The Cat Who Tried to Drive a Car

Maple was not an ordinary cat. While other cats napped in sunbeams and chased butterflies, Maple sat on the windowsill watching Mrs. Henderson drive away in her shiny red car every single morning.

“Meow,” said Maple, which in cat language meant, “That looks EASY. How hard could it be?”

One Tuesday afternoon, Mrs. Henderson left her car keys on the kitchen counter. This had never happened before. Maple’s whiskers tingled with excitement.

“This is my chance!” Maple meowed, leaping onto the counter with a soft thump. She picked up the keys with her mouth. They jangled and tasted like old pennies, but Maple didn’t care. She had a car to drive!

Getting into the car was the first problem. Maple jumped and jumped, but the door handle was too high. She tried using her tail to reach it. No luck. She tried standing on her back legs and stretching as tall as a cat could stretch. Still no luck.

Then Maple had an idea. She dragged the garden hose over to the car door, climbed up it like a fuzzy rope, and—pop!—she pushed the button with her paw. The door swung open!

“I’m a genius!” Maple purred, tumbling into the driver’s seat.

But the driver’s seat was MUCH bigger than Maple expected. When she sat down normally, she couldn’t see over the dashboard at all. Just darkness and the smell of old french fries.

Maple stood on her back legs. Better! But now she couldn’t reach the pedals.

“Hmmm,” she meowed thoughtfully, twitching her tail. She tried sitting backwards. Nope. She tried lying on her belly. Worse! She tried doing a handstand, but cats aren’t very good at those, and she tumbled right into the back seat.

“MEOW!” Maple yelled, which meant, “This is harder than it looks!”

After climbing back to the front seat, Maple decided to stack things to reach the pedals. She found Mrs. Henderson’s fluffy winter boots in the back. Perfect! She placed them on the floor beneath her paws. Now she could touch the pedals AND see out the window!

Maple put the key in the ignition, just like she’d watched Mrs. Henderson do a hundred times. She turned it with both paws.

VROOOOM! The car roared to life!

Birds flew out of nearby trees in surprise. A squirrel dropped its acorn. The car shook and rumbled like a giant, purring monster.

“YES!” meowed Maple triumphantly. She was doing it! She was driving!

Well… not exactly. The car was just sitting there, rumbling in the driveway. Maple studied the steering wheel, which was disappointingly huge. She could barely reach it.

She pressed the gas pedal.

VROOOOM-VROOOM! The engine got louder, but the car didn’t move.

She pressed the other pedal.

Nothing happened.

She pressed BOTH pedals at once.

The car lurched forward half an inch, then stopped. Maple’s ears went flat against her head. What was she missing?

Then she remembered! Mrs. Henderson always moved the funny stick between the seats before driving. Maple grabbed it with her teeth and yanked it down.

SUDDENLY, the car started rolling backward!

“MEOOOOOW!” cried Maple, which meant, “WRONG DIRECTION! WRONG DIRECTION!”

The car rolled gently down the driveway—backward!—and bumped into a bush. Leaves showered down on the windshield. A very surprised robin stared at Maple through the window.

Maple frantically batted at the steering wheel with her paws. The wheel spun, and the car turned slightly, rolling sideways now, crushing Mrs. Henderson’s tulips.

“MEOW! MEOW! MEOW!” Maple yowled, jumping from pedal to pedal. The car lurched forward, then backward, then forward again, zigzagging across the lawn like a confused caterpillar.

Mr. Patterson, the neighbor, dropped his newspaper. “Is that… is that a CAT driving a car?”

The mailman stopped mid-step, a letter frozen halfway to a mailbox.

Three children on bicycles stopped to point and giggle.

Inside the car, Maple was spinning the steering wheel so fast she looked like a furry tornado. The car made circles in the grass, around and around, faster and faster!

“MAKE IT STOP!” Maple meowed. “HOW DO I MAKE IT STOP?”

She pressed every button she could find. The windshield wipers turned on—squeak-squeak-squeak. The radio blasted polka music. The windows rolled down, then up, then down again.

Finally, in a panic, Maple just flopped on top of ALL the pedals at once.

The car jerked, coughed, sputtered, and went completely still.

The engine turned off.

Everything was quiet except for Maple’s heavy breathing and her racing heart going thumpity-thump-thump.

She looked around. The car was sitting in the middle of the lawn, surrounded by squashed flowers, scattered tulip petals, and very confused onlookers.

Just then, Mrs. Henderson’s voice came from behind the car. “MAPLE! What on EARTH—”

Maple didn’t wait to hear the rest. She leaped out the open window, bounded across the lawn, shot through the cat door, zoomed up the stairs, and dove under the bed in the guest room, which was her favorite hiding spot for emergencies.

Her fur was puffed up like a bottlebrush, and her tail looked like a fuzzy question mark.

From her hiding spot, she could hear Mrs. Henderson outside, laughing and talking to the neighbors. “That cat of mine… I swear she thinks she’s human!”

Later that evening, after everything had calmed down and Mrs. Henderson had moved the car back to the driveway (the proper way, with actual human driving), she found Maple under the bed.

“Come here, you silly goose,” Mrs. Henderson said gently, pulling Maple into a warm hug. “Cats don’t drive cars, sweet girl. Cats do much more important things.”

“Like what?” Maple’s eyes seemed to ask.

Mrs. Henderson carried her to the living room and sat in her favorite chair. “Like keeping laps warm,” she said, stroking Maple’s soft fur. “And making people laugh. And being the best friend a person could ask for.”

Maple purred, settling into Mrs. Henderson’s lap. The sound was like a little motor, much quieter than a car engine, but much nicer too.

From that day on, Maple still watched Mrs. Henderson drive away each morning. But now when she saw the car, she just yawned, stretched, and thought, “You know what? Napping in sunbeams and catching butterflies is actually pretty great.”

And she never, ever tried to drive a car again.

(Though she did sometimes dream about flying a helicopter… but that’s a story for another night.)

The End

Sleep tight, little one. And remember: being yourself is the very best thing you can be.

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