“Exactly. A home.”
It got late. And then later. The people riding the subway grew fewer and fewer. Theatergoers, mostly, yawning their long way home.
And still no special place for a kitten and a mouse.
“Let’s go over near the Shuttle,” said Harry.
“What’s that?”
“I think it’s just a little short train that goes from Times Square to some place near.”
Beside the Shuttle tracks there was a kind of run-down newsstand, all boarded up for the night. But it had a friendly look.
“We could get in there,” said Tucker. “Take a look at the cracks in those boards.”
“Whoever owns it will open up in the morning—then what?”
Tucker sat on his haunches and sighed. “So the Times Square subway station—another no-place to live.”
But Harry, whose eyes were sharper than Tucker’s, had been glancing through the gloom. He thought he saw—was it?—yes, it was!—a black opening in the wall.
“There’s a hole over there.”
“Big deal! A hole.”
“Come on—let’s look.”
The hole was big. And filthy.
“Yeck! What a mess,” said Tucker.
“It could be cleaned. And also—I don’t think too many people know about this hole. It’s a very neglected hole.”
“And it smells. It’s moldy, Harry—”
“Shhh—”
“Why shhh? There’s nobody here. And no one would want to be.”
“I said ‘shh!’” Harry ordered.
Then Tucker heard it, too. There was a faint splashing, somewhere in back.
“A leak, too—”
“Shhh!”
Harry crept to the back of the hole. And even in the dim light that filtered in from the subway, he could see that a trickle of water was falling.
“It’s clean!” he exclaimed. “Come take a bath!”
“I don’t want a bath.”
“You need a bath. And this water—it must be a leak from a copper pipe. Clean water, in a subway hole—a true miracle. Now, come on in here, and we’ll get clean, too.”
Tucker sputtered, and Harry laughed, and in a few minutes, after all their wandering through New York, the dirt they’d collected—inevitable, for vagabonds—had all been washed away.
They let the drifting air dry them off. And the air wasn’t dirty, either. It filtered in, very softly, through the opening of the hole.
Many minutes went by.
Then Harry said, “Tucker Mouse, this is our home.” He heaved the biggest sigh that has ever been heard from a growing kitten.
“It’ll take a lot of cleaning—”
“Oh, Tucker,” Harry said, “we’re here! At last.”
“Well, maybe it’ll feel more like home when we spruce it up a little.”
“It feels pretty good to me already.”
“And also when I get my collection.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “What collection?”
“Oh, I don’t have it yet,” said Tucker airily. “But I intend to form a collection.”
“A collection of what?”
“Why—why—of everything! And I’ll start with my penny, the one I left back on Tenth Avenue.”
“Do you mean to tell me”—Harry’s fur prickled—“that you’re going to go all the way back to Tenth Avenue to retrieve one penny?”
“I am, indeed!” said Tucker. “This is one mouse that knows the value of a cent. And besides, it may have been the luck in that penny that found us this place.”
“I’m living with a crazy mouse.” Harry shook his head. “If you can get all the way to Tenth Avenue, and then back here again, safely—it won’t be luck. It’ll be another miracle!”
“So you have your miracle with running clean water, and I’ll have mine with pennies.” He grinned, as a new thought crossed his mind. “And maybe also nickels and dimes. And many other delightful things. But we have to clean this place out first. No collection of mine shall be housed in a dump!”
“To work, then,” said Harry.
“To work,” said Tucker.
If they had been men, they’d have rolled up their sleeves. But you can’t roll up fur that’s growing on you—so they just went to work.
And that work took many days—or rather, many nights. For they found it much safer to work at night, when the subway was almost deserted. They threw out chips and chunks of plaster, little bits of concrete, and also the leftover human trash, like a rotten banana peel, that had somehow found its way into the hole.
“You know,” said Harry, when they were resting, exhausted, one night, “I think this was a drainpipe once, that got all stuck up. Do you see those watermarks there?”
“Let’s hope that we don’t clean it out so well that a flood comes crashing down from the street.”
“Oh, we won’t,” said Harry. “It’s stopped up for good. Except for my delightful shower. That comes from a different set of pipes, I’m sure.”
“And speaking of delightful things,” said Tucker, “tomorrow I go for my penny.”
Harry sighed. “All right—if we must.”
“Not we. I.”
“Tucker, I will not let you go alone. I may still be a kitten, but I’m almost a cat, and—”
“Harry,” said Tucker, mouse-proud, “I, too, am growing up. And this deed I must do alone.”
Harry narrowed his eyes and looked at his friend. And what he saw quite silenced him. He looked away. “If you must.”
“I must.”
The next night, a new moon hung in the sky—hung high above the skyscrapers of New York. It seemed like a little silver grin.
Tucker and Harry came up to the sidewalk. By now they knew many secret ways there. A sweet wind from the west had swept the city clean.
“You’re really going to do it?” asked Harry.
“I really am,” said Tucker. “So long. Be back in a flash!”
And the mouse was gone. Harry strained to get a last glimpse of him. Nothing.
The kitten, who felt like a kitten now, alone and lonely, went into their home. “Their” home? he wondered. Or was it only his. His alone. He curled and uncurled a dozen times. But sleep would not come.
Late travelers hurried by. And they, too, most of them, looked worried—as if they also had problems that might not be resolved.
Poor human beings—poor animals, thought Harry, sighing.
A young man dropped a token—and then couldn’t find it. He said some very nasty words.
But Harry saw where it had landed. He rushed out and pushed the token right next to the young man’s feet.
“Hey, wow!” the man shouted. “You are some cat!” He was wearing a fuzzy blue beret. “Thanks, catkins.”
But Harry had hurried back to his home.
Where he waited.
And waited …
And waited! … And along with his waiting, his worry grew heavier and heavier.
Until a plink sounded in the drainpipe.
“Here’s the penny!”
“You found it? And got back—”
“I think it should be”—Tucker glanced around—“above the mantelpiece!” Just casually he threw in: “I did have trouble with that sanitation truck. Those big wheels, you know. Ah, well—I do think the mantelpiece. Except we have no mantelpiece.” His eyes wandered here and there. “How about above the entrance to the drainpipe?”
“Great!” Harry looked away and blinked. “Just great. You put it there, though. It’s yours.”
“It is ours,” said Tucker. He placed the penny carefully on a little ledge of stone that stood out above the drainpipe opening. “There. Now, that’s a beginning.”
And indeed a beginning it was!
For now Tucker Mouse truly knew that collecting things—“scrounging,” he called it—was his vocation. (And vocation is what human beings call their life’s work.)
He was very lucky, Tucker was, in small c
hange. Apart from pennies, he found a few nickels—and on one glorious afternoon, a quarter.
“The bliss of it,” he crooned.
But as well as cash, he also found funny human things. Like a lady’s crazy hat: droopy and blue, with a vivid pink feather.
“Will you look at that!”
“I’m looking,” said Harry. “It’s very ordinary.”
“Ordinary is nice,” said Tucker Mouse.
And all the time that Tucker Mouse had been collecting—“scrounging”—Harry had been slinking and watching and observing the subway station. And wisely, he observed it all.
He’d observed that there was one man with a red necktie who always made his train if he wore that red necktie. And if he didn’t wear it—he lost: the doors closed on his face. His luck is in his necktie, Harry thought. Maybe.
Harry Cat observed a lot. And thought and thought.
“So what are you looking so gloomy for?” asked Tucker one night. He was especially happy that night. He’d found two dimes.
“There are others living here, besides us two,” said Harry Cat. “And if you don’t believe me, just look across the tracks.”
Tucker looked. Six eyes—two by two—were staring at them.
“Who are they?”
“Rats! And worse than those miserable creatures we met on the docks.”
“Rats—”
“And they’re big! They live in garbage cans. And they’re looking at us.”
“Just jealous,” said Tucker.
“Maybe,” said Harry. “But I want to grow big—very fast. You’ve been so busy collecting, you haven’t seen the eyes. Just look at them!”
Across the subway tracks, those eyes of three rats—steely-greedy—all stared at Tucker and Harry.
“And garbage cans! Who would live there—?”
“Someone hungry”—Tucker tried to make the best of it—“who has no place else to live. You and I weren’t doing so well ourselves for a while.”
“We never stooped to garbage cans.”
Harry grumbled in his throat. “I just don’t like the look of those eyes. I like the man with the red necktie, and I like the lady who only wears sneakers, but I don’t like those eyes. They’ve been staring at us for days now.”
“They have?”
“I’ll say! And those guys are big, too!”
“Well, you keep an eye on those eyes,” said Tucker. “I’m sure it’ll be all right.”
“Mmm—I wonder,” said Harry.
And secretly, although he put on a brave face, Tucker, too, began to worry. He had grown so fond of his collection: the buttons and bits of ribbon, not to mention the money. The thought of anyone preying on them made his fur bristle.
In the course of the next few days, Tucker’s worry grew and grew.
He finally had to talk about it. “Harry,” he said one night, “you don’t think those rats would—would steal anything from my collection—”
“They might.”
“But why? I only collect the things I like. And even the money. I just like to look at those lovely dimes.”
“And sometimes roll around in them.”
“So who is harmed if every now and then I take a nickel rinse. But rats don’t like beautiful things. What good would they be to them, anyway.”
“I’ll give you an example,” said Harry. “You remember what you found yesterday?”
Tucker sighed. “Just costume jewelry—but gorgeous!”
“Yes. Well, a rat could steal that pin and drop it in one of the lunch counters. And while the waitresses were fighting over who found it first, he could eat up a pound of hamburger.”
“Oh, dear!” Tucker wrung his front paws. “They would use my treasures—”
“You bet they would. Because rats are users. And they have no sense of beauty at all.”
Now Tucker’s worry turned to panic. He was so panic-stricken that he almost stopped collecting completely. But not if an especially choice item—like a lady’s hairpin—just happened to fall outside the drainpipe opening.
The days wore on …
The six eyes stared …
And Tucker Mouse thought he just might lose his mouse mind.
But even he had to sleep sometimes. He woke up one night—it was very late—and saw Harry staring out into the subway. “Is something wrong?” He jumped to his feet.
“I thought I heard something.”
Tucker Mouse did not have time to ask what.
The raid was upon them …
However, it didn’t feel like a raid at first.
“Hi, guys!” said the biggest rat. “I t’ought we’z oughta get acquainted.”
“Oh, delighted to,” said Harry Cat, and flashed a warning glance at Tucker.
The strangest thing about these rats was, they all looked alike. One was huge, and one was middle-sized, and one might be called little—although he was at least twice as big as Tucker Mouse. Their fur was a kind of dirty gray—and there was dirt on it—but their eyes—oh, their eyes!—were identical: sharp, fierce, piercing, and full of malice.
“I’m Chollie,” said the biggest rat.
“I assume that means Charlie,” said Harry Cat.
“Yeah, Chollie means Chollie,” said Chollie Rat. “An’ dis is Spud”—he pointed a claw at the middle-sized rat—“so called cuz potatoes is his favorite food. An’ da runt is the Bump. Fa da reason dat looms at da end of his nose.”
The Bump had a nervous laugh—if one could call it a laugh. It was more like a high, queer shriek. “Yeah, the Bump. I’m the Bump.” He squealed with delight.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” said Tucker. “It’s very upsetting.”
“So, upset,” said the Bump. “We all got our problems.” His mad laughter fluttered insanely, again.
“I am not happy, Harry,” Tucker said to his friend.
“Why?” said Chollie. “It’s just a frien’ly call.”
“Yeah, so’s us guys can get to know youse guys,” said Spud.
Tucker shot Harry a very nervous look. “In fact, I am very unhappy, Harry.”
“You notice how nice da little mouse smells?” said Chollie to Spud.
“I took a shower before retiring tonight,” said Tucker. “It’s a practice I strongly urge all you three to adopt.”
This remark brought forth the wildest giggling yet from the Bump.
By now, inch by inch, the rats had edged their way into the drainpipe. Tucker and Harry found themselves backed against one wall.
“So—a mouse an’ a kitten livin’ togetha,” said Chollie. “A very strange combination.”
“I am not a kitten,” said Harry, with as much conviction as he could. “I’m a cat.”
“Youse still are a kitten—with a kitten’s little whiskers.” Chollie flicked Harry’s whiskers with one claw. Then he flicked his own. “Whereas dese are da whiskas of a full-grown rat!”
“Well, it’s been nice to meet you,” squeaked Tucker. “If there’s ever anything you should need—like a shower—”
“Need—” said Chollie, and a glint of teeth appeared behind an evil smile. “We don’t need nothin’. But there’s somethin’ we want.” The sound that came from his mouth was part snarl, part growl, and part hiss. “We want what we been seein’ you rake in dis hole, my little freaky-furry friend. An’ we’re gonna get it! So don’t fight—don’t argue—just hand over all you got!”
“My Life Savings—” shrieked Tucker.
“If dat’s what you call da loot—yeah! Ya life’s savin’s.”
“I will not!” And shivering though he was—a bit from the dampness still in his fur, since he hadn’t dried himself too well earlier—Tucker Mouse stamped his foot. “No! Never!”
“Yeah, ya will,” said Chollie, in a quiet, deadly kind of voice—as if bored, as if the whole awful transaction had already been completed. “Or else I’ll hoit ya very bad. An’ den take da stuff anyway.”
At that, Harry Cat blew up. �
�I told you,” he shouted at Tucker. “These are bums. They’d plant a dime just to bite someone’s leg who was picking it up.”
“Not a bad idea,” chuckled Chollie Rat. “Da kitty’s got a sense of humor. An’ by da way, we’ll be back every month to collect what youse have picked up in da meantime.”
“No—” Now Harry, too, spoke quietly, although his voice broke a little, since Chollie was right: he wasn’t a cat yet. “No, you will not. You will not take one item of my friend’s possessions. And furthermore, you will leave these premises which are our home—right now!—and go back to whichever filthy garbage can you call your home.”
For a moment Chollie Rat just stared at this dopey little kitten, whose fur was still fuzzy, and who had challenged him, given him, Chollie Rat, an order to go.
But for only a moment did Chollie Rat stare.
Then he lunged at Harry and sank his hideous sharp teeth in the kitten’s shoulder. Harry screamed—as a cat can scream, not simply yowl—for the pain was horrible.
But Tucker didn’t scream—he roared! A real roar for a very small mouse. Then he went for Chollie, and bit his tail.
“Ow! Ow!” And the rat let go of Harry. Tucker bit in deeper.
Chollie bared all his teeth. And Tucker knew that, for him at least, the fight was over. He might as well be dead.
But he wasn’t dead. Because, once those fangs were out of his shoulder, Harry jumped on Chollie’s back and started clawing, as best he could with claws that weren’t yet grown.
Meanwhile, the two other rats had been gawking. They couldn’t believe that a kitten and a mouse would fight back—and particularly at their boss, Chollie Rat. But now they knew they had to join the battle, too. They had to help Chollie, because if they didn’t, he’d skin them alive.
A frenzy—a frantic and furious chaos—of claws, paws, teeth, tails, now occurred. No one was winning.
But suddenly Chollie Rat shouted, “Hold it!”
In the fury—the fighting—the scratching and biting—the whole situation had ended like this: Harry Kitten, who now was definitely Harry Cat, had managed to flatten Chollie. The rat lay on his back, and Harry sprawled over him. And Tucker Mouse, with the tiny instinct that small persecuted people have, had raised one small but very sharp claw above Chollie’s tender nose.
Harry Kitten and Tucker Mouse Page 3