by Bill Wallace
Still others—like Rotten Willy—pretend to be nice. They try to get you to trust them, to drop your guard. Then . . . then, it’s all over!
That’s the way Tom explained it when I scampered up the tree to join him on his branch. For a time I wasn’t sure whether this huge beast was a dog, like he said, or some strange animal called a Rotten Willy. Now, I was certain. Only a dog could be so sneaky.
And to think that I’d trusted him. . . .
Rotten Willy kept us in the tree for a long, long time. He kept asking stuff about the neighborhood, and if there were other cats and dogs besides us and Rocky. He said he smelled something good to eat and wanted to know what it was. Tom and I didn’t speak to him. Hoping he’d go away when he realized we weren’t falling for his tricks and coming down the tree, we just ignored him.
Only, he didn’t go away. He curled up and took a nap.
When we heard the sound of Pat’s car, we both yowled: “Mama, help! Mama, help!” Only Tom’s Pat didn’t hear us. She took a sack of groceries and went inside.
After a while, we heard the sound of another car. Rotten Willy perked his ears. With his little stub tail tucked tight against his fat bottom, he took off like a shot.
I started down the tree, but Tom stopped me.
“Could be another one of his tricks,” he cautioned.
We stayed put. A little while later, we heard a woman’s voice.
“Willy, did you do this? Bad dog! Bad dog!”
Quickly, Tom and I trotted across the limbs that arched over Rocky’s yard. Like always, he leaped and barked his threats. I ignored him, like Tom had told me to. I kept my eyes on the branch and never so much as glanced down.
From Rotten Willy’s tree, we watched as a woman-people shook her finger at the big, black monster. He lowered his head, and his stub tail pressed so tight against his bottom I could hardly see it. The woman-people got a shovel and filled the hole. All the time she worked, she kept scolding Rotten Willy and telling him: “Bad dog. Bad dog.”
Tom laughed. I did, too—but only because Tom did. It wasn’t much fun to get in trouble with your people. I felt sorry for Rotten Willy. Kind of sad for him, in a way. But since Tom thought it was funny . . .
With Rotten Willy hiding in his doghouse, it was finally safe for us to come down from the trees. We headed back to Tom’s yard. Rocky barked and jumped and threatened. We didn’t pay any attention. Once in Tom’s yard, we each went to our own home in time for supper.
• • •
Every morning, when the Mama let me out, I headed straight for my best friend. Before we started our day’s adventure, we always checked Rotten Willy. Tom could climb high up in his tree and tell me if he could see him. If he did, I would run around behind Rocky’s fence to make sure there wasn’t a new hole under Rotten Willy’s pen. Once certain it was safe, we began our day.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays we went to the football field and made fun of the dogs. On Tuesdays and Thursdays we went to see Luigi, and ate his marvelous spaghetti and meatballs. Fridays were kind of open. Sometimes, Tom and I would pester Rocky. Sometimes, we would walk over and try to tease Rotten Willy. It wasn’t much fun, cause he never got mad or barked and growled at us. Still other times, we just slept in the sun or lounged around all day. On Sunday, we stayed with our people. That was mostly because of Tom. The Daddy and Tom’s Pat were all alone. Tom spent the weekends with them.
My Katie came home after being away for about three weeks. It was wonderful to have her home. When it was time for her to leave, the feel of sad swallowed her and me both.
It was four weeks before my Katie came to visit again. The leaves had turned colors and begun to fall from the trees. It always made me a little sad, because it meant that cold was coming. This time, my Katie was just as happy to be home, but she didn’t give off as much sad-feel when she went back. The next time she visited, I was worried. She talked about a boy. Not the Jimmy boy, but a new boy. When she left, I could feel happy coming from her. I was afraid she might not want to come home. I was afraid she might forget about the Mama and the Daddy. She might even forget about me.
• • •
Monday, it was back to the same old thing. When the Mama let me out, I arched my back and stretched. Then I headed off to join Tom at the football field. Only Tom wasn’t at the football field. I found him sitting in his front yard, staring at a big sign. I looked both ways and trotted across the street.
“What’s it say?” I asked.
Tom shook his head, only he didn’t look at me. He just kept staring at the sign.
“I don’t know.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Some people came, yesterday. They walked all over my house.” He took his eyes from the sign and glanced at me. “I don’t like strange people in my house. It makes me nervous.” He looked back at the sign. “When they left, they put the sign here.”
We stared at it for a long time. I wish I knew how to read so I could tell what it said. Finally, we gave up and went to make fun of the dogs.
• • •
It was afternoon when we got around to Rocky and Rotten Willy. Tom let me cross over Rocky’s yard first. When he came over the branch, he acted like he was going to fall. Rocky went wild. It was hilarious.
We called Rotten Willy “Fatso” and “Lard Tail,” only he just ignored us and curled up in his house. Tom crept clear to the bottom of the tree. I held my breath when he strutted over to Rotten Willy’s house. He thumped on the side with his paw and raced back up the tree.
Rotten Willy didn’t even look up.
“What’s wrong with you,” I meowed from the tree. “You weird or something?”
Rotten Willy opened an eye.
“Yeah.” Tom jerked and flipped his tail from side to side. “Why don’t you bark at us or chase us? You’re a dog, aren’t you? Aren’t dogs supposed to chase cats and try to eat us up?”
Rotten Willy’s paws were crossed. He flopped his head on them and stared at the ground.
“I guess I was raised different from most dogs.”
I frowned at the top of his head.
“Who raised you?”
“Tuffy.”
“Who’s Tuffy?”
Suddenly, he made a grunting sound and turned around inside his doghouse. All I could see was his stub tail.
“Who’s Tuffy?” I repeated.
In a very soft and faraway voice, he answered:
“Tuffy was my friend.”
That’s all he said. We stayed in the tree for a while, but when he kept ignoring us, we left. On my way home, I glanced at the sign in Tom’s front yard.
“Sure wish I could read.” I shrugged and trotted to my house.
I guess it really didn’t matter. Regardless of what the sign said, Tom and I were best friends. We would be best friends . . . forever.
CHAPTER 10
Me out! Me-out! Meeeout!”
The sound that came to my ears that bright winter morning was probably the most pitiful sound I had ever heard. I stopped. Listened. The cry made the hair tingle on my back.
“Meeeout! Meeeout!”
My eyes flashed wide. It was Tom’s voice. Frantic and scared, it cut through the crisp air like a knife. I darted between the shrub and the house, raced around the corner, bounded over the rosebush and into my front yard. A huge car thing stood across the street. There was a big box on the back of it and bunches of wheels. It blocked my view of Tom’s house.
“Meeeout! Meeeout!”
I raced across my yard. Almost to the street, a sudden vision of Louie flashed through my mind’s eye. My front legs locked. The pads on my paws skidded across the dry, brown grass—then caught. I stopped so suddenly that my back end lifted clear off the ground and my tail flipped up. The very tip of it thumped me on the nose.
Once stopped, I looked both ways. A car-thing whizzed past, not two feet from my nose. It stopped, then turned at the corner. It was a close call.
&
nbsp; Certain that nothing else was coming, I charged across the road and under the car-thing with the box on the back. The instant I stepped from under it and onto the curb in front of Tom’s house, I froze. Not even my tail flipped. Eyes wide, I could only stand and stare.
Tom’s yard was a disaster. There were boxes and chairs and tables all over the place. Two big men with light brown shirts and light brown pants carried a box into the back of the car-thing. Two more men brought a couch from the house.
“What are you doing?” I hissed. “That’s Tom’s safe place. If you take his couch, he won’t be able to hide when strangers come to his house. Where are you taking it? What are you doing?”
“Meeeout!”
My ears twitched. I looked around, trying to find where the sound came from.
“Tom? Is that you? Where are you?”
“Meeeout! Meeeout!”
The cry came from a pile of boxes near the garage. The men stepped from the back of the car-thing. I waited until they went into Tom’s house, then raced to the stack of brown cardboard.
There was box piled upon box, with barely a path between them. I sniffed, listened, scampered here and there—still no sign of my friend.
“Tom, where are you? I can’t find you.”
“Here. I’m over here! Get meeeout!”
A gray box stood alone just inside Tom’s garage. Made of shiny plastic instead of cardboard, it had holes in the sides and a wire gate on the front. Through the wire, I saw Tom’s whiskers and his little black nose.
“Tom . . . what . . .” I panted, out of breath from my frantic search. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
“Chuck . . .” he panted back at me. I guess he was out of breath from all his meowing, and from being so scared. “Chuck. Get me out of here. Help me!”
I circled round and round his gray box. I even climbed on top of the thing. I stuck my paw in and tried to pull the wire gate open. There was no way in.
“I can’t,” I gasped. “I don’t know how.”
He sat down. I could see his wide, frightened eyes staring through the wire gate. “Why? Why? Why?” he meowed. “They put me in here late last night. All weekend, they have been putting things in boxes. But I never dreamed they’d put me in a box. I’m not a thing! I’m their Tom. My Pat was the one who stuck me in here. She petted me and stroked my fur—then she told me she loved me. Then . . .”
Tom stopped. He made a sniffing sound, and used his paw to wipe the tear from his whisker. “Then . . . she put me in this box and put me in the garage.”
I rubbed my side against his cage, trying to get close to him—to comfort him.
“I’m sorry, Tom,” I soothed in my best purr. “I wish there was something . . . I’m so sorry.”
It was all I could think of to say. There was nothing I could do to help him. Nothing, but stay with him until the men in the brown shirts and pants had loaded all the other boxes and all Tom’s furniture. By the time they closed the huge doors on the back of the big car-thing, it was almost dark. Tom’s Pat came. She shooed me away with her foot. She picked up Tom’s cage and carried it to her car-thing. We didn’t even have time to tell each other good-bye before she slammed the door in my face.
I stood close, hoping she would open the door again. Hoping she would roll the window down so I could tell my friend how much he meant to me. I stood close until the car-thing snorted at me.
When it roared and began to back up, I circled around in front of it and stood in the middle of Tom’s yard. In the twilight of evening, I watched as it and the big car-thing with the box on the back disappeared around the corner.
Legs churning, claws gobbling up the ground, I raced to the end of the block. I stood and watched as the car-things moved farther and farther away. I watched as they grew smaller and smaller—until there was nothing left but a faint glow from the red taillights. Then—finally—the red glow faded into the darkness. I was all alone.
CHAPTER 11
Lonely just isn’t any fun!
Lonely was a people-thing word. I had heard my Katie say “lonely” one time when she and Chuck stopped dating and before Jimmy showed up. I heard the Mama and the Daddy say it a bunch when my Katie left for the college place. I just didn’t know what it was. Not until Tom left.
Louie got smushed by a car. My Katie went away. Tom got carried off in a gray box with bars on the door. I was the only one left. I knew what “lonely” was.
• • •
For a whole week, I didn’t do much. When the Mama put me out back in the mornings, I ran around the house to see if Tom had come home. His house was empty. The sign was the only thing in his yard. I spent most of my time under the rosebush in front of our house. I watched. I jumped to my feet each time I heard a car-thing come down the road, then slumped back under the rosebush when it wasn’t Tom.
Lonely felt empty and sad. I didn’t feel like eating. The Mama worried about me. She petted me more than usual and stroked my fur. It didn’t help.
The next week was pretty much the same. I ate better, but that was only because hungry hurt almost as much as lonely. After two weeks, I finally realized that Tom might never come back. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life under the rosebush. Maybe I could find another friend.
• • •
The football field was no fun. There was nothing there but people and dogs. Teasing dogs wasn’t fun without Louie and Tom. I went to Luigi’s. He fed me and petted me. He asked about Louie again, and about Tom. But even after I told him what had happened, he kept looking around like he might see them. Wish people could understand.
One crisp morning when the wind wasn’t blowing, I could hear crows calling from the pecan trees at Farmer McVee’s. Tom and I had never been to Farmer McVee’s. Louie had gone there once. He told us that there were huge monsters with teeth growing out of the tops of their heads. When he saw them, he ran away.
Maybe the monsters with teeth growing from the tops of their heads were gone. Maybe there was another cat who lived at Farmer McVee’s house. Maybe I could find a new friend.
There was an empty field behind our house. I heard the Daddy say that someday there would be houses there, just like the ones near the football field and on our side of the block. When I started across the field, each step was slow and careful. I kept my ears perked. I kept my eyes moving and darting to catch the slightest movement—the first sign of danger.
The empty field really was empty.
After a while, my pace quickened. The grass was tall and hard to see through. There were strange smells. Suddenly, in the distance, I saw something. It was an animal. From here, it sort of looked like a cat. Cautiously, I eased closer.
The animal had pointed ears—like a cat. He had whiskers—like a cat. He was mostly black with a white stripe that ran down his back and tail—I had seen cats that were mostly black with white. Only, his tail didn’t look like a cat’s tail. It was full and bushy, and he held it straight up in the air instead of out behind. Still . . . maybe he was just a strange-looking cat. Maybe he would be nice, and maybe he would want to have a new friend as much as I did.
I flattened out on my belly. My tail jerked from side to side, but only a tiny bit. Not enough for the animal to see. Like creeping up on a mouse, I eased closer and closer and . . .
All at once, the smell hit!
My nose crinkled up. My tongue rubbed against the roof of my mouth over and over again, like it had a mind of its own and was trying to push the nasty taste away.
Whatever this black animal with the white stripe was—he was no cat!
Still crouched low, I made a wide circle around him. Once sure I was far enough away, I stood up and trotted on.
After a while I came to a fence. It was made of large squares of wire that were held up by big, brown poles. On the other side of the fence the grass was shorter and almost green—not brown and dead like the grass on this side of the fence. Another smell came to my nose. It wasn’t a good smell, but not as ba
d as the one that came from the black and white animal. I sat in the tall grass and watched.
With the short grass in front of me, it was easy to see for a long ways. I waited and watched. Finally, I eased through one of the wire squares and started across the field.
“Moo!”
I jumped. The sudden voice beside me scared the tar out of me. I tried to leap back to the tall grass, only I landed crosswise on the square wire. I hit so hard that I bounced against it and landed even farther out in the open than where I had started.
Frantic, I scrambled to my feet and looked around.
“Moo!”
The huge beast was only a step or two away. The thing stood almost as tall as a house. It had an enormous, square face—even bigger than the Rotten Willy’s. And sure enough—just like Louie had said—two gigantic teeth stuck out from the top of its head. It took a step toward me. I couldn’t move. Humongous nostrils gaped open. They were big enough to sniff me in and swallow me whole.
“Don’t eat me! Don’t hurt me! What . . . what are you?” I stammered.
“Moo!” was all it said.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“Moo!”
“What’s ‘moo’?”
The thing leaned closer. The two teeth on top of its head pointed down at me.
In the blink of an eye I spun, darted between the square wire on the fence, and raced for home. I hid under the rosebush until well after noon. It took that long for my heart to quit pounding and my fur to flatten down. Whatever the thing was, I didn’t want any part of it. It was so colossal, it was terrifying. But an animal who only knew how to say “Moo” and who had teeth growing from the top of its head—no way!
One thing for sure, I’d never cross the empty field again.
The next day I went to Luigi’s for lunch. As always, he petted me and asked again about Tom and Louie. When I had licked the last drop of meat sauce from the spaghetti plate, I sat and washed my face. Only this time, instead of walking back home, I went around to the side of his restaurant.