A Bad Kitty Christmas Is a Good Christmas Book

I imagine that most cat owners have entertained the thought that they have a bad kitty. After all, cats have an independent attitude and a knack for getting into mischief, and the holidays often bring out the worst in them since there are so many opportunities to cause trouble. That is certainly the case in Nick Bruel’s A Bad Kitty Christmas, one of several books featuring a scraggly black car with a tuft of white fur on her chest and a sometimes-surly disposition.

This charming story is told through rhyme. It begins and ends as a parody of A Visit From St. Nicholas, but it’s a much longer narrative than that classic poem, and Santa Claus isn’t involved at all. Instead, this is the story of a mischievous kitty who makes a colossal mess, gets soundly scolded and decides to run away en route to the big family dinner. Along the way, she comes to realize how nice it is to have a home, even if people can be frustrating sometimes.

One very neat thing about this book is that it is an alphabet book, but instead of going through the alphabet once, as most books of that type do, it does so several times, and it is integrated organically into the story. The first time around, we get an alphabetical list of all the damage Kitty has done to the house, with one noun and one passive past tense verb in each short sentence. Each time the sentence’s star letter is used at the beginning of a word, it is in red and extra-large.

The second time, the featured letter is blue, and instead of a sentence per letter, it’s only a word or phrase, so this alphabet only takes up two pages. It lists all of the animals the ravenous Kitty wants to eat, and some of them are quite unusual, so there is an educational element to this one beyond the alphabet as children can learn about such creatures as cormorants, ibises, narwhals and quetzals. The two-page spread also features six amusing illustrations grouping the animals, so kids can have an instant idea of what they look like.

Finally, the third alphabet is a listing of various people appearing in photographs hanging on the Christmas tree of an elderly woman who finds Kitty after she runs away. While the first alphabet is funny and the second is educational, this third is poignant as it shows all of the people important in the woman’s life and helps Kitty to understand how much these bonds matter. There are also interesting little tidbits in there, such as the fact that “vriend” is the Afrikaans word for “friend.”

Another fun element of this book is the fact that shortly after Kitty runs away, the pup who lives with her also hops out of the car in order to conduct a search. After that point, many of the pages have a black-and-white inset showing how he is progressing on his journey as he sniffs her trail out and makes inquiries of any creature he sees. The main illustrations, by contrast, are vibrantly colored and sometimes presented in several panels per page. This is a very busy book, filled with a bustle of activity and sometimes several things happening at once. It’s also ultimately a very sweet book with a heartwarming conclusion that is likely to elicit as many smiles among parents as children.

Little Critter Has Cat Trouble in What a Good Kitty

Over the summer, my brother Nathan was taking a walk in a cemetery when he stumbled upon a tiny kitten sitting on a gravestone. When he turned to head home, the kitten followed him, and he decided to bring the furry fellow home for the night. That night turned into several, and soon Chester – named after the man on whose grave he was situated – became one of the family. He’s an adorable gray tiger who purrs like a motorboat. He’s also a boatload of trouble, not unlike the feline at the heart of the Mercer Mayer I Can Read! book What a Good Kitty.

What a Good Kitty is a recent installment in the extensive Little Critter series. It is a My First reader, the lowest reading level of the five in the I Can Read! line of books for youngsters. Because of this, the book contains very short sentences featuring simple words and lots of repetition. Most pages have only one or two sentences, usually describing Kitty’s actions and the reactions of Mom, Dad and Little Sister, all of whom find this newcomer a bit of a nuisance.

As in most Little Critter books, the young scamp with the spiky hair and rumpled overalls narrates, and his thoughts are very little kiddish, making him easy for preschoolers, especially boys, to identify with. As his kitten gets reprimanded for making messes, the reader feels his frustration and empathy, since he, too, has a tendency to get into trouble just because of his high energy level.

Kitty herself is a soft gray cat with a white belly. She spends part of the book looking a bit exasperated, as though even she doesn’t have the energy to put up with Little Critter all day. At other times, though, she wears a sly smile indicating she can match him for mischief. This book shows some of the shenanigans families with kittens are likely to encounter: torn newspapers, unraveling yarn, traumatized fish and the like. And if the cat goes outside, getting stuck in a tree is always a real possibility.

This is a cute story about the trials and rewards of pet ownership. Those who want to make the book extra-fun should pay close attention to the spider and the mouse that appear throughout, often mimicking the behavior of Little Critter or Kitty. Mayer’s illustrations are so vibrant and full of details that there is enough to merit a second or third reading even though the story itself is very simple. No matter how intently they peruse the pages, for children eager to welcome a kitten into the home, this sweet tale with give them a good idea of what they are in for.

Quirky Castaway Children Seek Their Heritage in Escape to Witch Mountain

Years ago, I saw the Disney movie Escape to Witch Mountain, and it was one of those films I remembered fondly but vaguely. The memory is much fresher now that I just rewatched the 1975 John Hough fantasy about two orphans with strange abilities trying to figure out exactly who they are.

Those children are the adorable and well-mannered Tia Malone (Kim Richards) and her older brother Tony (Ian Eisenmann). Both have telekinetic powers, but Tia’s are keener, and she also has premonitions and a penchant for telepathy. After their foster parents die, they wind up in an orphanage, but their stay is cut short when the sinister Lucas (Donald Pleasence) gets a dramatic demonstration of her powers, which are of great interest to his rich, power-hungry boss, Aristotle Bolt (Ray Milland). However gilded their new cage may be, it is still a prison, and a dangerous one at that. They make their escape from their posh adoptive home, but how long can they evade such determined captors?

Young children with magical powers automatically make for intriguing movie fodder, and the mystery of their origins makes their story all the more compelling. It helps, too, that these are such incredibly nice kids, and you really want the best for them. Their powers provide ample opportunity for slapstick, particularly once Tia forges a peculiar kinship with a large bear, but this is really more of a drama than a comedy. The heart of the tale is the deep bond the children share and the development of their relationship with Jason O’Day (Eddie Albert), a crusty vagabond in whose trailer the kids hide out after making their escape from Aristotle and Lucas. Their black cat also plays an integral role in the story, particularly in terms of bringing the kids and the avowed kid-hater together.

The cast is strong all around, but Albert and Richards are the two standouts, and his gruff cynicism and her gentle innocence complement each other well. Their quest becomes not only escape from a megalomaniacal millionaire but also a journey of self-discovery as the children begin to remember their past and find a map that may lead to important answers about their family. Both Richards and Eisenmann are veterans of episodes of Little House on the Prairie in which they played unusually pure-hearted children, and that is a quality they both bring to this movie, while Albert’s ornery antics ultimately only serve to make his character more endearing.

It had been ages since I saw Escape to Witch Mountain, so I wasn’t entirely sure if it would hold up well after all this time. Happily, I loved it just as much this time around. Yes, some of the effects were a bit cheesy and I didn't focus too much on plot details beyond the basic short-term quest story, but it gave me the same fuzzy feeling it did when I was a kid. I haven’t seen the recent remake, so I don’t know if that does this one justice, but the original is a prime example of the charm to be found in the best of Disney’s live-action films.

An Allergic FBI Agent Squares Off Against a Furry Informant in That Darn Cat

Last week, I watched Norman Tokar’s The Cat From Outer Space and was surprised to discover that it starred not Dean Jones but Ken Berry, another leading man from Disney’s Herbie franchise. The next DVD to arrive in my mailbox was Robert Stevenson’s That Darn Cat!, and it made me smile to see Jones in the lead in that movie. I don’t know if I had my Herbie stars mixed up or my Disney cat flicks mixed up, but either way, it felt as though the world had righted itself.

Jones plays Zeke Kelso, the FBI agent who leads the investigation when plucky Patti Randall (Hayley Mills) reports her suspicion that her drifter of a cat, whom she calls D.C. (short for “Darn Cat”), may have a crucial clue that could lead to the bank teller whose kidnapping is headline news. The reason for this mental leap is the watch Patti finds around D.C.’s neck in place of his collar, particularly what looks to be the beginning of the word “HELP” scratched into the back. So begins a curious partnership as Zeke channels his resources into trailing this felicitous feline on his nighttime rounds.

Mills is sweet and energetic, if a tad on the daffy side, while her older sister Ingrid (Dorothy Provine) is rather snippy. She has good reasons for it, though; Zeke sets up shop in her room while she’s out, leaving her confused and under suspicion of untoward behavior by nosy neighbor Mrs. MacDougal. This sour busybody is played by Elsa Lanchester, who I recognized right away as indignant nanny Katie Nana from Mary Poppins. She is, if possible, even more comically unpleasant here, and the efforts of her disgruntled husband (William Demarest), who has a habit of turning off his hearing aid to tune her out, to undermine her are quite entertaining.

Ingrid also has to deal with the amorous advances of slimy carpool driver Gregory Benson (Roddy McDowall), who reminds me of Big Bang Theory’s Howard Wolowitz. There’s a part of me that feels sorry for this socially awkward Brit who seems cowed by an overbearing mother, but he’s too generally rude to stay in my sympathies long, and the scene in which he tries to seduce Ingrid with an explanation of how to properly prepare a duck for dinner is just plain skeezy. McDowall, incidentally, is in both this movie and The Cat from Outer Space, perhaps another reason I got them confused.

There’s really nothing all that remarkable about D.C. He’s basically a typical cat with a touch of wanderlust and a knack for knowing when he is being followed. While Lanchester and Demarest are probably the biggest sources of comic relief here, there are some funny scenes of D.C. thwarting those who want to use him as an “informant.” The antagonism between him and Zeke, who goes into sneezing fits whenever he is nearby, adds to the humor. Additionally, while he’s only in the movie for a short time, the always-funny Ed Wynn is a hoot as a frazzled jewelry store owner.

While I generally found the movie engaging, I had a hard time really connecting with Patti and especially Ingrid, so when they were in scenes apart from Zeke or D.C., I usually found my attention wandering a bit. Still, this is a fun flick with a swingin’ Sherman Brothers theme song that Bobby Darin sings with all the swagger he can muster. As someone who has been known to affectionately utter the title phrase a few times myself, I think That Darn Cat! is darn entertaining.

The Cat From Outer Space Needs a Little Human Help

Years ago, my great-uncle, a jovial man known by the nickname Happy, died, leaving behind a large collection of movies he had taped off of television. We inherited many of those, one of which was The Cat from Outer Space. Most of those tapes went kaput long ago, but I remember my brother Benjamin being enthralled with this particular movie when it made its way to us. This fall, I watched it again for the first time since the mid-90s, this time with my brother Nathan, who wasn’t quite so mesmerized but still found the movie fun.

As the movie opens, we see the landing of a vessel from outer space that contains an alien intelligence in communication with his commander. It isn’t until the conversation ends that we see who was talking: a nondescript cat who spends the next 20 minutes or so of the movie silently observing the ruckus the landing of his ship has caused. Finally, he reveals himself to a bumbling scientist rather like the title character in The Absent-Minded Professor, explaining that he needs help getting back to his ship after gathering the materials needed to get it running again.

That scientist is the endearing Frank, played by Ken Berry, who I mostly know as the sweet-natured Willoughby in Herbie Rides Again. I found his presence interesting because I could have sworn that his role was occupied by Dean Jones, who starred in the original Herbie movie and a sequel. I think Berry makes more sense in this role, however; while Jones tends to come across as rather arrogant, Berry instead projects a charming awkwardness that is especially apparent in his dealings with his perky colleague Liz (Sandy Duncan), whose crush on him causes considerable complications throughout the movie.

The cat, who takes on the name Jake after Frank gives it to him, is voiced by Ronnie Schell, whose delivery is rather detached, with certain novelties arousing unexpected interest. For instance, Jake is very impressed with human cuisine, particularly tuna, and Sandy’s female cat proves a definite distraction. Jake’s ability to interact with humanity in an unusual way comes from his collar, which glows when its powers are in use. With it, he can transmit thoughts out loud and manipulate matter with his mind as well; without it, his skills are limited to those of a typical housecat.

As a big fan of the classic TV show M*A*S*H, I found it curious that both McLean Stevenson and Harry Morgan are in this movie, though they rarely interact. Stevenson played the rather inept Colonel Blake on the series, while Morgan was the more efficient Colonel Potter, who replaced him several seasons in. Here, Stevenson is Frank’s buddy Link, a loafer whose addiction to gambling proves surprisingly helpful, while Morgan is the irritable General Stilton, who is trailed by a gaggle of underlings who pass instructions to each other. Stilton is in charge of the investigation into Jake’s ship, so getting past him is an obstacle, though he mostly serves as comic relief. The more potent antagonist is Mr. Olympus (William Prince), who, thanks to the efforts of weaselly freelance spy Stallwood (Roddy McDowall), has a pretty good idea of what Jake’s collar can do and will stop at nothing to harness that power himself.

This is a silly movie, no doubt about it. Like countless Disney sports comedies, it involves using dubious methods in order to secure a victory, in this case for the purposes of winning enough money to repair Jake’s ship. The government officials are ineffective, and as concerned as they are about Jake’s ship, they certainly don’t keep it very well guarded. The ending leaves some rather significant threads dangling, and some of the dialogue is just plain goofy. My favorite instance would have to be Link, having burst in on Frank in the middle of using Jake’s collar to levitate himself, plopping down on the couch and then casually asking, “Say, what were you doing up in the air?”

I knew from my experience of watching Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo with him a couple years back that my sophisticated brother would probably find plenty of reasons to pick the movie apart, and I was right, but we still had a great time watching the movie together, and his running commentary just added to the hilarity of the movie for me. The Cat from Outer Space is a madcap comedy with an A-list cast, and I happily recommend its brand of intergalactic silliness.

A Little Kitten Causes Big Trouble in Mickey Mouse: The Kitten-Sitters

Cats can be very deceptive creatures. They spend hours curled up quietly on the couch, and it’s hard to imagine that these placid felines will wake you up in the middle of the night by knocking a pan off the kitchen stove. In the classic Little Golden Book Mickey Mouse: The Kitten Sitters, Minnie Mouse’s kitten has her fooled entirely, and she’s sure he will be a perfect little angel for Mickey and his nephews when they agree to watch him while she is away.

I remember reading a book with a similar storyline when I was a kid, though that one was a part of one of Disney’s home libraries and had more of a warm and fuzzy conclusion. In both stories, Pluto feels displaced by the special guest, but here, Mickey sympathizes with Pluto from the beginning. While he wants his lovable dog to be polite, he, Morty and Ferdie all notice that little Figaro has a real knack for causing trouble and can’t blame the pooch too much for being rather lacking in hospitality. Still, when the kitten disappears in the middle of the night, Mickey wastes no time in enlisting the sleepy Pluto’s aid. Can this old dog learn the new trick of locating an unruly houseguest?

This is a mostly funny story showing the disconnect between what Minnie believes and what Mickey observes. It’s interesting to see Figaro transplanted into Mickey’s world from the movie Pinocchio, though this isn’t the first time I have encountered him there. He has a scampish streak in Geppetto’s workshop too, but this book is as naughty as I’ve ever seen him. Of course, there’s also something inherently odd about a mouse having a pet cat, but Mickey and Minnie have always been more human than mouse.

This book has a rather drab color scheme that gives it a retro feel. Because most pages depict domestic disasters, most of the facial expressions on Mickey and his nephews are somewhere on the spectrum between worried and panicked. Figaro is missing in action for much of the book, with only the immediate aftermath of his activities visible, but when he appears, he looks either smug or devilishly mischievous. Minnie, meanwhile, spends a lot of time scolding others – everyone, it seems, except her precious bundle of fur. In fact, she comes across as quite obnoxious, and if Mickey seems to be happy to get a break from her nagging, it’s easy to understand why.

The story is simple but entertaining, with dialogue driving most of the action. The unnamed author uses mild repetition to good effect, such as when Mickey tells Pluto to be nice because he is a guest, prompting Morty’s later remark that he is a messy guest and Ferdie’s that he is a fussy guest. Meanwhile, Pluto’s actions help readers get inside his head as he reacts to this adorable little troublemaker.

Whether you love cats or hate them, Mickey Mouse: The Kitten-Sitters is an amusing tale acknowledging that there might be more to these purring furballs than meets the eye.

Mr. Putter Returns to School in Mr. Putter and Tabby Ring the Bell

I grew up with many great easy reader series, but one of my very favorites is one I didn’t discover until I was an adult. That’s the Mr. Putter and Tabby series by Cynthia Rylant and Arthur Howard. This September saw the release of its 20th installment, and no first-grader could be more delighted than I was to see that it was time for a new tale featuring the lovable bachelor and his creaky cat, along with his sweet-natured neighbor and her affable bulldog.

Like me, Mr. Putter is very in tune with his inner child, and in Mr. Putter and Tabby Ring the Bell, the arrival of autumn weather and the ringing of a nearby school bell make him nostalgic for the classroom. Usually, it’s the more adventurous Mrs. Teaberry who comes up with an idea and gets mild-mannered Mr. Putter to go along with it, but this time out, he convinces her to go back to school for the day with him.

The cover illustration is a bit misleading, as it shows Mr. Putter sitting in a child’s desk, raising his hand. In the story, he does not actually settle in like a student for the day. Instead, he and his good friend bring Tabby and Zeke in for show and tell. But the kids want to see tricks. Can they coax some unusual antics out of a cat who is always napping and an overeating dog?

As with the previous installments of this adorable series, the four main characters spring to life despite the minimalist writing style. Rylant selects each word carefully, using it to maximum effect. For instance, her choice of “crispy” to describe fall carries with it all sorts of connotations, from dry leaves that crackle underfoot to tasty desserts made with crumbly oatmeal topping. A little later on, Rylant describes Zeke as “showy,” which provides a natural segue into Mr. Putter’s show and tell idea.

Howard’s illustrations are wonderful, expressive and loaded with little details. For instance, I love that when the visitors arrive in the classroom, the sheets of paper on the children’s desks read “dog” and “cat,” showing that their teacher has oriented a lesson around these special guests. The outdoor pictures of Mr. Putter are charming, with leaves blowing all around him and his scarf whipping in the wind. This book is also one of several in the series to include a picture that flashes back to his childhood. Here, we witness his love of geography as he tenderly gazes at a globe, one of the objects he most readily associates with school.

This book includes six sections, the shortest of which is just four pages long. The longest section is also the only one that deals directly with the classroom visit. The previous four chapters provide build-up, while the final one provides a nice denouement. It’s not unusual for books in this series to focus more on preparation for a particular event than on the event itself, and since the heightened anticipation makes what happens in the classroom even funnier, I don’t see it as a pacing problem. These stories tend to putter along just like their main character, and that just adds to the gentle fun.

By mid-September, many students are already grumbling about being back in school, but through the enthusiastic eyes of one of my favorite kidlit characters, they might just find a renewed zest for their education – or at least for show and tell!

A Friendly Mouse Plays Sherlock Holmes in The Aristocats and the Missing Necklace

Some mysteries involve nefarious villains, while others hinge more on misunderstandings and peculiar circumstances. While the lack of a menacing antagonist can lessen the appeal for some, I tend to enjoy these mysteries that lack a “bad guy” just as much as more traditional fare. That’s certainly the case with The Aristocats and the Missing Necklace, a part of Disney’s Wonderful World of Reading.

In this simple picture book, dainty white cat Duchess and her three kittens, Marie and her brothers, here nicknamed Tu-tu and Berly, have headed for the countryside for the summer with the elegant Madame. A handsome estate in the French countryside is an enticing playground for three energetic kittens, but when their rambunctious antics coincide with the disappearance of a gold necklace, Madame becomes very angry and blames the cats for its disappearance. How will they ever find it again?

Luckily, they are not alone in having made this trek. Their faithful friend Roquefort, a mouse, has come along for the ride, and he fancies himself an amateur detective, so he volunteers to track down the culprit. Readers know before he does what happened to the necklace, but it’s fun to watch the intrepid mouse track its whereabouts. This is a tale about conducting a careful investigation and also about not jumping to conclusions.

Thomas O’Malley, the tomcat who is arguably the most dynamic character in the movie of which this book is a spin-off, does not make an appearance here, but goose sisters Amelia and Amanda are heavily involved in the story, upping the silly factor. Roquefort’s dashing little red detective’s outfit adds a touch of whimsy as well. Every animal in the book wears some type of clothing at some point in the book, but the mouse’s outfit is much more extensive, and more than the others, he acts in ways that are entirely atypical for his species.

The illustrations are lovely, particularly the ones that take the characters outside into the lush farmland and eventually to a refreshing pond. The information for the book, published in 1983, lists no specific author or illustrator, but whoever was responsible for the artwork here did a nice job. The writing is good as well but basic enough that it should pose few problems to budding readers, aside from the name Roquefort. I assume that the names Toulouse and Berlioz were shortened with those young tongues in mind.

Because the book reveals what happens to the necklace right off the bat, the plot will not be much of a mystery to young readers, but The Aristocats and the Missing Necklace is still a fun and engaging story about an unconventional friend using his ingenuity to help the unjustly accused.

Amber Tamblyn and Tilda Swinton Work Through Traumatic Pregnancies in Stephanie Daley

Several years ago, CBS introduced Joan of Arcadia, a quirky and challenging show about a teenager who receives a series of ambiguous divine instructions. It only lasted two seasons, but that was enough to make its star, Amber Tamblyn, an actress for me to watch. Yesterday, my friend Libbie and I watched a movie starring her, along with Tilda Swinton, who played the White Witch in the Narnia movies. It was good to see her again, though I’m not entirely sure what I thought of the film.

We saw it on Lifetime, and the movie, written and directed by Hilary Brougher, was entitled What She Knew, though when I looked it up on IMDb, it was listed as Stephanie Daley, the name of Tamblyn’s character. Stephanie is a teenager standing trial for the death of her baby. Swinton plays Lydie, a psychologist who meets with her periodically in an effort to determine whether she realized she was pregnant and whether she willfully killed her own child. The movie alternates among conversations between these two, flashbacks to the preceding year before Stephanie got pregnant and gave birth and current-day scenes involving either Lydie or Stephanie.

Lydie is pregnant, and about a year earlier, she lost a baby about 20 weeks into pregnancy. As a result, Stephanie’s story has deep resonance for her, and she finds it hard to let go of the case when she’s at home. It’s affecting her marriage, which is already undergoing difficulties. Swinton does a good job of depicting her attempt to juggle personal turmoil with professional distance. But Tamblyn’s the one who really drew me in.

The current day finds her sullen and taciturn, though she gradually opens up to Lydie, and their blossoming relationship reminded me a bit of the one at the heart of The Sixth Sense. In the flashbacks, she starts off seeming like a pretty happy, well-adjusted teen. She seems much younger and more innocent, and we watch her become more and more withdrawn as her pregnancy progresses. It’s a pretty compelling performance.

The men don’t come off so well in this movie. It’s implied that Lydie’s husband is having an affair, though we never get absolute confirmation of that. We see only the beginning and the aftermath of Stephanie’s lone sexual encounter; while it seems to have been somewhat consensual, the boy comes across as taking advantage of her naivety, especially since he drops out of her life after that. There’s also an undeveloped subplot involving an old friend of Stephanie’s who seems to have been molested by a teacher.

Though this was in theaters, it seemed very much in keeping with Lifetime and was all about two women trying to work their way through similar experiences that only another woman could fully appreciate. There’s a lot of symbolism in the movie, particularly with deer and cats, but viewers are left to put the pieces of the puzzle together. The ending feels pretty ambiguous and abrupt, and some scenes don’t quite seem to fit in. The Tamblyn-Swinton scenes serve as the movie’s foundation, and there’s an energy to the film in those moments that it lacks in other scenes. In the end, those two performances impressed me, but the film itself failed to grip me very much. Worth a watch, but hardly the best project either actress has taken on.

A Day Sail Cures the Summer Blahs in Mr. Putter and Tabby Clear the Decks

I live in Erie, Pennsylvania, where one of our claims to fame is the Flagship Niagara, a brig that played a pivotal role in the War of 1812. Last summer, my family spent a day aboard the ship, stretching our nautical legs in the waters of Lake Erie. In Mr. Putter and Tabby Clear the Decks, the latest in a series of books about an old man, his creaky cat, his eccentric neighbor and her rambunctious dog, the quirky quartet go for a similar day sail.

Like the rest of the Mr. Putter and Tabby books, this one is divided into sections. In this case, there are five: Itchy, An Idea ,Pepping Up, A Boat! and Another Boat! We begin with Mr. Putter and Tabby feeling “itchy,” as in bored. They’re hot and can’t think of anything interesting to do. That’s where Mrs. Teaberry comes in. She always has adventurous ideas, and when Mr. Putter appeals to her for help, she comes up with the sailing trip. It seems like a perfect outing for them, but when the time comes to leave, one member of the party is not so willing to depart…

As always, Cynthia Rylant does a wonderful job of breathing life and humor into these characters with just a few words. Timid Mr. Putter and zesty Mrs. Teaberry complement one another well, and their pets are always good for a laugh, especially with Arthur Howard’s expressive illustrations. A lot of the humor in the book is purely visual. Other chuckles come from Rylant’s sparse but flavorful phrasing. For instance, upon reflecting on the boat’s name of The Olden Days, “Mr. Putter was glad the boat was not named The Young and Zippy Days. Those were long behind him.”

One two-page spread has Mr. Putter remembering some of the strange ideas Mrs. Teaberry has had in the past. His eyes pop with alarm as he recalls a wobbly ice skating expedition and a trip to a baffling art museum. On another page, Mr. Putter soaks in the fresh air by standing at the bow of the ship in a jubilant expression that’s almost certainly a reference to Titanic.

Only one and a half “chapters” actually take place on the boat; it’s mostly build-up and a bit of denouement. Nonetheless, kids who are interested in boats might enjoy this outing, and anyone who’s ever joined Mr. Putter and Mrs. Teaberry on a jaunt before is sure to love the chance to see these old friends together again. This is an easy reader series aimed at children in early elementary school, but I’m 29, and my eyes lit up when I saw that another installment had been published. So whatever your age, give Mr. Putter and Tabby Clear the Decks a try. I found it smooth sailing indeed.

The Little Island Explores Changes and Connections

I’ve always found islands fascinating. Perhaps it’s because they seem like little worlds unto themselves, like tiny planets that sailors stumble upon in the midst of a horrific storm. And with everything shrunk down so far, an island becomes a microcosm for the world at large. An island is an ideal setting for philosophical exploration, as LOST showed, and author Golden McDonald, otherwise known as Margaret Wise Brown of childhood classic Goodnight Moon, would seem to agree.

In The Little Island, a Caldecott-winning book artfully illustrated by Leonard Weisgard, we watch an island experience the change of seasons, which McDonald describes in vivid, poetic language. Just as I always capitalize Island when referring to the setting of LOST, McDonald always capitalizes Island throughout her story. She keeps us aware that there is more out there than just this Island, but we never see beyond the water that surrounds it. The place is steeped in mystery: “the fog came in from the sea / and hid the little Island / in a soft wet shadow.” On nearly every page, we see a different creature making its home here, unaware that anything lies beyond these shores.

I love the language that McDonald uses to bring the Island to such full life, and her decision to allow the Island to speak for itself is intriguing. Throughout most of the book, we merely see what happens on the Island, without any real characters to speak of aside from the stalwart Island itself. But then a cat comes ashore off a sailboat and becomes very curious. If this were LOST, he would be John Locke: capable, dangerous and obsessively inquisitive. He wants to know the Island’s secret. But will the Island cooperate?

There’s a great sense of serenity to this book, especially in the gently rocking cadence of the narration. It is a perfect match with the soothing illustrations, which depict the Island in sunlight and shadow. The egg-laying gulls making their nests high in rocky ledges seem to squawk in tune with a song of isolation, while the berries and butterflies burst out in a vibrant display. There’s so much to see and to explore even on such a tiny island.

The Little Island is about nature and the changing of the seasons, but it’s also about having faith – here simplistically described as “to believe what I tell you about what you don’t know” – and connectedness. The Island is “a part of the world / and a world of its own.” The kitten looks into the eye of the Island, and what it sees is beautiful, and what we see is beautiful as well, whether it’s the blossoms on the lone tree on a windy bluff or the fish that dance in the choppy waves lapping up against its shores. An enchanting little book.

Mr. Putter and Mrs. Teaberry

True romance can bloom even in Easy Readers.  Here's to Mr. Putter and Mrs. Teaberry!

Hate That Cat Is a Worthy Successor to Love That Dog

Several years ago, I stumbled upon the slim volume Love That Dog, a mid-grade novel written by Sharon Creech in the form of a poetry journal. The journal belongs to a young boy named Jack who initially resists the efforts of his teacher, Ms Stretchberry, to embrace poetry. Eventually, however, he warms to the idea, using his journal as an outlet for his feelings regarding his dog Sky, who was involved in a tragic accident.

In this book, it’s the next year, and Ms Stretchberry has moved up a grade, so Jack’s doing another poetry journal for her. This time, he’s more open to poetry, and his topic of greatest interest is a neighborhood cat that he hates, which leads to the revelation that his teacher has a cat who just had kittens, in which he swears he has no interest whatsoever. This book has a somewhat lighter tone than the first, which is largely about working through grief; Sky still comes up in Hate That Cat, but only occasionally, and Jack’s pain is no longer so acute.

Creech references many of the same poets as she did in the first book and some of the same poems, including Walter Dean Myers’ Love That Boy and William Carlos Williams’ The Red Wheelbarrow. As before, Jack fills his journal with free verse as well as several poems imitating the above poems and others, such as Williams‘ This Is Just to Say and T. S. Eliot‘s The Naming of Cats, which are reprinted in the back of the book. Once again, he is especially taken with the work of Myers, who visited his classroom in the first book.

In this sequel, Ms Stretchberry introduces him to several poetic devices having to do with sound, such as alliteration and onomatopoeia, and he seems to be especially preoccupied with the question of how those who cannot hear might experience such poems differently. We eventually find out why he is so hung up on this, and it forms a subplot that eventually becomes just as prominent as the main plotline and is the most poignant portion of the book.

Through Jack’s writing, we get a good sense of the way in which Ms Stretchberry teaches. It’s almost as though we can hear her speaking, since Jack frequently responds to her questions and comments. Clearly she is someone who is very good at what she does. She excels at driving her lessons home in an interesting way, and she also displays tremendous patience and understanding for the issues her students face.

Though Jack likes poetry at this point, he struggles with a lack of self-confidence, especially after his uncle Bill disparages what he has written because of its lack of rhyme, meter and other such devices. His very narrow notion of what constitutes poetry and his utter insensitivity to a child’s budding creativity make him an interesting stumbling block. Ms Stretchberry takes on the challenge of reassuring Jack that the type of poetry he has been writing is valuable while also convincing him that the poetic flourishes his uncle likes can also be worth incorporating.

While it’s about a third longer than its predecessor, Hate That Cat is a pretty quick read. Though there are 125 pages, the font is large, and most of the lines are pretty short. Creech captures the voice of a young boy very well, conveying excitement, anger, vulnerability and appreciation. Jack is quite a lovable young man, and some moments in the book are truly touching. Others are comical, like The Yips, a poem inspired by Edgar Allen Poe’s The Bells: “Hear the dogs with their yips / squeaky yips! / What a funny squeaking sound / coming from their lips! / How they ripple ripple ripple / in the shadow of a pickle / In the yipyipabulation / through the air / from the yip yip yip yip / yip yip yip / from the squeaking and the rippling / of the yips.” This poem aptly demonstrates the dangers of rhyme purely for rhyme’s sake, and I laughed out loud at his post-poem admission that “I’m not quite sure how that pickle got in there.”

When I read Love That Dog, I was surprised to find myself tearing up, as I’m not a very outwardly emotional person. I‘m sure the fact that my own dog had died several months before strengthened my reaction, but I suspect the book would have moved me whenever I read it. Hate That Cat was a slightly less cathartic experience, but I was no less caught up in Jack’s wonderful poetic voice. I had no idea that Creech had written a sequel and am grateful to jpolhemus for alerting me to its existence. Jack may hate that cat - or think he does, anyway - but I sure love this book.

Margaret Wise Brown and Anne Mortimer Tickle the Senses in A Pussycat's Christmas

I have two cats, and I have had several others over the years, so I know first-hand the sort of excitement that Christmas can inspire in felines. I’ve often experienced their fondness for batting at ornaments with their paws, and on one occasion, one of the cats decided to take a flying leap into the mostly-decorated tree and send it crashing across the living room. They love to curl up underneath the branches and investigate all the extra food that seems to turn up around Christmas. Thanks to my cats, A Pussycat’s Christmas, written by Margaret Wise Brown and illustrated by Anne Mortimer, feels very familiar to me.

With poetic language appealing to all of the senses, Brown describes Pussycat’s reaction to all the sights, sounds and smells of Christmas. The book is fairly evenly divided between her time outside, where she basks in the silence of a muted world and gleefully rolls in the “cold, dry, fresh, white, wild, and feather, powdery snow,” and inside, where she peeks at the trimmings strewn across the table and gets herself evicted from the living room for showing too keen an interest in the ornaments.

There’s not much of a story to this book. It follows a particular Christmas Eve in the life of this cat, but nothing much happens that wouldn’t happen on any given Christmas Eve. Well, except that she sees Santa Claus and his reindeer streaking through the sky before she ventures in for the night, which strikes me as odd since this is before her humans head off to church. That seems way too early for Santa to be showing up.

But Santa is really just an afterthought here. The rest of the book involves everyday aspects of a traditional Christmas celebration and of a snow-covered landscape. Pussycat has experienced this before, so there’s a combination of nostalgia and fresh curiosity. I haven’t read the book with its original illustrations, but I love Mortimer’s. Pussycat is a big fluffy black and white cat with enormous yellow eyes.

Those eyes are often my favorite part of the paintings, as when she peeks at all the freshly wrapped presents on the table, her nose only halfway visible in a pose reminiscent of Home Improvement‘s Wilson, or when she stretches out near the departing humans, her eyes just barely open as she struggles to stay awake. She looks soft and warm, completely cuddly, and Mortimer makes her surroundings nearly as palatable to us as they are to her.

Anyone who has ever loved a cat is likely to appreciate this charming little book. I’m sure it won’t be long at all until my own cats replicate this furry feline’s antics. If you don’t have kitties of your own to observe, put a little purr in your December with A Pussycat’s Christmas.

Rachel Hale and Jane Gerver Serve Up Christmas Cuteness in Santa Paws

There are lots of things most children can be counted upon to love. Christmas is one of them. Kittens and puppies are two more. In Santa Paws, Rachel Hale, who has created many calendars celebrating our fuzzy, cuddly four-legged friends, offers up a 20-page book for toddlers who are enthusiastic about all three.

Santa Paws is a sturdy board book consisting of 10 two-page spreads featuring puppies, kittens or both. Each spread has a four-line poetic stanza in large, white type set against a red, green or blue background. The photography for which Hale is known jumps out vividly from the pages, sure to delight any youngster fond of these lovable pets.

Author Jane Gerver’s writing style is pleasant, with short stanzas whose rhythm is generally consistent. An example: “Puppies chase kittens, / Kittens chase mice. / Have you been naughty / Or have you been nice?” Among the photographs, my favorites include a group of puppies and kittens bundled up in scarves and another bunch of them wearing wings as they are depicted as “angels”. There’s also a rather classy shot of a black-and-white kitten playing the piano, and a picture of a Jack Russell Terrier hanging his head in shame elicits sweet sympathy.

Essentially this is a collection of 10 vignettes with little connection to each other. It’s an opportunity to gaze at some adorable creatures, not to hear a great story. There’s essentially no plot, but considering the very young target demographic for this book, that might not be a huge issue.

Children on the younger end of the 1-to-4-year-old spectrum can just have fun looking at the pictures; older kids might want to come up with descriptions of their own. For those with pets, perhaps reading the book could serve as inspiration for a family Christmas card, with the kids using Hale’s example to come up with possible poses and captions.

This is a very short book that should earn a smile from pet lovers. For older readers, particularly teens and adults, who appreciate the visual element of this book, I recommend Bradley Trevor Grieve’s Every Day Is Christmas, but Santa Paws is worth a little pause from dog and cat afficianados of all ages.

Star Trek: The Next Generation - Genesis Is Completely Ridiculous, In a Good Way

So I was sitting in the living room, too tired to do anything productive, too awake to call it a night, and after one flatulence joke too many from Craig Ferguson, I grabbed the remote, whereupon I was reminded of that glorious, albeit inconveniently late, time slot during which Star Trek: The Next Generation is on WGN. So I settled in for Genesis, an episode I’d never seen before. It features one of my favorite minor players, jittery Lieutenant Barclay (Dwight Schulz), and it starts off with the promising scene of Data (Brent Spiner) undergoing a consultation regarding his pregnant cat, Spot.

Some of my favorite moments in the series involve this cat, including Data’s reading of his own poetic composition, An Ode to Spot, and his range of emotions concerning her fate in Star Trek: Generations, so I figured her appearance was a good sign. And who can resist the promise of kittens? Unfortunately, while Spot does play a key role in the plot, we see very little of her, and even less of her and Data together - and in one of those scenes, her appearance is decidedly different. In high school, I witnessed the taping of a commercial spoofing The Wizard of Oz that co-starred an iguana as Toto. The fact that it made no sense whatsoever added to the humor. It’s supposed to make sense that fluffy Spot transforms into an iguana before the episode is out, but it never really does. This is one weird episode. But it’s very entertaining.

I was surprised to see that Genesis originally aired in March. It definitely struck me as a Halloween episode, sort of Treehouse of Horror TNG-style. Beware the Ides, and beware the episode’s premise if you want to avoid scratching your head in confusion or shaking it in exasperation. The whole thing plays out like a spoof of cheesy horror movies as various members of the crew begin demonstrating strange behavior before undergoing startling changes to their physiology.

Deanna Troi (Marina Sirtis) becomes unbearably chilly; Will Riker (Jonathan Frakes) can’t hold onto his train of thought; hypochondriac Barclay becomes hyperactive. Most noticeably, Worf (Michael Dorn) becomes unaccountably surly, which is initially funny but grows worrisome as the episode wears on. Even Captain Picard (Patrick Stewart) is beginning to exhibit symptoms of paranoia. Data alone is unaffected, and it’s up to him to put on his Sherlock Holmes cap and figure out just what is going on.

Genesis goes in a much different direction than I anticipated. It’s one of the funniest TNG episodes I’ve seen, in a campier-than-the-original-series kind of way. I’m not sure it was supposed to be so silly, but really, once Deanna sprouts gills, it’s hard to take anything that happens in the episode too seriously. But boy, it sure made me chuckle...

Pictures Speak Louder Than Words in Patrick McDonnell's South

My mom and I went to the mall with a friend recently, and as we were leaving a flock of geese flew overhead in a graceful formation. "Goodbye!" our friend called out, waving toward the sky. "See you next year!" Yes, the time for migration is upon us, summer having slipped by all too quickly. It's the perfect occasion to read Patrick McDonnell's South, the simple, nearly-wordless story of a songbird that sleeps through his flock's take-off. What's a poor bird to do? Find a friend like Mooch.

Mooch is the altruistic feline at the heart of McDonnell's comic strip Mutts. The strip, which has run since the early '90s and was a favorite of Charles Schulz, frequently emphasizes the virtues of kindness and cooperation. One wouldn't expect a cat to come upon a little lost songbird and commit to spending as long as it takes accompanying him on a journey to find his flock, but that is exactly what Mooch does, and fans of the strip won't be all that surprised to see this particular cat make such a magnanimous gesture. Mooch has an especially generous nature.

South is printed on creamy paper and features full-color illustrations that focus on autumnal hues, then wintry. Bluish-black Mooch offers his paw, and a yellow wing accepts. Together they traverse a landscape of browning grass, fallen leaves, barren trees and, eventually, snow. One image of them trekking among stands of birches as a fawn looks on is especially serene. We get the sense that this is a very young bird; until he finally reunites with those who left him behind, he never makes any attempt to fly. I suspect he lacks confidence as a solo flier.

So he walks, and the progress is slow but steady. Poor Mooch can't even get a nap in, since his charge feels abandoned yet again when he tries to catch some Zs. But you won't hear any complaints from this steadfast cat, nor does his face betray any annoyance. He has a job to do, and he will see it through to the end. He knows a cozy spot waits for him by the fireplace back at home; rest can wait until then.

This is a lovely book for children and parents to "read" together. Of course, it isn't so much reading as studying the illustrations, which only occasionally contain a demonstrative word like "WEEP WEEP WEEP," which emanates from the songbird in particularly helpless moments. There is no true dialogue, and certainly no narration. That's for the reader to furnish, if he or she so desires. Picture books can be wonderful exercises in storytelling, with the structure of the tale already laid out and nothing left to add but the words. Then again, McDonnell's sparse book is complete as is, so it may be preferable to simply enjoy the pages together as a finished product.

However one chooses to peruse these pages, South is a beautiful little book, an ode to the unchanging patterns of life and the richness added when one embarks upon the journey with a friend.

Mr. Putter and Tabby Spill the Beans, With Help From Mrs. Teaberry and Zeke

I am 28 years old. But I am not ashamed to admit that one of my most-anticipated new book releases of 2009 was Mr. Putter & Tabby Spill the Beans, the 18th installment in the beginning reader series written by Cynthia Rylant and illustrated by Arthur Howard. Rylant is a giant in the field of children's literature, having published dozens of books aimed at children spanning the age spectrum but focusing especially on the early elementary school set. Her other series for this age group include Henry and Mudge, about a boy and his gregarious dog, and Poppleton, about a mild-mannered, middle-aged pig. I've read many of her books and loved most of them, but it's the Mr. Putter and Tabby series, featuring a pudgy elderly bachelor and his creaky cat, along with his zesty neighbor and her cheerful bulldog Zeke, that really captures my fancy.

All but a couple of the volumes in the series have involved the quartet rather than just the duo of the old man and his cat, who are lovable enough on their own. But bringing Mrs. Teaberry into the equation adds excitement, conversation and just the slightest hint of romance, so I was pleased to find her an integral part of Mr. Putter & Tabby Spill the Beans. As in several other installments, she has an idea for something "new and fun" to do, and she takes a rather reluctant Mr. Putter along for the ride. In past books, her ideas have included learning a musical instrument, entering a race for seniors and taking a train trip through the countryside. Some of these ventures have been more successful than others. Mr. Putter, who isn't inclined to be adventurous, knows that mishaps may occur, especially with Tabby and Zeke in tow, but he doesn't want to dampen her enthusiasm.

In this case, her proposition seems less intimidating than dull. She wants them to take a class on how to cook beans. One hundred different ways to do it. The reminded me of the classic Animaniacs episode in which a pair of overbearing survey ladies makes a series of bean-related queries, as well as a song on Pardners, a collection of Disney cowboy songs, indicating that beans are the sole sustenance of many folks who ride the open range. I'm not a particular fan of beans, and it seems Mr. Putter isn't either - unless perhaps it's vanilla beans, as he has a sweet tooth that can sometimes only be satisfied by ice cream.

Like the other books in this series, this one is separated into short chapters. While most have four or five, this latest installment has seven, so most of the sections are even shorter than usual. Neighbors introduces the main characters for those who may be reading about them for the first time. New and Fun and One Hundred Ways focus on Mr. Putter's misgivings before the class, while Beans, Granola and Wide Awake detail the events of the class itself. Finally, the story wraps up with Sodas. Rylant is especially good at using repetition to her advantage, and certain words and phrases recur throughout the book, particularly "new," "fun," "beans" and "one hundred ways". And, as before, Tabby is "fine" and Zeke is "good," even though both seem to have a knack for getting into mischief.

Mr. Putter & Tabby Spill the Beans isn't the most laugh-aloud funny installment in the series, but there are some very amusing moments, including the spillage hinted at in the title. My favorite bits, though, involve Mr. Putter reminiscing over past outings with Mrs. Teaberry. His recollections of past escapades demonstrate the depth of his affection for her. For instance, on one page, "Mr. Putter thought about the many times he had trusted Mrs. Teaberry." In the accompanying illustration, both of them look quite alarmed as they zoom along on a roller coaster. In Rylant's world, it seems pets are welcome just about everywhere, so we also see Tabby's tail sticking out as she cowers on the floor, while Zeke alone is unperturbed enough to gaze ahead with a big doggy smile on his face. I also love his reflection a few pages later on some of his less traumatic experiences, particularly "When they had gone to the hair show, he'd won a case of shampoo that made a very good doorstop." Of course, since Mr. Putter is bald but for a couple of tufts of gray hair, shampoo wouldn't do him much good in its intended use!

As always, Howard's excellent illustrations, which so effectively convey the emotions of the characters, are as important to the book as Rylant's words. Together, they create yet another story sure to leave fans smiling, whether they're 8, 28 or 88.

The Gift of Nothing Is a Gift Indeed

Giving gifts is an enjoyable but sometimes frustrating exercise. There are times when a birthday or Christmas rolls around, and nothing seems quite the right fit for that very special friend or relative. This is the dilemma Mooch the cat faces in The Gift of Nothing, a sparse but tender picture book by Patrick McDonnell, creator of the comic strip Mutts. Mooch and his friend Earl, a Jack Russell terrier, are the stars of that strip, and they make the transition from the funny pages to children's book perfectly.

The majority of the book concerns Mooch's search for the perfect gift for Earl. First, he has to come up with the idea. Then he has to actually find it. His clever notion is to give the dog who has everything a bit of nothing for his very own. There's something very philosophical about this idea, and as Mooch searches the TV for inspiration and scours a shopping mall, the reader is bombarded with the busy-ness of daily life. A quiet moment is hard to come by in such a noisy, materialistic world. But in silence and simplicity, the gift of a lasting friendship can be appreciated even more fully.

While The Gift of Nothing has more words in it than some McDonnell books - particularly South, which essentially has no words at all - it is still very short on text. No page features more than two sentences, and in many cases, a single sentence is stretched across several pages. The book in its entirety contains just over 30 sentences, some of which are very short. A bit of the story is dialogue, but most of it is narration.

The illustrations are just as sparse as the story, with black and pinkish-red the only colors in use throughout the book. The pages themselves are flecked with black specks, giving the pictures a little more texture. (The paper, incidentally, is recycled, supporting the anti-materialist message.) Some pages feature only one object, such as when Mooch mentally catalogues all of Earl's possessions. One page literally features nothing. The shopping mall madness and the noisy television are nearly the only instances in which there is more picture than blank space.

The Gift of Nothing demonstrates several important points. That quiet time is something to be treasured. That relationships are to be treasured even more. That "There's nothing to do" or "watch" or "buy" is rarely a legitimate complaint. In simple, soothing terms, the book urges serenity, generosity and gratitude. Most of all, it encourages friendship. This is a smaller book than most, nearly square in shape, and it's simple enough, with certain words and phrases repeated, that beginning readers should have little difficulty with this one. It might work best as a read-aloud, though, even if it's the child doing the reading, because the gift of a good book is one of the most wonderful experiences a parent and child can share.

Jules the Cat Wants to Give the World a Hug in Hug Time

One of my favorite commercials is the one that features the line, "I'd like to buy the world a Coke." I've always found that a very friendly idea, just walking along down the street, handing Coca-Colas to everyone you meet. Of course, the cost and the issue of transporting all of those cans or bottles of pop would be prohibitive, but it's a nice notion, anyway. I found myself thinking of this ad when I read Patrick McDonnell's Hug Time, which features characters from his comic strip Mutts.

Jules, more commonly known in the strip as Shtinky Puddin', is an orange kitten with brown stripes and a white belly. He's small, but he has a mission: "to give the whole world a hug." His owner doesn't object to this idea but simply equips the cat with a sweater and sends him on his way. He starts with his friends, Mooch, Earl and Noodles, but it isn't long before he has branched out, hugging wild animals in town and eventually on other continents.

Hug Time, like the aforementioned jingle, is a little over-the-top. The journey upon which Jules embarks is an enormous one. Presumably the fact that he is a cat means he can simply stow away on the boat he uses to get from continent to continent on his tour of the globe, but how is he to find food when he is much too gentle to consider ever eating anything that could be a friend? Additionally, it seems a stretch that every predator Jules meets is willing to overlook his meal potential in favor of gratefully accepting the friendly gesture. And in terms of real-world applications, most parents probably would prefer that their children didn't hug every random person and animal they met.

But Hug Time is a fable, so it needn't be taken quite so literally. For instance, a smile will work just as well as a hug, and one needn't travel the world to distribute them. Just making an effort to be a little friendlier as a general rule is a good way to put the book's message into practice. After all, McDonnell says, "Start with the one who's closest to you." He encourages kindness as well as environmental awareness, printing his book on recycled paper and including descriptions of the Earth as "so precious, so fragile, so round" and "so big and yet so small".

Like his other picture books, Hug Time is fairly short on words, with no more than two sentences per page, but in this case, the text is presented in rhyming couplets. The illustrations are in full color, which helps to emphasize the diversity of wildlife in the world. Because Jules is so small, some pages feel like a Where's Waldo search, with the kitten hard to spot as he's locked into a hug with a much larger animal. All told, Jules hugs representatives of more than 300 species on his journey, including a gray squirrel, a blue whale, an elephant, a chimpanzee, a giraffe, a hippo, a tiger, a gnu, a panda, a peacock, a pudu, a wallaby, a wombat, a humuhumu fish and a polar bear. At one point, he even hugs a baobab, making him a true tree-hugger. McDonnell makes a special point of noting how endangered tigers are, and the implication is there with the polar bear as well.

Animal lovers should appreciate this book, and Jules' determination to hug as many creatures as he possibly can is a great way to get children thinking about stewardship of the planet. I still think that giving the world a Coke sounds like a pretty nifty idea. But a hug may be even better.