Hissy Fitz Read Online Free Page A

after a hectic day like this, I’ll actually be able to sleep. I’m not counting on it, but it could happen.
    I clean myself up after my snack, then head back through town. The food has soothed my rage somewhat, though I still hiss and scream and swat at passersby. I stop for a drink at the city fountain with the statue of the mermaid in the center. A sparrow foolishly lands beside me and pecks at the water. My killer instinct kicks in, but I don’t give into it. I let the bird live. It doesn’t know how lucky it is that I’m fed.
    I jump down from the fountain to start the long walk home. I climb the 126 stairs leading up from the fountain to our neighborhood, which the people call Uptown. By the time I hit the top step I’m hungry again and regret letting the sparrow go.
    I hope someone has refilled my food dish. If not, someone is going to pay.

11.
Swagger

    Before the flap to my door slaps shut behind me, Zeb is there. “Hissy cat!” he hollers, and attempts to grab my tail.
    I give him my leopard impression: fangs bared, back arched, hackles up, eyes wild, my loudest scream.
RRROWWWRRRR!
    Zeb backs off, but I don’t. I launch at him, all four paws off the ground, all eighteen of my claws bared. I’m not messing around.
    Zeb’s face turns white. He twists to run, gets tangled up on his own feet, and falls to the floor. I land beside him. I could pounce on him, teach him a lesson. I should.
    But I don’t. He’s only a child. I merely scold him:
Hssssssssss!
    “Mama!” he cries. “Maaaaa-maaaaa!” He scrambles to his feet and flees.
    That was enjoyable.
    I stroll over to my dishes. No food. No water.
    Grrrrrrrrrr!
    Never mind. I smell something more delicious. There’s a bag of groceries on the counter. I leap up onto it. The smell is bird. It’s in the bag. I slash through the paper, then paw through the people food inside: apples, oranges, carrots, cabbage, a couple boxes of pasta, some cans of beans and then … a chicken breast! I slash through the plastic wrap into the bird’s flesh. Blood stains my claws. I lick them clean. I slash again.
    “Hissy!” Mom says.
    I jump. Didn’t hear her come in. Too focused on the poultry.
    She’s already changed out of her business clothes. She’s in yoga pants and a sweatshirt.
    “Get down!” she says, walking briskly toward me.
    Hssssssssss!
I say.
    I like Mom, but I don’t like being told what to do.
    “Go on,” she says, waving her hand at me. “Get down. Get down!”
    I hiss louder.
HSSSSSSSSSS!
    “Don’t you have any food of your own?” She checks my dishes. “You don’t. And no water, either. Georgie!”
    Good. She sees the problem here. I respect Mom’s good sense. I jump down.
    But Georgie doesn’t appear. A violin is screeching in the living room. Georgie is learning to play the foul instrument. Of the many earsplitting things humans have invented, theviolin must be the worst. As Georgie saws on hers, she also sings along. She makes up the words as she goes.
    “Where are my SLIP-pers!
    They’re right UN-der the chair, said her mother,
    They’re right O-ver here, said her father,
    They are right … here.”
    It’s doubtful Georgie can hear her mother over the din she is making.
    “Georgie!”
Mom calls her again in a louder, shriller voice. I wince. Then she starts putting away the groceries.
    “Zeb says you attacked him,” she says to me.
    True, but Zeb had it coming.
    “I’m sure he deserved it,” she adds.
    Absolutely.
    “I’d feed you myself, but I want Georgie to do it. It’s her job.”
    I understand — so long as I get fed and watered.
    She yells her daughter’s name again even louder, even shriller, at the exact moment Georgie appears in the doorway.
    “Here I am!” she chirps.
    “Did you forget to feed Hissy?”
    “No, I fed him when I got home,” Georgie says. “He must have eaten it all. Is he still hungry?”
    He is.
    “He just tore into the groceries,” Mom says.
    “Should I feed him