Cat Show Queen Read online

  ‘Well, Mummy has a lot to do, Cleopatra,’ says Mrs Plume, as she begins to choose brushes and combs from her kit. ‘Get Cleopatra’s smoked salmon out for her, Gerard.’

  Mr Plume obediently opens their cool bag and puts some neatly cut salmon in a small lilac bowl with the cat’s name on it. Cleopatra sniffs at the food and turns away.

  ‘She is one fussy cat!’ says Chelsea. ‘Princess would have gobbled that up in no time at all.’

  Mrs Plume looks down her nose at us. ‘I can only imagine that your “Princess” is a common house cat. Cleopatra’s mother was the Cat Show Queen, and her grandmother too.’

  ‘That’s amazing,’ says Chelsea. ‘Princess’s mother was a stray.’

  Edith Plume grabs the table for support. ‘A stray?’ she gasps, and Mr Plume quickly fetches a chair for her to sit down.

  Chelsea looks really hurt.

  ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Let’s go and see how the cats are groomed.’

  Chelsea watches carefully and I look down at her notebook as she madly jots down some notes:

  ‘Do you bath them?’ asks Chelsea.

  ‘Oh yes,’ says the lady with the fluffy Ragdoll cat, ‘but we bath our cats about a week before the show so their hair isn’t too soft and floppy. You need to use a very mild baby shampoo and rinse it out properly.’

  ‘You rub your cat dry with a lovely soft towel and use a fan heater or blow-dryer to dry them off completely,’ adds the man with the Burmese cat. ‘Never try to groom a damp cat.’

  Chelsea nods quickly and scribbles down more notes.

  ‘And put a bib on the cat if it has a tendency to dribble,’ says the Cornish Rex cat owner.

  ‘Ah,’ I say, ‘That’s why Cleopatra has a bib.’

  Chelsea nods in agreement. ‘Cleopatra must be a dribbler.’

  We all look over towards Mum’s office, but the blinds have been pulled closed.

  ‘Edith doesn’t like anyone to see her grooming techniques,’ explains Mrs Forrester. ‘She’s convinced we’ll all copy her.’

  ‘I see,’ says Chelsea. ‘Well, you all look like you know what you’re doing to me.’

  One by one, the cat owners finish preparing their cats and put them into cages for the night. They all seem a bit sad to leave. These people love their cats as much as I love Curly, my dog.

  The door to Mum’s office closes and Edith and her husband come out. I see that the blinds have been opened and Cleopatra is sitting on Mum’s desk in her basket, looking through the glass at the other cats in their cages. I’m sure I can hear soft music playing.

  ‘No one is to enter that room. I will be back at seven a.m. sharp,’ is all that Mrs Plume says as she and her husband leave.

  Ten minutes later, Chelsea and I are having a little competition to see how many cat breeds we can remember when Mum comes in.

  ‘So everyone’s gone then?’ she asks, looking in through her office window.

  ‘All gone,’ I say. ‘But Mrs Plume will be back at seven a.m. sharp.’

  ‘Well, that is something to look forward to, isn’t it?’ says Mum, grinning.

  ‘Mum, do you think it would be okay if we brought Princess over for a little while to meet the other cats?’

  ‘I guess so. Just don’t open any of their cages. I’ll be in the back room checking on what needs to be ordered.’

  Chelsea and I head over to her house and find Princess curled up on a chair. The little grey kitten seems to have forgotten about her terrible car trip. I hope my dad has too, but somehow, I doubt it.

  ‘Come on, baby,’ says Chelsea, pretending to be Mrs Plume. ‘Mummy wants you to meet some other kitties.’ She cradles her in her arms as we head back to the surgery.

  ‘That’s funny,’ I say when I see the door to the surgery open. ‘I’m sure I closed the door.’

  Suddenly Max, my eight-year-old brother, comes around the corner with a dinosaur in his hand. ‘Juliet, where’s Mum? I want to show her what my triceratops can do. She’s not in her office.’

  ‘You didn’t open her office door, did you, Max?’ Chelsea asks slowly.

  ‘Well der! How else am I going to know if she’s in there?’

  ‘You didn’t let Cleopatra out, did you, Max?’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘A cat. A big, fluffy, white cat.’

  ‘Nope,’ says Max, shaking his head. ‘No cat in there.’

  Chelsea and I rush into the surgery and run to the door of Mum’s office. It’s wide open and Cleopatra is GONE!

  ‘Muuuum!’ I yell. ‘Cleopatra is gone!’

  Mum bursts out of the back room. ‘What do you mean “gone”?’

  ‘I mean Max-let-her-out gone!’

  ‘I DID NOT!’ bellows Max. ‘I didn’t even see a white cat.’

  ‘Ouch!’ squeaks Chelsea. Princess has just seen one of the other cats and is growling again. She’s latched her claws onto Chelsea’s arm.

  ‘Chelsea, take Princess home,’ says Mum quickly. ‘Juliet, shut the surgery door. Max, go and get Dad.’

  We all do as we’re told and Mum and I start to look around the surgery.

  ‘Cleopatra! Here puss, puss, puss,’ I call.

  Chelsea comes back with her mum, and Dad comes back with Max.

  ‘She’s not here,’ says Mum.

  Mum is usually pretty cool under pressure, but she’s white as a ghost and her hands are shaking. She looks over at Dad.

  ‘Can you imagine what will happen if we lose this cat?’ she says.

  ‘We’ll find her,’ says Dad, rubbing Mum’s back. ‘Don’t worry.’

  My dad can be really good in an emergency (as long as he doesn’t have to touch any animals).

  We all agree to split up to look around. First we finish checking every corner of the surgery, then we all head outside.

  We’ve been looking for forty-five minutes and I can tell Mum is thinking about giving up when we hear Mrs O’Sullivan’s voice. ‘Found her!’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness,’ Mum says.

  We all race over to see Chelsea’s mum holding the huge white cat.

  The problem is, Cleopatra is no longer white.

  ‘Oh no!’ gasps Chelsea. ‘Where did you find her?’

  ‘Underneath Dad’s truck,’ says Mrs O’Sullivan. ‘She’s covered in oil and grease.’

  ‘That woman is going to kill me,’ says Mum slowly, sitting down. ‘How on earth are we going to get the oil off? I’ll have to ring her.’

  ‘Hang on, Mum,’ I say. ‘Chelsea can fix her, can’t you, Chelsea? You’ve spent all day watching the professionals.’

  Chelsea looks a bit nervous, but suddenly she says, ‘Yes. Yes, I can fix her. Let’s go.’

  We all rush back to the surgery and lock the door behind us. There is no way we are letting this cat out again.

  ‘Mrs Fletcher, can you run a warm bath?’ asks Chelsea. ‘I’m going to need to borrow some of Mrs Plume’s things. Do you think she’ll notice?’

  ‘Hang on a sec, Chelsea,’ I say. I grab my Vet Diary and draw a quick sketch of the way Mrs Plume has her things set up, so we can put it all back just the way it was.

  ‘Right,’ I say, ‘help yourself.’

  Chelsea carefully selects some shampoo, combs, brushes and powder.

  ‘Mum,’ she says, ‘do you think there is any way you could get the grease out of her bib?’

  ‘I could try,’ says Mrs O’Sullivan, gently untying the bib.

  It’s covered in black grease, but Mrs O’Sullivan is really good at washing because Chelsea has four football-playing brothers, so maybe she can get it out.

  Dad and Max go back to our house to get dinner ready. Mum gently lifts the rather cranky-looking cat into the bath.

  Most cats hate baths, but I think Cleopatra has been having them since she was a kitten because she seems quite used to it.

  ‘Now,’ says Chelsea, gently squirting some baby shampoo onto the cat’s back. ‘We need to massage it into her fur, but be very carefu
l not to matt it together by rubbing backwards and forwards.’

  ‘Is the grease coming out?’ I say.

  ‘Well, the water is black, so something’s coming out,’ says Mum, ‘but Edith is still going to know.’

  ‘It’s going to be okay, Mum. You know Chelsea is nearly a world-famous animal trainer and groomer. If anyone can fix this, she can.’

  ‘Oh, Juliet, I know Chelsea is very clever, but I just don’t think this cat will ever be white again.’

  ‘Leave it to us, Mum. Go and finish your work. We can do this, I promise.’

  Mum looks really worried and tired. She finally agrees to continue her work in the back room and let us try to clean Cleopatra.

  Chelsea has her notebook open beside us on the bench. ‘We might rinse her and start again with some fresh water,’ she says. ‘Thank goodness Cleopatra is so used to being handled. It’s going to be a very long process.’

  We end up having to empty the water four times, until finally the grease seems to be gone.

  ‘Didn’t the lady with the ragdoll cat say their fur is too soft and floppy if you wash it the day before the show? How will we make it stand up?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, first we have to dry her completely. As I do it, I’m going to try to blow it backwards, maybe that will give it some extra lift,’ says Chelsea.

  I nod quickly. Chelsea seems to know what she’s talking about.

  I hold Cleopatra in a slightly upside-down position while Chelsea blow-dries her hair backwards.

  By the time she is completely dry, Cleopatra’s hair is standing out all over her body and it is a crisp bright white.

  ‘Now for the powder,’ says Chelsea. ‘We need to part the hair and shake it between the strands as much as possible.’

  We get a little carried away with the powder and it ends up all over the place, but by the end Cleopatra’s hair is poofed out everywhere and she looks gorgeous. Chelsea takes her folded hanky out of her pocket and gently wraps it around the cat’s neck.

  ‘Just in case she dribbles,’ she says.

  ‘Well done, Chelsea,’ I cheer, giving my best friend a high-five.

  Mum comes in when she hears the commotion. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she says, laughing. ‘Cleopatra looks amazing!’

  We are all up and about at six o’clock, so we’ll be ready when the cat-show ladies arrive at seven.

  Mrs O’Sullivan has worked wonders on the little purple bib and we rush in to tie it in place. Cleopatra is still looking fluffy and seems quite happy to see us.

  We just make it out and close the door when Mrs Plume arrives. She nods at us then cracks the door open to see her ‘baby’.

  ‘Cleopatra, what have you done to your fur?’ she says angrily. ‘It’s such a mess.’

  Chelsea looks really hurt, but of course we can’t say anything.

  Mrs Plume looks at us suspiciously, but we are saved by Mr Plume coming in and distracting her when he accidentally knocks the water bowl.

  ‘Oh, do be careful Gerard,’ she snaps. ‘Cleo has already made a mess of her fur without getting water on it as well. It’s probably because she’s not used to having to sleep in such a dreadful room.’

  Mr Plume looks at the cat and frowns. Then I notice that we’ve left one of the clips on the case open. I hold my breath as I see him notice.

  He slowly reaches down and clips it shut without his wife seeing.

  ‘I think she looks magnificent, dear,’ he says, giving us a small wink.

  ‘I’ll just have to put up with it, I guess,’ she snaps. ‘You’d better hurry and pack the van, Gerard. We don’t have all day.’

  The other ladies have all started carrying their cats, tables and kits out to their cars. Even though the Plumes were here first, they’ll be the last to leave because they have twice as many things.

  Mum, Chelsea and I jump into our car and head off first. We’ll need to be ready to greet the cat owners when they arrive.

  ‘As each person enters the show, they’ll need to pass the vet-check table where we’ll be,’ says Mum. ‘Every cat needs to be health-checked and show all the right vaccination certificates.’

  ‘How will you know if the cats you check are sick, Mum?’ I ask, with my Vet Diary ready.

  ‘Well, sick cats can be tricky to diagnose, Juliet, because lots of the symptoms are things you’d have to watch over a long period of time, like their toileting habits, but there are a few things we can check for today.’

  I quickly write them down as Mum tells me:

  ‘You sound like you’re going to be pretty busy,’ I say. ‘Lucky you’ve got us to help.’

  Mum nods and smiles. ‘I sure am,’ she says.

  When we get to the showgrounds there are lots of cars pulling up. We jump out with our vet kits and head in.

  There are cages on stands everywhere, all lined up in rows with numbers on them. There are a few different areas that have been roped off that say, ‘Judging Area – No Entry’.

  Mum goes to meet all of the judges and people who are working at the show. Chelsea and I go for a quick race around to look at everything.

  There is a real buzz of excitement already. On one table there are heaps of ribbons, rosettes and trophies.

  People are starting to line up, so Mum is told it’s time to start the check-in process. When I look at the huge number of cages, I can see we’re going to be very busy if there’s a cat in each one.

  At the first table, there are a few people checking entry forms. At the second table, Mum shows Chelsea and me how to check off the vaccination and vet certificates, while she checks the cats.

  I have never seen so many cats, in so many different shapes and colours. Dozens of different breeds file past.

  Each time, Mum looks carefully at the cat’s eyes, gums and skin and listens to its heart.

  Chelsea and I look at the dates on the certificates and put a neat tick next to the cat’s number on a sheet once we’ve checked them.

  While I’m waiting for the next certificate to check, I notice a lady down the line who keeps sticking her hand in her pet carrier and wiping her cat’s eyes.

  ‘Mum,’ I whisper. ‘Make sure you have a good look at the cat that is three down the line. I think the lady is trying to hide something.’

  Mum nods and keeps checking the cat in front of her.

  When we get to the cat I was worrying about, Mum has a really good look at its eyes.

  ‘Mmm,’ she says, looking a little concerned. ‘I think your cat might have conjunctivitis.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ snaps the owner. ‘Look at the vet certificate. He was cleared for good health yesterday. It’s just the dust from the ride in the car.’

  Mum looks again. ‘No, I’m pretty sure he does. See the redness here and the pus under his eyelid. It comes on very quickly and I’m afraid it’s highly contagious. You won’t be able to enter today, I’m very sorry.’

  The woman who owns the cat is really disappointed, but she understands. Mum gives the lady some eye drops from her kit and we organise another room where the cat can stay for the day, away from the others, so at least the owner can still enjoy the show.

  ‘Well done, Juliet!’ whispers Mum when she leaves. ‘You really are nearly a vet.’

  I give her a quick hug and get back to my job.

  It takes us nearly two hours to check all the cats. Edith Plume is almost last to arrive. I wonder to myself if she planned it that way, so that she could make a grand entrance.

  Her hair is teased and stands up all over her head, and she wears blue eye shadow to match Cleopatra’s eyes.

  Her coat is matched perfectly with the fabric that is draped over Cleopatra’s cage.

  ‘Look,’ whispers Chelsea. ‘She is even wearing lilac shoes!’

  At last everyone is in the hall and we are free to go and watch the show.

  Mum, Chelsea and I look into the show ring as each cat is handed to a steward, who puts it on a table to be judged. At no time is the owne
r allowed to speak to the judge and everyone is very quiet while the judges carefully look over the cat.

  First they look at the cat’s face and eyes and the shape of its head. Then one of the judges lifts the cat off the table and plonks it down again, feeling the cat all over its body.

  ‘What is he feeling for?’ asks Chelsea.

  ‘The judge is checking how well-built the cat is – if it has good bones, if the length of its legs and tail are in proportion, and how thick its fur is,’ says Mum.

  Some vets know a lot about cat shows.

  The other judge starts to flick a little wand with a toy on it in front of the cat to see what it does.

  The cat paws at the toy and the judge watches the way it moves and nods. The cat seems very happy to just stay on the table.

  ‘I don’t think Princess would have liked this at all,’ says Chelsea.

  I nod. I think she’s right.

  The time it takes to judge each cat is very fast compared to the time it’s taken to get the cats ready. We cheer when we see some of the cats that stayed with us last night win ribbons.

  The last group to be judged is the Persians and, before long, Cleopatra is on the table in the show ring. Edith Plume stands off to the side with her lips smacked together and her nose in the air.

  The judge looks at Cleopatra from every direction. There is a team off to the side that is recording what is being said about each cat.

  ‘Well, this cat’s grooming is outstanding,’ says the judge. ‘REALLY outstanding. The way the fur is sitting is perfect. And the style and powdering is excellent.’

  I look over at Mrs Plume and she is glowing with pride, then I nudge Chelsea and smile at her. ‘No wonder you’re nearly world-famous!’

  Cleopatra wins first place and Best in Show, and Edith Plume spends the rest of the afternoon telling everyone how she styled Cleopatra’s hair so perfectly.

  The people who are making the advertisement for Queen’s Cat Food Company come over and start talking to Mrs Plume about filming Cleopatra for their cat food commercial. She answers every question in a very loud voice, just in case people don’t know how important she is.