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Chapter One

My Early Years

 

My name is Mr. Puffball, and this is my story.

It all started in a little town called New Jersey, home to such famous American landmarks as my house. Back then, I was a mere kitten. But even an adorable kitten knows when he’s different. While my siblings bounced in baskets and smelled things, I pretended—I was a brave knight, a mad scientist, a sad clown. I experimented with accents. I hummed showtunes.

Why? I didn’t know.

Then one day, I saw an old movie on TV. It starred the world’s greatest actor—El Gato. The movie opens on a dusty landscape filled with nothing but cactus, tumbleweeds, and UFOs. Into the frame saunters a pair of awesome cowboy boots. Slowly the camera pans up and up, until the screen is filled with the face of a tough-looking tabby. He swaggers toward a saloon, pushes past the swinging doors, holds up one bandaged arm, and says,

 

 

Wow!

That movie, Cow-Cats & Aliens, changed my life. Because suddenly I understood my destiny—to be a movie star actor.The very famous kind.

So I made a list of all I must do to become a movie star, and I called it:

 

 

 

All I Must Do to Become a Movie Star

 

1.         Act Like a Star. I made movie sets and arranged the lighting. Then I tricked my siblings into being my costars.

 

2.         Dress Like a Star. I made costumes out of household items. A little glitter and glue could change a king into a ninja. An alien into a mailman. A wizard into a lizard.

 

3.         Work on Acceptance Speech for Best Actor in an Excellent Movie. I rehearsed my speech for that night of all award nights: the Oscars.

 

4.   Envision a Movie Star Future. I spent hours on our couch, imagining my life—in show business!

5.   Ignore the Naysayers. Sometimes my siblings refused to be in my shows. “This is dumb,” they would say. “I’d rather chew stuff.” Or “Pile on Mr. Puffball!”

 

I tried ignoring them, which is hard when you’re at the bottom of a kitten pileup. Or getting your ears gnawed. Or tweaked.

 

My life was not easy. But the road to stardom never is.

 

 

Chapter Two

A Star in the Family? Make That Two!

 

One day, I told Mom my plan. “I want to be a famous actor!” She nodded and said,

 

Then she whipped out an old photo.

 

It was Great-Grandma Zelda in a major motion picture. She looked so glamorous! And her acting, even in a photo, was superb. Hope stirred in my chest area. My own fur and blood had been a movie star. Perhaps I really would follow in her paw prints.

As if reading my mind, Mom smiled at me and said the words that would get stuck inside my head for the rest of my life. In a good way.

“Mr. Puffball, I believe you will be a star one day. If you follow your dreams.”

And then, Mom gave me the best present ever: a replica of my hero, El Gato. He looked exactly like he did in Cow-Cats & Aliens. Only much smaller.

 

With Mom’s encouragement, I decided it was time to get serious. So I made a pie chart of The Six Reasons I Will Be a Movie Star.

 

Looking at my pie chart made me realize something: I wanted a piece of pie. Preferably cherry.

From that day forward, my passion grew ever stronger. Tiny El Gatowas my new costar as we acted out scenes from all my favorite movies.

 

 

Yes, tiny El Gato stuck by me during the good times and the bad. He never fell asleep during my monologues. He never stole my Tabby Treats. And he never complained if, in my excitement, a bit of my spit flew onto his cape. Because he understood that the show must go on. Even if spit is dripping off your cape.

But even the best of times must end. Acting out scenes with tiny El Gato, homemade costumes, and zero sound equipment was not making me famous. No Hollywood talent scouts were coming over to say,

 

No camera-cats were filming my every move. No Hollywood directors were at my front door, saying,

 

So one day, after I’d checked the front door for directors, I decided that if Hollywood wouldn’t come to me, I’d go to Hollywood. But it’s not easy to leave the comforts of home. I needed that extra push. And a push is what I got.

It happened when my sister pushed me. I fell and rolled across the room into a pile of newspapers, knocking the top one loose. As the newspaper floated toward my face, my mood changed from grumpiness to happiness! For this is what I saw:

 

My moment of truth had arrived. I glanced at the newspaper. Then I glanced at my siblings, who were rolling around the floor making poopy noises. Then I asked myself, “What would Furlock Holmes do? What would Hairy Purrer do? What would Catman do?”

They’d go to that audition! And they wouldn’t tell their moms, just like I wouldn’t tell mine. Because she’d say, “But you’re just an adorable little kitten. You can’t go to Hollywood. At least let me knit you a sweater first.” And that would take forever!

Besides, I wasn’t a kitten anymore. I was fourteen months old. Plus, I was mature for my age. So I found a strip of cloth and tied it around my waist. I tucked tiny El Gato inside, along with my newspaper clipping, my photo of Great-Grandma Zelda and some yogurt-covered mouse tails.

Mom was watching a yoga video and didn’t see me mouth the words, Good-bye, Mom. Nor did she see me scribble this note:

 

Dear Mom,

I’m going to Hollywood to follow my dreams! I know you will never forget me. I probably won’t forget you, either.

Love,

Your talented son,

Mr. Puffball

 

I left it in the fridge, where I knew she’d find it. Then I padded out the back door.

When I reached the corner, I turned and looked at my old home. A big part of me wanted to race back, get a forehead lick from Mom, and play Chew the Tail with my siblings.

But a bigger part of me knew it was time to go.

An even bigger part of me, all of me in fact, was chased farther from home by a large dog. Fortunately, she chased me in a westerly direction. So, even after that dog got bored chasing me, I just kept going.

 

 

Chapter Three

My Journey in Postcards (to Mom)

 

As I made my way across this great land of ours, I sent postcards back to Mom.

 

The condor surprised me with a gift from a former “dinner guest.” It was a skateboard! I’d never skated before, but when the condor told me he was getting hungry, you should have seen me jump on it and go!

Skateboarding is the best! I kicked, twisted, and grinded my way across Arizona with the wind rushing through my fur. And soon, tiny El Gato and I ollied over the state line into California. Oh, how we cheered! (Actually, only I cheered. But tiny El Gato looked cheerful.)

We went to sleep happy that night. We were almost in Hollywood.

Or were we?

 

 

Chapter Four

An Unexpected Detour

 

The next day, after some rad skateboarding, I saw the sign I’d dreamed of since kittenhood. Some locals were waiting to greet me and maybe give me a free map of celebrity homes. Or at least a high five. I couldn’t believe tiny El Gato and I were finally in Hollywood!

 

Which may have been because we were not.

 

My first moments in Hobowood were tense.I feared I’d said the wrong thing.

But then—

They liked me! And I liked them. The hobos were free spirits who lived by their own rules, eating beans right out of the can and wandering the nearby forest, which they called Nature’s Litterbox.

We sat down together to stuff our faces with beans. When we were done eating, they said, “And now, it’s showtime!” I anticipated more gas-related frivolity, but I was wrong. My new friends put on a genuine hobo show.

 

Of course I had to join in. A large stick became a wand for my rendition of Hairy Purrer. I covered my paws with empty bean cans for RoboCat,and used my skateboard for a reenactment of The Secret Life of Walter Kitty.

I was having so much fun that I didn’t notice the hobos stop performing to stare at me. But I sure noticed when they clapped and yelled, “Bravo!” Wow. I’d traveled across the country in search of stardom, and here in Hobowood, I’d become an overnight sensation. And the sun hadn’t even set yet.

“Teach us, Mr. Puffball!” said the hobos. “Teach us everything you know!”

Let’s face it. After all the movies I’d watched, I did know a lot. I could stay in Hobowood and become an acting teacher by day, an American hobo idol by night. I would write scripts on tree bark, make a director’s chair out of logs, and create costumes out of leaves. Maybe I’d even carve an Oscar out of stone.

As if on cue, the head hobo put his arm around me and said, “Mr. Puffball, you have the heart of a hobo. Please stay with us forever.”

Silently, the hobos linked paws to form a circle around me and began to sing the hobo initiation song:

 

Life with the hobos is living pure and free,

We travel round by train and sleep under tree,

Oh, never do we want for anything you see,

Because we’re the best that great cats be!

 

Suddenly the world stood still as the last line of their song ran over and over in my mind— “Because we’re the best that great cats be! . . . that great cats be . . . great cats be . . .”

“The Great Catsby!” I yelled. “I have to get to my audition!”

“An audition to become a hobo?” said one of the hobos.

“No,” I said firmly, “an audition to become a Hollywood movie star. In Hollywood.”

She broke from the circle and put her arm around me. They did that a lot. “We love you, Mr. Puffball,” she said. “And if you really want to go to Hollywood, we’re gonna help you get there.”

So the next morning, my new hobo friends and I said our tearful good-byes. I gave them my skateboard, which was very nice of me. And they helped me get on a train, hobo-style. Which was very nice of them.

 

As the train chugged along the California coast, I realized Destiny was close at hand. (And I don’t mean the cat sleeping nearby whose name happened to be Destiny.) My joy rang out in a yowl heard round the world. Or at least inside the train car.

 

Hours later, Destiny and my other new friends said, “One, two, three, heave!” And off I flew. To the Real Sign. The Right Sign.

 

I bounced off the W and landed like cats always land: on my feet. And there I was, on that dusty California hillside that had been the site of such famous movies as:

 

Lost in these celluloid dreams, I was caught off guard by a strong breeze coming up from the valley that almost blew me and my little buddy away.

 

A newspaper landed on my face. It was the Hollywood Tribune. And inside was a very important message that seemed written just for me—

 

 

So I walked down the hill and on and on until I was in the heart of downtown Hollywood. Then I asked for directions.

 

And there it was—the most glamorous groomery in the world. I would walk through those doors a nobody. But I would come out looking—and probably smelling—like a star.

 

 

Chapter Five

Becoming Divine

 

Inside, an ultra-fancy cat with an unusual accent said, “So, you want for Ms. Lola to make you divine?”

“Yes, please,” I said.

Ms. Lola looked me over like I was a cupcake she was about to decorate. Then she summoned her support staff.

 

We began with a thorough cleansing. Then Ms. Lola whipped out her megapower fur-dryer, set it to “hurricane” and let ’er rip.

 

Soon she was elbow deep in my fur, fluffing me like I’d never been fluffed before. Next came a major smooth down with Aqua-Fur Deluxe Gel for Males.

 

Then my true makeover began.

“You want movie-star style?” asked Ms. Lola, glancing at tiny El Gato.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“Good,” said Ms. Lola. “You are in the paws of a cat who shaped many movie star heads and body furs.” She proceeded to experiment on me with styles I didn’t even know were possible for a tabby.

 

Yes, I was braided, beaded, dyed, spectacled, and dressed in black, but nothing felt right. Then she tried a style that would have been perfect for those old silent films where someone tied to train tracks yells, “Help! Help! Won’t somebody with a huge moustache please rescue me?” But let’s face it—nowadays moustaches are not that big.

 

I was losing hope. It seemed Ms. Lola had run out of ideas. But then she snipped her ruby scissors together three times and said:

 

Perfect! At last, I was Hollywood ready.

 

“Thank you, Ms. Lola,” I said.

“Very welcome, Mr. Poofball. Now go wow them. And if ever you write a Hollywood memoir, please to make one chapter about me.”

I promised her I would. Then I asked for directions to Metro-Golden-Meower Studios.

“Follow the yellow brick road,” she said, smiling.

“Really?” I asked.

“Not really,” said Ms. Lola. “But here’s something really to follow.” And she handed me this map and instructions:

 

Directions to Metro-Golden-Meower Studios

Exit Feline Divine. (Come back soon!) Turn Left toward Milky Way Bar. Hold your nose as you pass the Ye Olde Stinky Cheese Shop. Don’t eat the mice on the corner. (They’re unemployed actors.) Ignore Kat-Mart. (Not fancy!) See the world’s biggest scratching post? Resist the urge! (Unless you want fleas.) Wave at the cuties in Kitty Park. Say “Meow” to Hollywood fixtures Betty and Ginger on their bench. If they offer advice, take it! Mewly Cyrus sure did! Sharp Left! Bad Dogs! Hiss! Enjoy the grass at the Stop ’n’ Chew. Then Stop ’n’ Go at the public litter box. (There’s a clean spot in there somewhere!) Fish King = delish! Hey—it’s the Star Factory (where cats learn how to be fabulous). And now . . . ta-da!—You Are There! (If you’re good at reading maps.)

 

I followed Ms. Lola’s instructions, step by step. When I reached the end, I glanced up and—

 

I, Mr. Puffball, was standing before Metro-Golden-Meower Studios. As the setting sun bathed me in its golden light, I thought about my life so far—from my daydreaming couch to my cross-country trek to Hobowood to Feline Divine to this: the place where my audition—and my future—awaited.

Suddenly, I heard the sound of drums. Then I realized it was the sound of my heart beating in my ears. There was only one thing to do: yoga. All the best actors do it. So I took a deep breath and got into tree pose.

 

Hours later, I uncurled my limbs and found a place to sleep, since the audition wasn’t until morning. It was not the Beverly Hills Hotel, but it would do. Tonight I dream, I thought as I drifted off to sleep, but tomorrow my dreams come true.

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