Felix Takes the Stage by Kathryn Lasky Page B

— the more ornate the better. Therefore, she was familiar with the tradition of theater cats. These cats slinked about backstage, a soothing presence for nervous performers and an effective way to keep down the mouse population. Perhaps the most notorious of these felines was Fat Cat’s distant cousin Boy Cat, who had hopped down from the stage into the empty front row seat during The Phantom of the Opera, perched next to Princess Margaret, and then proceeded to eat her bouquet.
    Fat Cat, or Fatty, as he was fondly called, was a lazy caramel-colored Manx and had long been the “house cat” at the philharmonic hall. He had arrived some years before on a cruise ship that specialized in theater on the high seas. The seas, however, got a bit too high and the drama — well, too dramatic — when the ship sprang a leak. Fatty had washed up in a bucket on the shore of Venice Beach in California.

    He had arrived at the symphony hall shortly before Edith. The poor spider was clearly exhausted when she staggered into Fatty’s basement. But Fatty was drawn to her immediately. Even sleepy, she had a charm.
    â€œDon’t worry! Don’t worry!” she kept telling him. “It’s nothing. Nothing! I’ll be fine in a few hours. But I’m too tired to make a web at the moment.”
    â€œRest here, madame.” Fatty wiggled an ear.
    â€œOh, how kind.”
    â€œHere, I’ll help you.” Fatty pressed his furry cheek against the floor so Edith could climb into his left ear.
    A few hours later, Edith had spun a silken sac into which she had deposited her eggs. “You don’t mind? Do you?”
    â€œNo, not at all,” Fatty replied, although it was rather like having cotton plugs in his ear.
    And then a few weeks later, what Edith referred to as “nothing” became “something.” Something that Fatty would always think of as a miracle. For that evening, during a stirring cello performance, Edith’s eggs hatched. Jo Bell first, then Felix, and finally Julep almost an hour later. It was a small brood, most likely because of how tired Edith had been. She later explained that her husband had died shortly after she found out that the children were coming. Without Fatty, she might not have managed on her own.
    Fatty became the children’s godspider. One did not have to be a spider to assume this role of mentor, second-opinion giver, and protector. Kindness and wisdom were Edith’s main requirements. Edith herself had had a pig for her godspider, a pig named Charlotte, who oddly enough had been named for a famous spider in literature. If Fat Cat had any flaws, it was a tendency toward laziness that left him a little chubby.
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    â€œFatty! At last. We’ve had a disaster!” Edith began.
    Fatty caught sight of Felix and blinked. “What in the name of …”
    Edith sighed. “Did you hear that thump?”
    â€œYes.” Fatty said, then purred with deep apprehension. “Not the …”
    Edith nodded wordlessly.
    â€œWe must check on the Maestro at once!” Fat Cat exclaimed.
    â€œThat’s why I sent for you. If he is not d-e-a-d”— She could not say the dreadful word. She had to spell it out, although all of her children could spell — “if he isn’t, we must do something to save him.”
    â€œOf course.” Fat Cat nodded.
    Edith turned to Felix. “Felix, we’re going upstairs to the stage and investigate. You stay here.”
    â€œI don’t think I have much choice, Mom. Remember, I’ve lost a leg.”
    â€œYes, dear, but that eighth leg will grow back. Next molt. Now I’m going to wrap that bandage a bit tighter.” Edith made a grimace and began squeezing out some more liquid silk. Then, like the most superb seamstress, she began to weave an outer layer around Felix’s wound.
    â€œMarvelous, simply marvelous!” Fatty purred in wonder as he