Little Cat's Luck

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Little Cat's Luck Page 6

by Marion Dane Bauer


  “A l-l-little thing like you?”

  the squirrel exclaimed.

  “Scare the g-g-girl?”

  But the mouseling said only,

  “Don’t worry.

  I know how to scare her.

  Just you wait and see!”

  And so each of Patches’s friends

  did what they had proposed.

  The squirrels

  pelted the door

  with acorns.

  The birds

  flew at the watching window

  and pecked it

  with their sharp beaks.

  The rabbits,

  who had promised

  only to hide,

  if you’ll recall,

  did much more.

  They ran up onto the front porch

  and thumped

  their back feet

  loudly

  before they ran

  back beneath the bright-berry bushes

  to hide.

  Then they ran

  onto the porch

  and thumped

  and scurried away

  again.

  And while all this was going on

  the little mouseling waited

  quietly

  by the front door.

  What do you think

  is going to happen?

  Sure enough,

  the door flew open,

  and the girl,

  still holding Patches,

  stepped out

  onto the stoop

  to see

  what all the racket

  was about.

  “Here I come!”

  the mouseling squeaked,

  and he skittered

  up the girl’s leg,

  scrambled the length

  of her arm,

  dashed across her shoulder,

  and then

  scampered right over the top of her head.

  After that,

  he

  scurried

  down

  the

  other

  side

  almost

  as

  fast

  as

  falling.

  Now,

  let me explain something.

  This girl wasn’t

  really

  afraid of mice.

  Most people aren’t,

  if you think about it.

  Who lies

  in bed

  at night

  thinking, MICE!

  and shivering

  the way we might

  if we knew

  a great black bear

  was prowling

  about?

  But if she wasn’t afraid,

  she was certainly

  surprised.

  (That’s what mice

  have going for them,

  the surprise trick.)

  Because when this girl

  stepped out

  onto her front porch

  to see

  what all the commotion was about,

  a mouse

  was the last thing in the world

  she expected

  to meet.

  And she certainly didn’t expect

  to have one,

  not even a very small mouseling,

  run up one side of her body and down the other.

  So,

  though she wasn’t

  exactly

  frightened,

  she certainly was

  startled.

  Seriously startled.

  And what do you do when you’re startled?

  You jump.

  Right?

  And if you happen

  to be holding something,

  even if you’re holding something

  very, very close,

  what else might you do?

  It’s just possible

  that you might

  throw up your hands

  and let

  the something

  drop.

  And that’s exactly what this girl did.

  Her hands flew into the air

  and released Patches.

  Just for a second.

  But a second was all it took,

  because Patches took the chance

  and leaped

  out

  of

  her

  girl’s

  arms!

  She landed on her feet,

  of course,

  because cats are good at landings—

  and she took off running.

  She headed back

  toward

  the post office

  and Gus’s yard

  and his doghouse

  and Gus himself . . .

  and her three

  brand-

  new

  babies.

  The girl wailed!

  She had been so happy

  to have Patches back.

  And here her little cat was

  . . . running

  . . . running

  . . . running away!

  “Patches!”

  the girl cried.

  “Stop!”

  Patches heard,

  but though she loved her girl,

  she paid no attention.

  At this moment,

  she loved no one more

  than Moonshadow

  and Little Thomas

  and Gustina,

  because that’s the way it is

  with mothers,

  even brand-new ones.

  “COME BACK!”

  the girl called,

  running

  after.

  Patches ran

  even faster.

  The squirrels,

  the birds,

  and the rabbits

  scattered.

  The mouseling,

  too.

  Now that a human

  was involved,

  they needed

  to be out of the way.

  Even the bat

  woke

  in the comfy attic

  where

  he

  was

  hanging

  by

  his

  toes,

  listened to the commotion

  for a moment,

  then

  sighed

  and

  drifted

  back

  to sleep.

  Daytime folks

  made so much noise!

  As Patches ran,

  she kept watch

  for the flapping

  red, white, and blue flag

  in front of the post office

  across from Gus’s yard.

  She was a cat

  of the world

  now

  and knew

  about post offices and

  f

  l

  a

  p

  p

  i

  n

  g

  flags.

  When she spied it

  at last,

  she knew

  her babies

  were near,

  all snug and safe

  with her friend Gus.

  The girl caught up just in time

  to see her cat dash

  across the street

  and duck under

  the corner of the fence

  right

  into Gus’s yard.

  “Patches! STOP!”

  the girl cried.

  And then,

  when she saw her little cat

  heading

  straight

  for

  Gus

  and his house,

  she added,

  “Don’t you know?

  That’s the meanest dog in town!”

  But Patches didn’t stop.

  She didn’t even slow down.

  She just ran ri
ght up

  to the enormous gray dog

  who lay,

  half-in,

  half-out

  of his doghouse,

  his chin resting

  on his great gray paws.

  The girl covered her eyes.

  She couldn’t bear

  to see

  what was going to happen

  next.

  (If you’re scared,

  you might want

  to cover your eyes

  too,

  though it is rather difficult

  to read

  that way.)

  When Patches reached Gus,

  she stopped

  just inches from his nose.

  “I’m back, Gus!”

  she cried.

  “How are my babies?”

  She tried to look past him

  into the doghouse,

  but he was blocking

  the way.

  Without raising his chin

  from his paws,

  Gus replied,

  sweetly,

  “My babies are just fine.

  Nice of you to ask.”

  As I said,

  Gus spoke sweetly,

  but Patches couldn’t help but hear

  that word,

  the small one

  that causes so much trouble

  in this world . . .

  my.

  Patches had said

  “my babies”—

  “How are my babies?”—

  and Gus had said

  “my babies”

  back.

  “My babies are just fine.”

  As though

  the babies

  they were discussing

  belonged

  to him!

  Patches licked her nose,

  once,

  twice,

  three times.

  (You’ll remember

  that cats always do that

  when they are unhappy . . .

  or scared . . .

  or

  just

  plain

  mad.

  And Patches was all three.)

  Her fine imagination

  was sending up warning signals

  all

  over

  the

  place.

  Lots

  and lots

  and lots

  of warning signals.

  Patches spoke again,

  but more carefully this time.

  “Gus,”

  she said,

  “where are the kittens

  I left with you?

  The ones I asked you to watch over

  for just

  a

  little

  while?

  Where are MY babies?”

  “You mean Moonshadow

  and Little Thomas

  and Gustina?”

  Gus asked,

  as though there might be

  another set of babies

  under discussion

  here.

  “Yes,”

  Patches said,

  still speaking softly,

  carefully.

  “I mean

  Moonshadow

  and Little Thomas

  and Gustina.”

  Just the taste

  of the names

  on her tongue

  made Patches want to howl,

  but she kept tight control

  and asked again,

  softly,

  carefully,

  “Where are they,

  Gus?”

  After all,

  who knew

  what the meanest dog in town

  might do

  if she made him angry?

  Who knew

  what he might

  already

  have done?

  “Such nice babies,”

  Gus replied,

  still without lifting his chin

  from his paws.

  “I’ve got them right here.

  Warm

  as toast.”

  And he licked

  his great gray lips,

  as though the place

  that kept

  the babies warm

  might be inside his belly.

  The fur stood up

  all along Patches’s spine.

  Her tail puffed, like a bottle brush.

  But she tried to stay calm.

  “Gus,” she said,

  using her best mother-voice,

  the kind

  everyone listens to,

  even enormous dogs.

  (You know

  exactly

  the mother-voice I mean.)

  “Gus,” she said

  again.

  “I want to see Moonshadow

  and Little Thomas

  and Gustina . . .

  now.”

  “Certainly,”

  Gus replied.

  And he lifted his enormous head

  so they both could gaze

  at the pile

  of kittens,

  black and orange tabby and calico,

  curled into a furry ball

  between his paws.

  Then he looked into Patches’s eyes,

  his brown eyes

  into her golden ones,

  and said again,

  this time

  in a deep, deep growl,

  “MINE!”

  Now,

  you’ll remember

  I’ve told you

  that Patches,

  while grown,

  was a small cat.

  And you’ll remember,

  too,

  that Gus was a very large dog.

  But Patches was also a mother,

  and mothers

  across the world

  have a way about them

  when their babies

  are threatened.

  So Patches didn’t think once

  about size.

  A hiss rose in her throat,

  and her claws pressed

  beyond the soft pink-and-black pads

  of her paws.

  She pulled the curving claws in

  and let them slip out again,

  feeling how sharp they were,

  how they could cut,

  how they could slash,

  how they could tear.

  Her fine imagination

  could see

  an enormous black nose,

  the one right in front of her,

  for instance,

  decorated

  with bright-red lines.

  But while being a mother

  can make a creature

  fierce,

  it can also make her wise.

  Even a small cat.

  So Patches tucked the hiss

  away

  and slowly retracted her claws.

  Who knew

  what might happen

  to her babies

  if she hurt Gus?

  So she said

  very reasonably,

  “You know you can’t keep them,

  Gus.”

  Gus,

  however,

  was too busy

  licking her babies,

  one at a time,

  as thoroughly

  and lovingly

  as a child might lick

  a lollipop,

  to seem to hear.

  “Babies must have milk,”

  Patches explained.

  “They can’t live

  without it.

  And you have

  no

  milk.”

  “I know,”

  Gus replied.

  And Patches

  breathed easier.

  He understands,

  she told herself.

  He’ll let the kittens

  come home with me,

  because


  he understands.

  But then Gus said,

  “That’s why you have to stay

  too.”

  And he reached a great gray paw

  and laid it on Patches’s back,

  pressing her

  flat to the grass.

  “MINE!”

  he said,

  a single, sharp bark.

  And he smiled

  a huge doggy smile

  that showed every one

  of his long

  yellow

  teeth.

  Through all this,

  the girl had been standing

  frozen

  on the corner

  by the post office.

  She didn’t dare go closer.

  She had always been told

  to stay away

  from the enormous dog

  ran and the fence,

  who up down chain-link

  saying mean things

  to everyone who passed by.

  Every child in town

  had been told

  the same thing.

  Still,

  that didn’t mean

  she could do

  nothing.

  So she stood right where she was

  and cried, “HELP!

  POLICE!

  SOMEBODY!”

  Now, if you stand

  on a busy corner

  and cry,

  “HELP!

  POLICE!

  SOMEBODY!”

  it’s very likely

  that somebody will notice.

  And somebody did.

  Several somebodies,

  in fact.

  Three mail carriers came running

  from the post office.

  Two clerks

  and four customers came

  from the Piggly Wiggly.

  Joe,

  from Joe’s Gas and Grill,

  left his gas pumps

  and his grill

  and came

  too.

  And the boy

  who loved Gus,

  though he didn’t spend

  enough time with him

  since he’d been banished

  to the yard,

  came running out of his house.

  With

  every

  step

  he shouted.

  “Gus!”

  “Bad dog!”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Let that cat go!”

  “Right now!”

  Now, Gus had always been fond of his boy,

  and he was fond of him still,

  but . . .

  release Patches?

  If he did that,

  he would lose her

  and the kittens,

  too.

  Even the one named Gustina.

  And he wasn’t about to do that!

  So he pressed

  just a little more firmly

  on Patches’s back

  and narrowed his eyes.

  He glared at everyone gathered around:

  the mail carriers,

  the clerks

  and customers

  from the Piggly Wiggly,

  Joe

  from Joe’s Gas and Grill.

  Gus even glared at his boy

  and folded his great gray lips

  back from his long yellow teeth.

  It was a look everyone understood.

  It said,

  “Make me!

  I DARE YOU!”

  “HELP!

  POLICE!

  SOMEBODY!”

  the girl kept crying

  even after the crowd

  had gathered.

  Gus ignored her.

  He ignored the crowd of mail carriers

 

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