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  For Sam, Max, Zach, Jake, Jackson, Ethan, Ella, Anna, Colton, and everyone who chases the chaos of creativity, a ball of yarn, or (gasp) balls and bones.

  FUR-WORD

  * * *

  She’s an international kitty of mystery—a classy cat burglar with more dapper disguises and purr-fect plans than I have inventions. Wherever you go, watch for Ophelia von Hairball V of Burglaria, the master of heists and hijinks. As reported by The Meow Zine (TMZ) and Enter-tail-ment Weekly, this cat manages to “follow the time-honored cat burglar code without paws-ing for a beat.” If you spot this snazzy cat on an exciting adventure, please let me know right away … because I was supposed to go with her!

  —Oscar F. Gold (Inventor #17)

  * * *

  “Be the fabulous you want to see in the world.”

  —Ophelia von Hairball V

  1

  NEED FUR SPEED

  It was hot enough to fry catnip on the sidewalk, but nobody paid attention to the snazzy feline sauntering down the Las Vegas strip in her massive motorcycle helmet and protective leather outfit.

  “Hey, fancy pants! Watch it!”

  Daydreaming, the disguised Ophelia wasn’t paying attention to where her fur-tastic tail was flicking, to and fro.

  “WHOAA!” One particularly sassy tail flick knocked over a cart packed to the brim with glitter-bombs. As the sparkly packages smashed onto the road, a multicolored explosion made the street shine and shimmer.

  “Oops!” Ophelia stopped to fix the disaster her overenthusiastic tail had caused. “So sorry.” She helped the owner stand the cart back up. Survey- ing the sparkle, she handed over some money to pay for the merchandise. Ophelia smiled. “May I just say … this street looks much more fabulous—as does everything—covered in glitter!”

  With the kind of flair she normally saved for masquerade balls and wingsuit landings, the infamous Ophelia and her floofy tail continued past a giant pirate ship, a gurgling fountain, massive lion statues (which elicited an involuntary meow from Ophelia), and even a replica of the Empire State Building. Finally, she arrived at her hotel: a great big pyramid. It was a grand spectacle! Just like me. She smiled to herself, then checked her watch and felt a whisker-twitching thrill. It was almost time! In just moments, she’d have—

  Buzz. Garble. “Ophebrrrzxxxx. OPHELRIXR- ASCOBZ!”

  As Ophelia entered the hotel lobby, a series of high-pitched screeches through the motorcycle helmet receiver made her jump. She couldn’t take the helmet off—it was a purr-fect disguise! Ophelia felt around for an off switch but instead found only a mysterious gold button on the outside strap. Ophelia knew better than to push it.

  “OPHELIA!” The shrill, aquatic voice on the other end grew a little bit clearer. But it didn’t sound particularly happy, so Ophelia tried to ignore it. Right now she had zero time for a fish inventor who was (more than likely) mad at her.

  Her silent treatment didn’t stop the fish from nattering in her ear. “Ophelia von Hairball V! Hello? Are you there? Helloooo? Wow. Um. Are you ignoring me?” Oscar asked. Ophelia imagined his little fins flapping with frantic frustration. “Seriously, Ophelia, if you can hear me, I’ve been trying to find you for days. Your signal showed up in Chicago, Istanbul, Kelowna, and Tokyo. Did you—?”

  “Yes.” Ophelia interrupted him. “Yes, yes, yes,” she confessed. (Sometimes it’s easier to just confess.) “There was a row of identical motorcycle helmets on the highest shelf in your lab. I nabbed them, turned on their beacons, boxed up each one, and mailed them to different cities around the globe.”

  Oscar sounded stunned. “Why in the name of Poseidon would you do that?”

  “To be really honest, it was a rather desperate attempt to have some alone time. But you found me. I was fairly confident I’d turned off the beacon in this one, though.”

  “Hrumph. Yes, but I include backups in most of my designs,” Oscar told her.

  A note of admiration crept into Ophelia’s voice. “You’re rather sneaky, aren’t you?”

  Oscar Fishgerald Gold was Ophelia’s seventeenth inventor. She’d worked very hard to ditch all of her previous sidekicks, as she preferred to burgle on her own. Before Oscar showed up on the doorstep of her lair, she had rejected sixteen inventors for a variety of very valid reasons.

  Known for her legendary capers, Ophelia von Hairball V was the Furry Feline Burglary Institute’s number-one cat burglar. Other burglars seemed to need (and even want) inventors, but Ophelia took special pride in upholding the classy, time-honored traditions of the FFBI alone. Until Oscar, she’d managed to stay 100 percent inventor-less. She’d tried to return him when he’d first arrived, too. But MEW, director of the FFBI, had insisted that she keep him. To be fair, Oscar had proven himself quite useful with his superior gear, gadgets, and fashion designs. But Ophelia still liked to work solo.

  Most FFBI cat burglars (especially the elite ones) treated each heist as an opportunity to hone their skills. They performed purr-fect crimes with a touch of elegance and a dash of dare. It was all about the thrill of the chase. And (though it sometimes took a bit longer to return very, very pretty things), they gave back what they pilfered.

  The exception? The FFBI’s second-best burglar, Pierre von Rascal of Thievesylvania, who was (regrettably) Ophelia’s nefarious cousin and archenemy. He was not classy in any way. Ever since they’d been kittens, he’d been jealous of Ophelia.

  Oscar’s voice crackled loudly. “You can’t ignore me, Ophelia! I’ve disabled the mute button on all your built-in receivers.”

  Ophelia rolled her (lovely) eyes. “Please get out of my ear, fish-face. I’m on vacation—I deserve a holiday! Some shopping, some pampering”—she looked down at her claws—“and a manicure! I’m spoiling myself.” She didn’t mention that she’d been mixing a teensy bit of business with her fun.

  “A vacation? What kind of FFBI cat burglar leaves for vacation without telling their paw-rtner in crime, their soulmate in crime capers?!”

  “‘Soulmate in crime capers’? Stop it. You’re my inventor, Oscar,” she reminded him.

  “One minute I’m krilling myself to craft you a swanky disguise, and the next minute I’m alone. Are you really not going to steal a single thing in Las Vegas? You’re just enjoying a heist-free holiday?”

  “Well,” Ophelia conceded, looking at all the glitz and glamour surrounding her, “there are a few sparkly baubles here and there. I could be persuaded to come home with a souvenir.”

  “Sounds like I should be wherever you are,” Oscar pouted.

  “You know that glorious Mini-Ultra-Teeny-Tiny Sticker Cam you constructed last week?”

  “The M.U.T.T.S.C.?! Sure. It has real potential! But it hasn’t been tested yet.”

  “Well … I saw it in your lab, and it looked quite functional,” Ophelia told him. “In fact, it looked so fin-tastic that I brought it with me. It’s attached to the divine motorcycle helmet I’m wearing. You can test it now, if you’d like. Go on,” Ophelia prodded him. “Start it up so you can see everything I see in real time. That’s almost as good as being here!”

  “Well, it’s something,” Oscar retorted. “But it’s NOT almost as good as being there. And just so you know, I will be triple-locking my lab from now on. I think it’s only fair that if you want to use my inventions, you must take me with you—I want in on the action!”

  “Oh, Oscar,” Ophelia sighed. “A triple-locked door? You’re kitten me. Too easy. Anyhow, you’d hate the desert. Personally, I think the lack of water here is divine. But you’d be a puckered-up, dried-out prune fish in no time.” She chuckled at the thought.

  “You know better than anyone how well my S.P.I.T. works!” Oscar’s Small Portable Inter-water Tank invention allowed him to be on dry land for long periods of time. “And last time, in Paris, you promised you’d take me on the next heist!”

  She shook her head. “No. You wanted me to promise. But I did nothing of the sort.”

  “Stop with the tantrum and turn on the helmet camera so you can see my genius at play,” Ophelia suggested.

  “Okay,” Oscar sighed and connected the camera’s signal to his lab’s big screen. The fish could see everything through Ophelia’s helmet camera. “Nice! The M.U.T.T.S.C. works well! You’re live.”

  Ophelia swiveled her head so Oscar could get a panoramic view. She imagined Oscar back at home, his little fish-face squashed to the monitor, hoping to see every detail.

  “Good picture. Ultra HD, 4K video quality. Um, Ophelia? Why are there a zillion balloons directly above your head? You detest balloons!”

  While it wa
s true that balloons usually made her fur stand on end, for this heist to work, Ophelia was depending on them.

  “Wait a second. Are you in a pyramid?!” Oscar questioned.

  “Why, yes. A purr-amid of sorts,” she revealed. She heard the fish typing. He was an excellent researcher.

  “Have you pinpointed my location yet?” she asked.

  “Of course.” The key-clicking got faster. “Nevada. The Luxor Hotel on the Las Vegas Strip?”

  Ophelia grinned.

  “I’m scanning the hotel’s guest list now,” he told her. “I bet I can guess what you’re trying to steal! Horace B. Fuzzbuttsworth is checked in with his prized Rolex collection.… Or, wait! Queen Basta is there, too—with the incredible pearls she won at the Sotheby’s auction last week.…”

  “But you know I prefer old-fashioned timepieces. And I already have exquisite pearls. They’re in my secret lair. Hmm. I should wear those pearls again soon. Would you mind dusting them while I’m out of town?”

  “Dust? I think not! I’m a senior inventor! I have more IQ points than you have hats!” He sighed.

  Ophelia moved her head around to give Oscar one more good look at the hotel lobby. “Anyway, I’m not here for the pearls. You’re missing the obvious, fish! Remember the challenges the FFBI issued after the last heist?”

  “I’ve got them here,” Oscar told her, confused.

  “This mini Vegas vacay was a purr-fect excuse to check off another priceless treasure. I do need to stay ahead of the other burglars. Especially Pierre. That scoundrel—”

  “GASP!” The gilled gadget guru sucked in his breath as he suddenly figured out the real reason Ophelia von Hairball V of Burglaria, cat burglar extraordinaire, was at the Luxor Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada.

  “Never say never. Unless you’re talking about mushy peas. Or dogs.”

  —Ophelia von Hairball V

  2

  VIVA, DIVA

  Through the M.U.T.T.S.C. stuck to Ophelia’s helmet, Oscar could see that she was standing in front of ten of the world’s most expensive motorcycles. Each bike was encased in a separate thick, glass case. There were several grumpy-looking guards in front of them.

  “Ooooooh. The motorcycle show…” Oscar exclaimed, awestruck. “Please turn toward the gold one, Ophelia.”

  She swiveled her (fabulous) head.

  “It’s outstanding!” Oscar couldn’t take his bulgy eyes off the gold-plated chopper. “That one would match me.” His voice was thick with daydreams. “You could drive. I’d build a smashing sidecar, and I’d paint our Oscar and Ophelia ‘O2’ logo on the side. And just think of the gold racing outfits I could make.…” His voice trailed off as he continued to scan the glass cases. “Oh, wait. Hold on to your hairballs! Is that a—”

  “Yes,” Ophelia interrupted. “It is the one and only Sooperbike. It’s the fastest. It’s the lightest.” She smiled. “And it’s expensive. Almost four million dollars, I’m told. But that’s not the one I’m going to liberate and enjoy. Watch this, fish.”

  Ophelia took a tiny laser from her special-ops handbag. She turned it on and pointed the green beam above her. There was the snap of a net breaking. And, a moment later, from the pyramid’s ceiling, hundreds and hundreds of balloons fell. The guards threw their suspicious gazes upward. The crowd oohed and aahed.

  Once Ophelia was outside and hidden in the traffic of the crowded Las Vegas strip, Oscar’s questions started again. “How on earth did you manage that?”

  “Easy, my dear inventor. Just a few simple steps. Earlier today, I did some balloon shopping. Though I hate balloons, they are purr-fect for holding the pretty purple dust and sparkle I used as a distraction. And the speakers were simple to set up. Did you love the music? I turned it on and everyone assumed it was an impromptu party!”

  “But the glass,” Oscar prompted. “How did you make a whole glass case disappear?”

  “Ah. Going through the glass was easy … because there was no glass. It was a hologram, though it looked exactly like the other glass cases.”

  “You mean there was no case around that bike all day?” Oscar asked. “It was an illusion?”

  “That’s right. No glass. Just a few inattentive guards.”

  “And the key to get the motorbike started?” Oscar pressed.

  “Darling fish, you know I never let a little vault get in the way of anything.”

  Ophelia expertly maneuvered the motorbike in and out of traffic until she saw the semi-trailer truck she’d been looking for. It was driving down the highway at a steady speed. As she approached it, a ramp lowered from the back and she rode up into the truck.

  Inside, she stepped aside while a few of her international FFBI allies did a very fast, very pink paint job to disguise the bike. Then she drove back out.

  Suddenly, Oscar was in her ear again, his voice serious. “Code Flea! Ophelia, the FFBI just issued an alert. It’s top priority. You need to get home. There’s an emergency meeting first thing tomorrow morning. All members must attend via video conference.”

  “Code Flea? Wow. Meow. That’s reserved for very urgent things.” Ophelia took a deep breath and hissed with disappointment. “I love the feeling of the wind in my fur. I had hoped to take a few days and slowly drive home. I’ve always wanted to see Roswell.” Of course, Ophelia wouldn’t dream of being late for a meeting with the FFBI. Besides being a dedicated cat burglar, being on time was one of her trademarks. “Would you please send the FFBI helicopter to pick me up just outside of Crystal Springs?”

  “I can do better.” Oscar sounded smug. “If you press the small gold button on the strap of your motorcycle helmet, you won’t need a ride.”

  “I found that button already. I won’t push it until you tell me exactly what it will do. And don’t be vague.”

  The fish sighed. “One day you’ll just trust me and not ask. But today, that particular gold button will give you a very speedy jet-boost.”

  “Is it safe?” She hesitated. “I don’t want to mess up my manicure. Or, you know, the weather system, plant life in the area, or my internal organs.”

  “I’m offended,” Oscar retorted, pretending to be offended. But it was true that a recent gold button demonstration had seen Oscar twirl up a handcrafted tornado. It had been messy. “For your information, there are safety features embedded in that helmet that NASA would scratch for.”

  Ophelia grinned, took a deep breath, pushed the button, and away she went. If the cat had checked her rearview mirror, she might have noticed a mysterious figure wearing an old- fashioned fedora in a low-flying jet who followed her all the way home.

  “I love neon jelly beans, long belly rubs, and when a purr-fect plan comes together.”

  —Ophelia von Hairball V

  3

  SUIT UP WITH STYLE

  In her lair, sprawled out on a windowsill with her velvet sleep mask over her eyes, Ophelia was basking in the sun.

  But as the relaxing minutes ticked by, the sun moved in the sky and her fur was suddenly not as warm. She decided to finally put the robotic dog, which her pesky goldfish inventor had built without her permission, to work.

  Oscar came tearing over, his face pinched with panic. “P.U.G.! Cancel Ophelia’s last command. Please gently pick Ophelia up and move her two inches to the right at 0.002 miles per hour, so she’s in the center of the sun rays coming through the window.” He shook his head. “Ophelia! How many times do I need to remind you? P.U.G. is coded to interpret everything very literally. Although I’m curious to see how it would figure out a way to get you to the middle of the sun, let’s not do that today.”

  Oscar had handcrafted P.U.G. to resemble the nosy next-door neighbor dog to try to impress Ophelia. It hadn’t worked. “I’m really not a fan of that metal abomination,” she said, stretching from paw to paw. “Seriously, if I have to make an extra effort to not be sent to the center of the sun, then I’d rather just do things mysel—”