The Book – An Ernie Fish Adventure



I write. About cats, of course. Yes, I am the greatest cat writer on this planet. Go to any bookstore and you will see. Thirty books with my name on them. Ernie Fish, the famous cat expert. Did I mention that I draw as well? Cats, I draw cats. I draw Giri and Garby. I draw cats I met last year. I even draw the cats from my dreams.

Every night after dinner, I sit down to write. Giri rests on top of the desk. Garby puts his head on the computer so that I cannot type. “Shouldn’t we all be sleeping now,” he says. If I ask him to get off my computer keys, he says I should buy him a computer to sleep on. “Beds are not so nice,” he thinks. Giri never tries to explain things to Garby because it never works. I still try. “You strange little boy,” I begin. “Computers are used to write things and draw things. They are not meant to be slept on.” Garby says he still wants a computer bed.

I begin to type. Cats don’t bark was the topic for today. Cats make many kinds of sounds, I write. They can make more sounds with their voices than dogs can. Cats are the best, you see. Dogs bark. Cats never bark. They use other beautiful sounds to talk. They purr. They say meow. Some cats laugh. It sounds like a sneeze. MeowChoo! But yes, I finish the section; you will never hear a cat bark.

Two hours have passed and the chapter is done. Garby and Giri are sleeping on my bed. They take my pillows too. Giri likes to sleep on top of a pillow. Garby spends the night with his legs resting on my other pillow. I don’t say anything to the boys. Cats need pillows. Oh, and they wake up by the time I go to bed.

Time to draw some cats, I think. Maybe I should draw something funny. Like a barking cat. Or I could draw a cat barking at a dog that runs away. I draw and draw until the crows say good morning. “Hello, Mother Crow,” I say. She likes me because she knows that my cats won’t hurt her. The pigeons who live outside my window do not like me or my cats though. Giri tried to eat one of them once. I, being a cat expert, saved the poor bird from a hungry Giri.

I sleep all morning while the boys watch cat cartoons. They watch them all but Tom & Jerry. “A mouse being so mean to a cat,” Garby says. “Tom needs to be a real cat.” The cartoons go on and on. I fall asleep and have cat dreams. Today’s dream was about cheese.  Garby and Giri were looking for a missing piece of cheese. They looked under the tables. They looked on the shelf. They could not find the cheese. Then Garby barked at me. Wait! No, he did not. That was the Garby in my dream. I was wrong!

I was sitting up on my bed. My dream had ended when I saw (or heard) the bark. My cat, Garby, was barking. It was not a loud bark, but he was barking in his tiny voice. Giri’s eyes were round. He knew what I was thinking about. “The chapter you wrote last night can’t go in your book,” he said. I had nothing to say. I am the famous cat expert with a cat who barks.



















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