Kristin E. Andersen's Word Studio

Morton and Smoot Go to the Moon

“Morton,” said Smoot, a kitten the color of fuzzy charcoal. “Morton, have you ever been to the moon?"

“Of course, I have,” said Morton, also a kitten but orange and just a bit older.

“What’s it like?” asked Smoot. “The moon, I mean.”

“Oh, it’s very interesting,” said Morton.

“Interesting?” said Smoot. “In what way?”

“In a moon sort of way,” said Morton.

“That does sound interesting,” said Smoot. “Morton?”

“Yes, Smoot.”

“Could we go to the moon, do you think?”

“Hmmm,” said Morton.

“Please?” said Smoot.

“I’ll have to think about it.” Morton rolled over on his back and settled in for a good think. Pretty soon he was snoring.

But Smoot wasn’t in the mood to think. He wanted to go to the moon.

“Morton – ”

“Smoot, can’t you see I’m thinking?” Morton liked to think. It’s what made him so wise.

“Please, can we go to the moon, now?”

“Why don’t you practice your pouncing instead?”

“Then can we go?”

“We’ll see.”

Smoot left Morton to think and went looking for something challenging to pounce on.

He pawed a few dust bunnies. He toyed briefly with something shiny, which made a nice crackly sound when bitten. Then he spotted it. The wiliest creature of all. Snake in the grass. He’d have to be very sneaky to catch that. And very brave.

He got into his stance – tail in the air, head low. Ready. Aim.

“Got you!”

“Smoot,” said Morton.

“Huh?”

“That’s my tail.”

“Are you sure?” He gave it a kick with his back feet.

“I’m sure.”

“Hey Morton, since you’re awake now –”

“I am not.” Morton rolled over the other way.

“But Morton, don’t you want to see it?”

“See what?”

“The moon.”

“I already have.”

“Morton?”

“What, Smoot?”

“Don’t you want to see it again?”

Morton sighed. “It’s very far away.”

“How far is far?”

“If we go, we’ll miss supper.”

Just thinking about supper made Smoot’s stomach growl. “I do like supper.”

“Me, too. Let’s stay home, then.”

“What if we packed some sandwiches? We wouldn’t have to miss supper if we packed some sandwiches. Can we go? Huh? Can we?”

“There’s one more thing you should know about the moon, Smoot,” said Morton.

“What’s that?”

“Getting there isn’t easy. There might be surprises.”

“What kind of surprises?” Smoot imagined one or two rather dreadful possibilities having to do with loud noises and spritzes of water.

“Well, they wouldn’t be surprises if we knew what they were,” said Morton.

“Oh,” said Smoot.

“You see,” said Morton, “going to the moon is an adventure.”

“An adventure?”

“Yes. Because it’s full of surprises. You’ll have to be brave.”

“Will you come with me, Morton?”

“I suppose.”

So, they packed some sandwiches and set out for the moon.

They hadn’t gone far when Morton stopped abruptly and sat.

“What’s wrong, Morton?” asked Smoot.

“I just remembered something. We can’t just go to the moon.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have a moon ship.” Morton curled his tail around his feet. He looked immovable as the Sphinx. “Might as well break out those sandwiches.”

But Smoot asked, “What does a moon ship look like?”

Morton described it to him.

“Morton!” said Smoot, after looking around a little. “Would that do for a moon ship?”

Morton stretched and yawned, rearranged his tail. “I doubt it.”

“Morton, you didn’t even look.”

Morton glanced across the snag, which is cat for “rug.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Come on, let’s go see!”

Morton hauled himself to his feet, and started across the snag as if he were in no great hurry. “Mind your claws,” he cautioned.

Smoot was still getting the hang of this whole claws-in/claws-out thing. If you weren’t careful the snag could really trip you up.

Morton gave the moon ship a thorough inspection.

“Well?” said Smoot.

“I suppose it would do but – ”

Smoot started to hop in.

“No!” cried Morton. “What about the tangle?”

“Tangle?”

The moon ship was full of the stuff.

“Careful,” said Morton. “It’s irresistible.”

it looked harmless enough – so many colorful balls of fluff. Smoot leaned in to sniff it.

“No, Smoot! Don’t – !”

Suddenly tangle exploded everywhere. It went rolling and bouncing in every direction.

“Morton!” cried Smoot.

Morton went chasing after it like a whirling dervish. “I told you, it’s irresistible!” he cried.

Smoot couldn’t resist it either. They chased and chased until they were exhausted. Finally, they dragged themselves back to the moon ship.

“I see what you mean,” said Smoot.

Morton nodded, still breathing hard. “I fall for that stuff every time.”

“But Morton, look. The moon ship’s empty now. Can we go?”

“Are you sure you still want to?”

“Of course!” Smoot hopped into the moon ship and did a little dance. “We’re off to the moon!”

“To the moon,” sighed Morton, crawling in beside him.

After a while, Smoot said, “Morton, we don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”

“That’s probably because we don’t have a sail.”

Smoot didn’t know what a sail was, so Morton explained a sail is what makes moon ships go. But they didn’t have one and Smoot began to feel very disappointed that they might not be able to go to the moon after all.

“Although,” said Morton, “we could make do with that, I suppose.” He nodded toward something white and flat on top of the lookout, which is what you and I call a sofa.

“Getting it would be quite a climb. You’re not scared of heights, are you?”

“Maybe a little,” said Smoot.

“Don’t worry,” said Morton. “I’ll go with you.”

They climbed up and dragged the sail down and spread it out over the moon ship, Smoot ended up inside.

“Morton? Morton!”

“Smoot? Smoot? Where are you?”

“Here I am.”

“Smoot, this is no time for games!”

“What’s that, Morton? I can’t hear you.”

“What did you say, Smoot?”

They kept not hearing each other until Smoot figured out he could push his nose under the sail.

“Oh, there you are,” said Morton. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Morton, are you sure this is how a sail works?”

“Of course. You have to spread it out to catch the wind.”

“But there isn’t any wind in here. Is there any wind out there?”

Morton frowned. “Maybe we need to raise the sail up.” He hurried away before Smoot could ask how or why and came back with something he called a poke.

“What’s a – ouch,” said Smoot, licking his paw. The end of the poke was very pointy. The poke was what you and I would call a knitting needle.

Pointy or not, the poke did the trick. They raised the sail and finally they were on their way.

Smoot liked the feel of the wind in his whiskers. “I love adventures, don’t you, Morton? I haven’t been scared once. Have you, Morton? Morton, we should go on an adventure every day. Morton? Morton!”

“Shhh, hear that?” Morton whispered.

“Hear what?” whispered Smoot.

“Shh! Be quiet or you’ll wake it up.” Morton’s eyes were rather large all of a sudden.

“Wake what up?” said Smoot, forgetting to whisper.

Bong! Bong! Bong!

They huddled together, shaking, until it stopped.

“Why does it make that horrible noise?” said Smoot, his ears still ringing.

“I don’t know,” said Morton. “Bad manners, I expect.”

“Maybe adventures aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” said Smoot.

“You’re right. Let’s go home.”

“No, I want to go to the moon.”

“Oh, very well.”

But they decided to eat their sandwiches first, even though it wasn’t supper time.

“Adventurers have to keep their stamina up,” said Morton.

“What’s stamina?”

“It’s something adventurers have to have. Adventuring is hungry work. Pass me another sandwich, please.”

After supper, they both did some thinking. It was Smoot who first noticed when the moon ship stopped.

“Morton! We made it. We made it to the moon!”

All around the moon ship the ground was smooth and white as a pearl.

Morton looked around sleepily. “This isn’t the moon, Smoot. This is the clackety place.”

“The what place?” Smoot didn’t wait for an answer but hopped out. His toes froze as soon as they touched the pearly ground and he started to shiver. He hopped back in.

Morton said, “I guess I should have mentioned, it’s kind of – “

“Clackety? Yeah,” said Smoot, his teeth chattering. “Is the moon very far from here?”

“Not too far.”

“Can we go around?”

“Sorry, Smoot. If you want to go to the moon, you have to get past the clackety place.”

Just the thought made him shiver. He looked back in the direction of home. “We’ve come an awfully long way, haven’t we, Morton?”

“Yes, we have.”

“It would be a shame to go home now, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it would.”

“If I want to go to the moon, I’ll just have to be brave, won’t I?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Smoot got into his stance.

“What are you doing?” asked Morton.

“Getting brave,” said Smoot. Tail in the air. Head low. Ready. Aim.

“Wait!” cried Morton.

But Smoot sprang out of the moon ship and went bounding over the shiny, ice-cold ground as fast as he could go.

“This isn’t so bad once you get used to it, Morton,” Smoot called over his shoulder. “If you go fast enough, it’s not so cold on your toes.”

Clackety, clackety, clackety.

“I’m super fast, huh, Morton? Bet you can’t catch me!”

Clackety, clackety.

“Morton, that’s a funny sound your claws are making.”

Clackety.

“Morton?” Suddenly Smoot realized Morton wasn’t behind him.

Clackety, clackety.

Smoot stopped and stared. He’d never seen anything so mysterious, so wondrous, so BIG.

“Woof!” it said, barreling towards him, clackety-clacking like a bad tap dancer on four left feet.

“Smoot!” shouted Morton, from the safety of the moon ship. “Don’t just stand there! Run!”

But Smoot was laughing too hard.

“You’re like a hunk of snag with legs!” he told the Woof. “Hey, biscuit breath! What’re you smiling at?”

“Smoot!” shouted Morton. “He’s not smiling!”

Clackety, clackety.

“Are you sure? Look at all those teeth,” Smoot giggled.

Clackety, clackety.

“They’re so, they’re – uh-oh.” Morton was right. The Woof wasn’t smiling.

Clackety, clackety.

The Woof was hungry.

Clackety, clackety.

Smoot tried to run. But it was like running on butter.

“Help, Morton, help! It’s too slippery!”

Clackety, clackety.

“Claws out, Smoot! Claws out!”

The Woof opened wide. Smoot dug in for dear life. Clackety, clackety, clackety … screeeeech … whump!

“That was close,” said Morton, a little while later.

“Yeah,” said Smoot, “it was.” He was still puffed up from the experience, but very much in one piece.

“We’ll have to work on that claws-out thing,” said Morton.

“Yeah, we will. Say, Morton.”

“Yes, Smoot.”

“You could have warned me about the Woof, you know.”

“What, and scare you off? You’re not the only one who wanted to go to the moon, you know.”

“But I thought – ”

There was a twinkle of moon glow in Morton’s eye.

They sat together, just basking in the light of the moon for the longest time.

Eventually, Morton said, “What’s the matter, Smoot, cat got your tongue?”

“What’s a cat?” said Smoot.

“I don’t know. It’s just an expression. It means you’re awfully quiet.”

“Oh, I was just wondering. Do real adventurers get scared?”

“The brave ones do.”

“Then I was brave, wasn’t I, Morton?”

“Yes, you were, Smoot. Very brave.”

“Morton?”

“Yes, Smoot.”

“I couldn’t have been brave without you. Can we go on another adventure tomorrow?”

Morton yawned. “I’ll have to think about that.”

Downstairs, another conversation was taking place.

“What happened here?” said the man, retrieving a ball of yarn from under a chair.

“Oh, the cats, getting into things as usual,” said the woman. “Look at this mess. They even dragged one of the doilies off the sofa. Can you believe it?”

“Rascals. What gets into them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are they now?”

“Upstairs sitting on my dresser, staring out the window – isn’t that funny?”

“Cats are weird.”

The woman chuckled and nodded.

“Hey,” said the man, “the moon’s full tonight, want to go see?”

THE END

Author's note: I dedicate "Morton and Smoot Go to the Moon" to my dear friend, the late Renye Ress. She was one of the most talented and marvelous people I've ever known -- a writer, artist, singer, actor, the list goes on. It was one of her drawings that originally inspired this story. Then she drew a completely new image based on my story. I’d call that creative cross-pollination, wouldn’t you? I wish there had been time for more but she left us much too soon. I miss you, Renye. We all miss you.