Illustrated by Brandy Hinnen & Karen Kahn

EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

I am a tiger. I live with a girl named Karen. Usually I stay on the top of her dresser and watch over her as she sleeps, but every time she goes somewhere and stays overnight, I get to go too. As a tiger, I protect Karen. Sometimes she puts me in her suitcase, but on a good trip, I get to sit at the top of her embroidered bag. It’s comfortable to sit there, perched on soft sweatshirts. I can see out and show everyone my sharp teeth and green eyes.

Chapter I
An Ice Cream Cat

Today we travel again, and I sit happily in my embroidered bag. We are in a big gray city with noisy streets and lots of cars and lights. We are in the backseat of the girl’s car. She is sitting next to me. Her father is up front driving. “Hey Karen, look. A real ice cream parlor,” he says to her. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” she answers, perking up in her seat and looking out her window, left and right, left and right, to see the ice cream parlor.

Up my bag goes onto her shoulder and we bounce, bounce along into the store. Inside, there is a long counter with tall chairs in front. There are tables where you can sit, that have shorter chairs. All of the chairs in the ice cream parlor have shiny blue cushions and swirly metal backs.

We sit down at one of the tables. My bag gets set on the floor under it, right next to Karen’s feet. Another pair of feet come up near me, so I sniff them. Mostly what I smell is sugar cones and chocolate.

Being a tiger, I have an excellent sense of smell, so I can tell who is friendly and who means harm. The feet seem friendly, so I relax a bit. The feet’s voice says, “What can I bring you guys today?”

Karen asks, “Can we?”

Her father replies, “I don’t know, Kar.”

“Please,” says Karen.

“Okay, but you’ll have to do most of the work.”

“No problem,” Karen replies.

“We’ll share the banana split,” says her father.

The feet walk off then soon return. They are wearing sneakers with drawings of flowers and whales on the sides. Clank - I hear a plate being put down on the table. “There you go,” says the sneakers.

“Thank you,” answer both Karen and her father. Now, I hear them eating and I am licking my lips. The ice cream certainly smells delicious. My stomach growls, but I can wait. I will hunt tonight. If anything comes to the girl’s room, that will be my dinner. We tigers like to catch our own food you know.

I hear the clanging of spoons on the empty dish. This means their feeding is over and it is time to go. The sneakers return. “Wow, that didn’t cost much,” says the father.

“Everything’s half price,” answer the sneakers.

“Why?”

“I’m afraid we are going out of business. Tomorrow is our very last day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. This is a nice place.”

“Yeah, it’s sad. This parlor’s been here for twenty-five years.”

“Well, thank you for the ice cream.”

“Thank you,” say the feet as they walk away.

“We’ve got to go now, Kar. I’m late,” says her father.

Karen and her father get up quickly. I dig my claws into the sweatshirt I’m sitting on and brace for lift-off. I see Karen and her father’s legs head for the door, but my bag and I are not going with them. They open the door. I growl to let them know their mistake, but the door to the shop closes behind them. They didn’t hear me. Maybe I should run after them, but no, I could never open that giant door. Now look, their car is driving away. I can run fast, but even I can’t run as fast as a car. What am I going to do? The girl counts on me to watch over her at night.

The sneakers return to the table. “Oh no, they left their bag,” the voice says. I get hoisted up onto the table beside the empty ice cream dish. The sneakers and the feet belong to a young woman. “What a cute tiger,” she says. “I hope they come back for you before we close.” She lifts my bag up and takes me behind the big counter. She sets me on the ground, next to a lot of cardboard boxes. I sit there for a long time.

Things are very quiet. The woman with the sneakers walks by and says, “Well, I guess this is it.” The lights go off and the front door closes. I sniff and can tell that all the people are gone. It’s very dark, but soon my eyes adjust. Tigers can see as well in the dark as people can in the light.

I am very worried about the girl. She will be scared if she’s alone tonight. I’ve got to find some way out of this place. Wait - what’s that? Something’s moving over there. It’s coming toward me. I crouch down in my bag and peer over the top. It’s getting closer. I get ready to pounce. Is it a ferocious lion or a wolf? It’s sniffing my bag. Steady. Steady. Now, pounce! A face looms over me and I’m ready to spring - oh, it’s only a cat, and a kitten at that. “Moo?” it says. “Moo, mew,” with a meek, high-pitched voice.

Fortunately, I understand the language of cats, so I ask it, “What’s your name, kitten?”

“I’m Scoot,” he replies, then asks me “What’s yours?”

“I am Travel Tiger.”

“That’s a strange name.”

“Listen Scoot, you must help me. I need to get out of this store.

Is there an open window or a door somewhere?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what you mean.”

The poor kitten looks scared and confused. “Calm down,” I tell him. He is very upset and says, “My mom’s gone and all of my brothers and sisters and I’m here all alone and I’m really scared.”

“Pull yourself together. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“It will? You’ll help me find my mommy?” he says while licking my face.

“Uugk – stop that. You’re getting me all wet.”

He nuzzles his nose against my nose and purrs. Now he’s climbing into my bag, curling up next to me on the sweatshirt.

“Grrr,” I sigh.

This little cat is too scared to help me. He tucks his face under his paw and closes his eyes. In seconds, he’s falling asleep. “Thank you for helping me, Tiger,” he says drowsily.

I keep watch all night, hoping some gazelle or wildebeest will come so I can have a hunt and a feast, but none does. Soon the store is filled with the faint glow of morning time. The kitten wakes up. Yawn. Streetch.

“Moo?” he says inquisitively.

He cleans his face by licking his paw. When he gets it all wet, he wipes it on his face like a washcloth. It’s funny, as he rubs his paw on his face, his tongue is still licking, even though it’s not licking anything except for the air. He holds his hind legs with his front legs and cleans his back paws, then his tail. He has a nice tail with rings on the end like a raccoon. It’s bushy too, like a raccoon, only his colors are orange and white. The rest of him is white with orange creamy blotches. He sort of looks like a cow. They are colored that way. Come to think of it, he sounds like a cow too, saying “Moo” and “Mew” instead of “Meow,” like most cats.

I don’t usually like house cats, but this one seems nice. He does an excellent job of cleaning himself, like a tiger would in the wild.

“How did you get into this store last night, Scoot?” I ask.

“I live here.”

“Oh, is your mother on a hunt? Will she be back soon?”

“I don’t know,” he says, starting to look scared again.

“Okay, okay, I’m sure she’ll be back soon,” I say. I’m not very good at taking care of kittens. “Have you always lived in the store?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“Three.”

“Do the people know you’re here, do they feed you?”

“No.”

“Where do you hide then, where is your den?”

“We live behind the wall in the kitchen. There’s a hole in the wall. No one ever sees us.”

“What do you eat?”

“At night, we come out and eat ice cream and leftover hamburgers. Sometimes my mom catches mice. Where do you think my mom went?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I stay with you until she comes back?” He gives me a scared little look with his question.

“Yes, you can stay – ugk! Don’t lick me, though.”

“Sorry, Tiger.”

He curls up head to tail in an orange and white ball and quickly goes to sleep under a sweatshirt. It’s funny, he really does look like ice cream, maybe because he eats so much of it. He’s an ice cream cat with butterscotch on top.

So we wait and wait as the day gets brighter and brighter, but no one comes - not his mother, not the girl, not the woman with the sneakers, no one.

Finally, at the middle of the day, when the sun is high, the door opens. From behind the bar, I can’t see who it is, but I can sniff. It smells like sugar cones and chocolate. It’s the woman with the whale and flower sneakers. She comes behind the bar. Some other people are with her. They sound like men with heavy shoes.

“Take all of the boxes out to the truck,” she says. They lift up the cardboard boxes and take them away.

Sniff sniff, I go. What’s that? Yes, it’s Karen! I can’t see her, but I can tell she is here. I would know her scent anywhere.

“Oh good, you’ve come back,” says the woman with the sneakers. “I was worried you would forget. It’s lucky you came when you did. Here’s your bag.” I get hoisted up over the bar and placed in Karen’s arms.

“Thank you very much. I thought I’d lost my tiger forever. Uhh, you’re heavy tiger,” she says to me as she slings my bag over her shoulder.

Oh, Scoot’s still in the bag, I realize. “Grrrrr,” I growl to tell her, but she doesn’t understand tiger.

“Bye,” says Karen. We leave the store and get into her car.

“See, I told you they’d still have it,” her father says as we drive away.