Grrr. And double-grrr. “This isn’t a species thing,” the Bad Hat said. “The point is that I’m going to give you a ride to the nice rescue group, and we will all be very, very happy, and act like little angels, and then have some tasty and nutritious food. Got it? ”
All of the kittens climbed meekly up onto his back—except for Harold, who stayed on the pavement.
“Is there a problem?” the Bad Hat asked.
Harold nodded. “I’m afraid of heights,” he said, in a voice so small that the dog had to lean closer to hear him.
Naturally. “Then, you will have to keep your eyes closed,” the Bad Hat said. “Mount up, soldier!”
Harold shrugged, and climbed onto his back.
Once he was sure the kittens were all perched there, the Bad Hat stood up very slowly, while they clung to him and shrieked a few times.
“Hang on tightly, close your eyes, and have Quiet Time until I tell you to stop,” the Bad Hat said.
Then, he started down the street, with the kittens gripping his fur precariously and squeaking now and again. But, other than that, they behaved. Mostly.
If anyone saw him like this, covered with weepy kittens, he would never live it down.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Every so often, one of the kittens would fall off, and the Bad Hat would have to stop, crouch down, and wait for it to climb back on. He tried to stay on back roads as much as possible, to keep out of sight. But, when he passed a small farm stand, which was selling fresh produce, people laughed and pointed and took pictures of them with their cell phones.
The Bad Hat just plodded grimly on. It was going to be a problem if anyone chased him, because he wasn’t sure he could run, without ending up with kittens strewn all over the road.
But, people only seemed to be interested in chuckling and taking photographs or videos of a large black dog with six vocal kittens riding and swaying on his back.
He made steady progress towards the rescue group’s farm, although here and there, one of the kittens would topple off his back again, land on the ground, and cry. So, he would have to comfort the kitten, and then somehow convince it to get up there again. And again. And again.
This was not a speedy or efficient process.
It was a huge relief when he finally glimpsed the meadow in the distance.
“Cheer up,” he said, since some of the kittens were wailing again, because even riding on his back was tiring them out. “We’re almost there.”
He certainly couldn’t blame them for crying, because if he were a baby kitten who had been snatched away from his mother and thrown away in a bag like yesterday’s trash, he would be crying his eyes out, too. So, their small exhausted sobs seemed pretty rational, under the circumstances.
Most of the dogs were out in the meadow, running and chasing each other, and as he approached, they gathered by the fence to stare at him.
“I have never seen anything more horrifying in my life,” MacNulty said. “And I’ve been around.”
Lancelot nodded. “It’s humiliating, dude. You’re, like, a disgrace to every other dog in the world.”
Yeah, yeah, he knew that already. The Bad Hat sighed.
“Hooray, you brought us kittens for lunch!” Jack shouted, and laughed so hard that he actually fell down.
The kittens all screamed in terror, and dug into the Bad Hat’s back with their little needle claws. Then, he heard an “Ack!” and felt a small thump by his neck.
“Oh, that’s not good,” MacNulty said. “That’s not good at all. One of them just up and died.”
“What?” Jack jumped to his feet. “But, I was kidding. I don’t want to eat them. Why did it die?”
“You scared it to death,” Duke said, his eyes huge. “Oh my goodness, this is terrible! What are we going to do? Does anyone know cat CPR?”
The Bad Hat shook his head. “No, that’s just Harold. He’s prone to fainting spells. I think he has anxiety issues.”
Matilda, the small Spaniel mix, frowned through the fence. “I don’t know, Bad Hat. He looks pretty dead to me.”
Inside the house, the cats must have heard the kittens screaming bloody murder, because when the Bad Hat looked over there, he could see angry little feline eyes glaring at him from almost every single window.
“Just help me out, guys,” the Bad Hat said. “Please? I don’t know what to do next.”
“Learn to juggle?” MacNulty suggested.
“Become a stay-at-home dad?” Rachel contributed.
“Never show your face in public again?” Lancelot said.
Three pretty good ideas.
“Drop ’em off up at the front door, and then run like crazy,” Natasha, a Beagle Terrier mix he didn’t know very well, said.
Oh, they had a winner! The Bad Hat nodded. “That’s perfect, yeah. Thanks.”
He brought the kittens up to the porch, and then crouched down so that they could slide off him to safety. At least one of them yelled, “Whee!” so they must have enjoyed the trip. Then, he barked twice.
No answer.
So, he barked a few more times, until the door opened.
“Webster!” Joan said, sounding surprised—and delighted. “I’m so glad to see you. And—you’ve brought guests?” She swung the door open wider. “Won’t you come in?”
Her voice was so casual, that the Bad Hat almost fell for that and stepped inside. Instead, he lowered his forelegs and gave his back a quick twitch, so that the still-unconscious Harold would land gently on the doormat.
“Oh, the poor little thing,” Joan said, and scooped Harold up. “Thank you, Webster.”
It was a relief to see Florence’s shaky head peeking out from behind her.
“I found them a little while ago,” he barked at her. “Some idiots put them in a bag and then threw it out of a truck.”
Florence shook her head, and came stumping out to the doormat, making nurturing sounds.
The kittens immediately flung themselves on her, all of them chattering at once. Naturally, they knocked her down, but she found her way back to her feet and began to usher them inside the house.
Joan reached out her free hand. “Come on, Webster,” she said. “How about some lunch?”
So tempting. Almost irresistible, even.
He knew she was going to make a move to catch him—which she did—but, she was easy enough to avoid. He was pleasant about it, though, and tried to make it seem playful.
Then, he barked once, and galloped away. He did pause long enough to yell “See ya tonight!” at the dogs in the meadow, and then headed straight for the woods.
It had been a pretty stressful morning. Lunch would have been nice.
And he wasn’t at all tempted to give up, go back to the rescue farm, and lead a more predictable life from now on.
Nope. Not the Baddest of Bad Hats.
And it wasn’t like he didn’t have a million better things to do. The fact that he couldn’t think of any of them at the moment wasn’t important.
But, he was surprised to find himself feeling mopey as he walked around town. It was almost as though he liked having friends, and being part of something. And he certainly liked having lunch. Right now, he was even homesick for the sound “Ack!” and the reliable thud that always followed it.
A few of the people he passed seemed to recognize him, and some of them called him by name, took his photo, tried to catch him—or all three. Was he really becoming a media sensation? Seemed that way. But, it didn’t feel as appealing as the idea had seemed a few days ago. Canine icons apparently had a pretty lonely time. So, he avoided the attention as much as possible, and tried to maintain a low profile.
He knew he should probably keep to himself for the rest of the day, since people seemed to be so determined to rescue him. But, he went to the village green, because the food in the trash cans behind the restaurant was bound to be delicious, and he hadn’t eaten for hours.
He hid in the bandstand for a while, to make sure th
e coast was clear. Then, he took a deep breath and dashed towards the restaurant.
“Look, it’s that dog!” someone shouted, from the steps of the general store. “The one from the Internet!”
Fame was a heavy burden. The Bad Hat tried to carry it gracefully, though. But, the sad truth was that he had been recognized, and the cell phone cameras were popping out all over the place.
Being a celebrity simply was not all that it was cracked up to be.
There was a great flurry of excitement, and people came rushing out of the post office and the restaurant to catch a glimpse of him. One of the diners was so excited, that he actually started choking on the sandwich he was eating.
Nobody noticed at first, and then someone tried to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him, but didn’t do the technique correctly.
The Bad Hat changed directions, and raced directly towards the choking man. He hit him at top-speed, with a deft head-butt to the diaphragm, including the proper upward push. The food the man had been choking on immediately flew out of his mouth, and he started gasping for breath.
“Oh, thank you,” he said weakly. “Thank you so much.”
The dog waited long enough to make sure that the guy really was okay, grabbed half of an uneaten grilled cheese sandwich from the nearest plate, and then bolted back across the village green, and away. Speed of lightning, roar of thunder—that was him, all right.
Since his celebrity status was growing much faster than he had expected, it seemed as though the safest thing to do was just to nap quietly, until it was time for the viewing party. He had to estimate when it was around midnight, by looking up at the moon—not that he knew much of anything about stars or the solar system or planets. But, he took an educated guess, and then headed towards Green Meadows Rescue Group’s Farm.
The house was dark, except for a low light up in Joan and Thomas’s room. Maybe they were up reading? Still, he waited for a while, to see if it would go out. Unfortunately, it didn’t. He passed a few minutes with the owl, who was eating a chestnut—and very cranky about the taste of tannic acid. But, at least the owl got a good yuk out of it, when the dog tried to leap over the fence in one great bound, and fell over the top into the mud.
“Oh, that’s one for the ages,” the owl said, chuckling. “Wish I had a video camera.”
“I did it on purpose,” the Bad Hat said. “To give you a laugh.”
“Okay. Keep telling yourself that,” the owl said, chuckling harder.
The door, once again, had been left open, and this time, Jack was the one waiting for him.
“Hey best friend,” he said, happily. “You’re famous. You even have your own Facebook page!”
Seriously? That was kind of cool. “Does it have a lot of fans?” the Bad Hat asked.
Jack nodded. “Pretty much the whole town, and now other people from all over the place are clicking on it, too. It’s called Wandering Webster, and talks about you being a lost dog who needs help and everything.”
Yuck.
“I know,” Jack said, reading his expression. “Everyone’s in the den right now, making fun of you about it.”
No doubt.
“Here’s our Little Wanderer,” MacNulty said when he and Jack walked into the room, and the rest of the animals cracked up completely.
Okay, he had to remember that he was awfully suave. He could rise above this. “You all just wish you had a Facebook page and were worshipped by the masses,” the Bad Hat said. “Besides, buddy, you left me out there all alone today, and I ended up having to deal with a thousand neurotic kittens by myself. Turncoat!”
“Cat lover!” MacNulty said, without missing a beat.
“Sheep hater!” the Bad Hat said.
MacNulty nodded glumly. “Cat lover,” he said, under his breath.
Yeah. So? “Sorry about the sheep, and you no longer having a reason to live,” the Bad Hat said.
“I know,” MacNulty said, looking unhappy. Then, his expression brightened. “Hey, wait a minute. Cows!”
What? The dog looked at him curiously.
“I’m going to get adopted, and then herd cows,” MacNulty said. “I bet cows are wonderful!”
Well—maybe. But, it was nice that he had a new goal in life. The Bad Hat turned to look at everyone else. “Anyway. What are we watching tonight?”
Benjamin snickered. “You really think it’s going to be that easy? We’re planning to make fun of you for at least another hour.”
Which he quite possibly deserved. “How are the kittens?” he asked.
Pico let out a sigh. “Making a terrible ruckus. I couldn’t get any sleep at all up there. Joan and Thomas are taking turns feeding them with baby bottles.”
“Well, they like to make noise, that’s for sure,” the Bad Hat said, settling down on a couch and getting ready to stuff himself with kibble. He was starving. “Are they all okay? Especially Harold?”
“Ack!” Pico said, and pretended to faint.
That must have meant that they were all right, but that it was business as usual for poor Harold.
“They’re devastated about their mother,” Florence said. “So, it’s hard to keep them calm. But, Dr. K. was over here this afternoon, and they all checked out fine, even the wobbly one.”
All of the animals nodded solemnly. People didn’t always realize that one thing most stray animals had in common was that they missed their mothers terribly. A lucky few had known their fathers, and some strays knew that their mothers had been safely adopted, and could relax about that. Once in a while, the Bad Hat had even heard of puppies and kittens who had gotten adopted along with their mothers, and got to stay with them always. But, that almost never happened.
The room was very quiet, and he suspected that everyone was feeling as mournful as he was right now, as they remembered their families.
Duke was the first one to speak. “My mother and two of my brothers are service dogs,” he said proudly. “After the puppy mill, we all went to the service place for training, and they were stars! But, my brother Rex—oh, he was such a scamp!—was maybe too fierce, and for me, the tricks they wanted us to do were very, very hard. My mother said, ‘Lambie-pie, don’t you worry about a thing. You are so special, and I know you will find your place in the world.’ There was so much sadness in my heart when I had to get on the big truck and leave. I’ll never forget that.” He paused, lowering his head for a moment.
The rest of the animals did the same, out of respect.
“So,” Duke continued, “Rex and I went to the K-9 Training Academy, and he did such a wonderful job! But, I wasn’t very good at climbing all of the tall walls and the ladders, and I certainly did not ever want to bite the man in the puffy suit. So, I ended up here, but I do hope that I get to see my loved ones again someday. They are all so successful! I’m really proud of them!”
Duke was so genuinely good that the Bad Hat couldn’t help finding it charming.
“But, when I get adopted,” Duke said, “I hope my new family finds some jobs for me to do sometimes. I would like to be able to work.”
“Me, too,” MacNulty said enthusiastically. “This couple adopted me from the shelter in Concord, but they brought me back because I was ‘too energetic.’ What does that even mean?”
Other animals chimed in with the arbitrary and shallow reasons they had been rejected by owners—too big, too small, barked too often, meowed too loudly, ate too much, scratched the couch, had an accident on the rug, tipped over the trash can, climbed the curtains, were the “wrong” color, got on the bed, and other pretty minor complaints. And, of course, lots of people who adopted pets suddenly decided that they were allergic to them—and immediately got rid of the animals. As far as the Bad Hat was concerned, they should have figured out whether they were allergic before they broke some poor dog’s or cat’s heart.
“I did bite some people,” Matthew, the feral cat, admitted. “All the time. I should probably stop doing that.”
Well, yeah. Maybe
that particular complaint had been reasonable.
A lot of the animals didn’t want to talk about their families, or how they had ended up at the shelter, the Bad Hat noticed. But, as far as he could tell, most of the animals’ memories were similar stories. Being cold and hungry and frightened, and being taken away from their families. After a while, the emotions in the room were running pretty high, and more than a few of them were sniffling.
“You always make jokes about the rest of us,” Kerry said to Benjamin, “but you never talk about what it was like when you were a kitten.”
“Mother was a Chocolate Point,” Benjamin said, and—to the Bad Hat’s shock—the cat was completely overcome, and began to weep without giving any further details. He was discreet about it, but seemed to be inconsolable, even when Kerry patted him on the head with her paw.
Wow. Maybe that was the thing they all had in common in the rescue group, no matter how different they were—they all had unhappy pasts, and upsetting memories.
By this point, enough animals in the room were crying, so that the Bad Hat was pretty sure that they might need to watch E.T. again tonight, to get the misery out of their systems. He glanced at Florence, whose little crossed eyes were staring off into the distance, so she must have been revisiting old, difficult memories, too.
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Jack said, breaking the relative silence. “My mother was scrappy. She had something to say about everything, and wow, she made sure that no one messed with us!” He paused. “I think some nice rich people adopted her, and she lives in Boston in a big mansion, with servants to feed and bathe her, and give her as many treats as she wants, whenever she wants.”
The Bad Hat glanced at Florence, who was now looking at Jack so compassionately, that he suspected that the real story of Jack’s family didn’t have such a happy ending.
“I bet she wears ribbons every day,” the Bad Hat said, trying to keep the mood in the room light, “and two on Sundays.”
Jack laughed. “Of course she does, and looks just as pretty as can be. Imagine how terrible you would look in a ribbon? They would have to tape it to your silly shiny head.”
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