.” Alex shut off the printer and put his assignment in a folder. “What’s up?” he said as he heard Rocky enter the room.
“Someone broke into our house! We were burglarized!”
Alex turned to his friend. “When? What happened?”
“Today. This morning.” Rocky looked pale, the way he had when he’d caught the flu. “Mother and Blake and I went out for breakfast, and when we got home our back door had been kicked in. Whoever did it took both our television sets and our computer and Blake’s new camera and some cash.” His voice trembled, as if he couldn’t quite catch his breath.
“Did you call the police?” Alex asked.
“The sheriff just left. He wrote down everything we’re missing and said to call if we discover anything else that was taken.”
“Do you have any idea who did it?”
“No, but whoever it was must have seen us leave because we were only gone a little over an hour. We ate breakfast at Mad Dog’s Diner, then picked up some paint at the hardware store. When we got home, the back door was open.”
Alex’s stomach felt queasy. Three months ago an arsonist had set fires in the neighborhood and had nearly killed Alex. The arsonist got caught, but it had been the most horrible experience of Alex’s life. He had barely begun to feel safe again, and now this happened.
Pete went to Rocky and rubbed against his ankles. Rocky had saved Pete’s life during the fire
,
and Pete would never forget it.