Running Wild, page 4
“We gots a fresh pot on the stove,” he called over his shoulder. “Let Luigi make sure is ready.”
The young man with the black hair trotted after him.
“Fresh pot?” he asked. “You’re feeding the good stuff to a bunch of strays . . .”
His voice trailed off when they got to the other room. Rikki and Roscoe stepped up on either side of me and stretched their necks so they could see inside.
“That guy’s weird,” Rikki said. “You see all that red gunk down the front of him?”
“Yeah,” Roscoe agreed. “And he can’t even talk people English. How come he talks so funny?”
“It’s an accent,” I told them. “Luigi is Italian. He hasn’t been here very long, so he doesn’t make quite the same mouth noises that most of the people do, who we’re used to listening to.”
It was just a moment or two before Luigi came back. He sat three bowls in front of us. “Here you go. You kitty cats is going to love this. Luigi makea the best spaghetti and meatballs in the whole world. Eat up. You see.”
Roscoe sniffed his bowl and licked his lips. Rikki didn’t even bother to smell hers. She just pitched right in.
Purring, I rubbed against Luigi’s leg to thank him before I started on my meal. His laugh made me feel good. It made the whole world bright.
“Wonder where is my little-bitty puppy friend, today.”
Without lifting my head from the spaghetti, I glanced at Rikki and Roscoe. They were so busy slurping their food, I don’t think they heard Luigi. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
Luigi stepped over us. He leaned forward and peeked behind the trash cans. Then he walked the other direction and looked beside the building. “Well, maybe he not hungry today.” Luigi shrugged.
The young man with black hair stood, holding the screen halfway open. I couldn’t tell whether he was opening it for Luigi or guarding it so we wouldn’t sneak in.
“I can’t believe you’re wasting three bowls of your best spaghetti and meatballs on a bunch of worthless stray cats. Why don’t you just feed them leftovers or scraps out of the garbage can?”
The happy pleasant smile suddenly left Luigi’s face. His soft brown eyes narrowed. The corners of his mustache drooped.
“This one is my friend,” he said, pointing down at me. “These others is his friends, so that make them Luigi’s friend, too. Luigi no feed his friends leftovers. Only the best for friends of Luigi.”
“But, Uncle Luigi,” the boy protested. “They’re just stupid cats. You dish all the good stuff out to strays, you’ll reduce your profit margin.”
Luigi frowned.
“You’ll lose money, Uncle Luigi,” the boy explained.
“So?”
“Feed junk to the bums who come in off the street or to cats and dogs. Save the good stuff for paying customers and—”
“No!” Luigi’s voice was so loud and angry, I stepped back from the delicious spaghetti. “No,” he repeated. “Money not important. Money is . . . is . . . a thing. Things not important. Friends what count in this life. Luigi never turn his friends away. Luigi never feed his friends junk. Luigi love his friends. Friends love Luigi right back. Love . . . that is what important. Maybe you get older, you figure this out.”
With that, he pushed past the boy and went back to his kitchen. I looked down at my bowl.
Luigi’s spaghetti and meatballs was the most wonderful thing I ever ate in my life. I’d already gobbled down about half of it and each bite tasted better than the one before.
Trouble was, all of a sudden I didn’t feel so hungry anymore.
CHAPTER 9
One time when I was little, I climbed up on the bookshelf next to the planter box in the window. I slipped and landed in the cactus. It hurt.
Luigi’s words . . . what he said about friends and love being important. . . that hurt—worse.
He wasn’t even talking to me. He was speaking to the boy who called him “Uncle Luigi.” But his words stuck me just as sharp and painful as the cactus needles did.
One time when Katie was in school, she came home crying because some of her friends called her names. The Mama hugged her. Then she smiled and said:
“Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can never hurt you.”
I think . . . maybe . . . the Mama was wrong.
Back then I didn’t understand why Katie cried. Now I did. What Luigi said about friends . . . his words, well . . . they stuck me like the cactus needles. Only the prickly thorns were deep down inside of me. Not in my leg or my bottom, where I could pull them out with my teeth. Inside . . . where I couldn’t reach. Where all I could do was feel the hurt.
Luigi’s spaghetti was marvelous. Superb. Fantastic! It was the best spaghetti and meatballs in the whole entire world. I couldn’t eat it. All I could do was sit and stare at what was left in my bowl.
It just wasn’t right. How could I be such a rotten friend?
Willy saved my life. Willy shared his food with me. Willy let me sleep in his doghouse. Willy played tag and hide and seek with me. Willy loved Luigi and his sensational spaghetti and meatballs.
I didn’t even think about inviting him to come with us.
Two days. It had been two whole days since I’d seen my friend. Two days since I even gave him so much as a thought. It made me mad to think about it—mad to even admit it to myself—but I was ashamed of Willy.
Why couldn’t I tell Rikki and Roscoe that I was friends with a dog? Why did I cringe when I thought Luigi might ask where my “puppy friend” was?
In the meat sauce at the edge of the bowl, there was a reflection. It was a cat. He was looking up at me. He was an ugly cat. He was a fraidy-cat. I didn’t like the looks of him—not one little bit.
He was me.
• • •
“Would you slow down, Chuck?” Rikki called from behind me. “We just finished the best meal I ever had in my life, and you’re racing off like something’s chasing you.”
I didn’t look back.
“Yeah, slow down,” Roscoe echoed. “I’m so full, I’m about to blow up. Where are you going in such a rush?”
I didn’t answer. Determined to tell my new friends about Willy, I just kept marching. Across the field, past the workmen, through Rikki and Roscoe’s yard, around my house, I never slowed my pace. Not until. . .
At the curb in my front yard I stopped.
There was a stranger! I saw him walking into Willy’s house. I just got a glimpse of him, but he wasn’t Willy’s people.
We don’t like strangers. Whenever one came into my house, I was always nervous. I hid under the couch or behind the Daddy chair in front of the TV. Willy wasn’t as leery of strangers as I was, but I still couldn’t help but wonder if he knew there was someone in his house.
“That’s it, Chuck!” Roscoe said. Then he belched. “I’m not taking another step until you tell us where we’re going.”
“Me, neither,” Rikki agreed. “If I keep chasing you at this pace, I’m going to explode. What’s up?”
Without taking my eyes off the stranger, I answered: “We’re going to meet my friend.”
Rikki stepped beside me and rubbed her cheek against my shoulder. “If this friend tries to feed us like Luigi did . . . I can’t take another bite of anything, Chuck. I mean it.”
“No.” I shook my head. “He’s not a people friend. He’s . . . he’s . . . Willy. He’s my best friend in the whole world.” I looked over my shoulder at them. “I think you’ll like him. Maybe . . . not at first. It might take you a little time, but once you get to know him . . . well . . . he’s kind of different.”
“Different?” they both asked.
I gave a quick nod. “Yeah. Come on.”
They followed me across the street and down the sidewalk. Right in front of Rocky’s house, I stopped again.
”I think you’ll like him. Maybe . . . not at first. It might take you a little time, but . . .”
My own words seemed to echo inside my head. “It might take you a little time, but . . .”
That’s what they needed—a little time. If I just marched into Willy’s yard and he came out to greet us . . . Rikki and Roscoe would totally flip out. I mean, what self-respecting cat wouldn’t flip out at how huge Willy was? On the other hand, if we went at it slow . . . if I gave them some time to see how sweet he was and how careful he was not to hurt me and what a cool sense of humor he had . . .
I turned and looked at Rocky’s house, then past it to where the fufu poodles lived. The gate at the edge of their backyard was opened.
My whiskers gave a little twitch. It was about the right time of day. Maybe . . . just maybe . . .
“You two wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Cautious and jumpy, I trotted to the gate. I took a deep breath and stuck my head around the corner. The place seemed empty. Step at a time, I eased out into the yard. These poodles were sneaky. If they were here, they could come flying at me from any direction at any time. I kept close to the fence until I was about halfway into the yard. Then quickly I bounded toward the big pecan tree.
Still nothing.
I meowed as loud as I could. I rubbed my side on the bark and meowed again. Then . . . making as much noise as I could, I ripped my way up the trunk to the first limb.
Nothing! Not one single snarl. Not one little yap. No fufu, fluffy-butt poodles came growling and barking and trying to get me.
It was safe. They were gone—probably walking around the football track with the woman people who they belonged to.
I leaped from the tree and raced back for my two friends.
• • •
“I don’t like this,” Rikki hissed. “It smells like dog in here.”
“Come on up,” I meowed. “They’re gone. Besides, this isn’t even the scary part. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
The two cats followed me up the tree. Once at the right spot, we left the trunk and walked out onto a big limb. There wasn’t a breath of wind. I was glad. The huge branch that stretched from this pecan tree went over Rocky’s yard. It came really close to another branch. That limb came from the pecan tree in Willy’s yard. There was a little space between them. I always hated trying to make the jump when the wind was blowing. Leaping from one swaying limb to another was really dangerous. Without the wind even the leaves were perfectly still.
Walking along the limb, I glanced down at the wooden planks below me. It was the fence between Rocky’s yard and the fufu poodles’ yard. Rocky was lying near the back porch to his house, guarding his food bowl. When he saw me, his eyes sprang wide.
The sudden roaring and snarling and growling sent a little chill racing up my tail and back. But that was about all. Of course, I knew it was just Rocky.
Rikki and Roscoe didn’t fare quite so well. Maybe I should have told them about the nasty Doberman. I glanced back.
Rikki was flat on her stomach with all four paws wrapped around the limb we were on. Her claws were dug deep into the bark. Roscoe’s tail blew up like a balloon. He doubled back to the trunk and disappeared.
Yep, I thought with a sigh. I should have told them.
CHAPTER 10
It’s just Rocky,” I tried to explain. “He’s a mean, nasty Doberman. He’s just noise, though. Rocky makes a lot of racket, but he can’t leap high enough to reach the limb. We’re perfectly safe. Now, come down before you hurt yourself.”
Roscoe ignored me. Eyes as wide as the bowl Luigi fed us in, he dangled by one paw from a tiny limb up high in the pecan tree. No matter how calm I tried to be or how much I coaxed, he wouldn’t come down. The poor little branch almost bent double under his weight. All I could do was shake my head.
“Come on, Roscoe. You’re going to fall and get hurt. It’s safe. Honest. Come on down.”
He just hung there.
Sure enough . . . the little limb snapped.
There was a crashing sound. Branches cracked. Leaves fluttered and fell. Roscoe’s tail spun. Claws grasped for anything. He hit one limb, then another. Spinning and swirling and flailing, he finally managed to catch himself on a forked branch about four limbs from the top. Desperately holding on with his front paws, his hind feet kicked and struggled. Roscoe managed to chin himself. At last he got a hind claw into the bark and dragged himself up.
Wide-eyed, he sat there puffing and panting until he finally managed to catch his breath.
“Are you okay?”
He looked down at me and gave a quick nod.
“I’m sorry,” I called up to him. “It was my fault. I should have warned you about Rocky.”
“Didn’t scare me,” Rikki boasted, with a flip of her tail.
Roscoe and I looked down at her. Rikki was sitting on the big limb next to the trunk. Dainty as could be, she licked her paw and washed her face. Then she primped her shoulders and neck. “Didn’t scare me a bit,” she repeated.
Yeah, right, I thought. I might have believed her if I hadn’t had to climb over her to get to Roscoe. The way she was flattened out on the limb, with all fours dug in—I don’t think a Texas twister could have pried her loose. Now, though, she was pretending to be as cool and calm as could be.
Once Roscoe got himself back together, we made our way to join Rikki on the big limb. I apologized again for not warning them about Rocky. Then I explained how Tom and I always used the limbs as a skywalk over the yards.
“Wait, then follow me one at a time,” I meowed over my shoulder. “The jump from one limb to the next is a little scary. If we go one at a time, and wait for the branch to stop bouncing, it’s a lot safer.”
Confident and brave, I trotted along the limb and over Rocky’s yard. Sure enough, here he came.
“I’m gonna get you . . . this time.” He snarled as he leaped into the air. “I’m gonna yank . . . you out of that tree . . . and tear you into tiny . . . pieces and gobble you . . . down for supper and . . .”
Rocky couldn’t jump and bark at the same time. So everything he barked and snarled was all chopped up.
I didn’t even bother to glance down at him when I jumped from the big limb on the fufu poodle’s pecan tree to the one that led to Willy’s yard.
“ . . . and I’m gonna drop you . . . in my food bowl and . . . save you for a midnight snack and . . .”
“Your turn next, Rikki,” I called back, once I’d reached the safety of Willy’s yard.
She primped just a little more, then hopped up and started out onto the limb.
“Oh, boy,” Rocky howled. “Another kitty cat.
Now I’ll. . . have two cats for . . . supper. I’m gonna jump . . . up and grab your . . . tail and yank you . . . down from there and . . . chew you up. Then . . .”
“Ah, shut up, Rocky!” I hissed.
Rikki looked brave, but her legs trembled just a little. She made the jump, though. Roscoe was not far behind her.
He made it, too. Only once on our side, he stopped to look down at the dumb Doberman. Digging his claws firmly into the bark, he started to bounce. The limb bobbed up and down. Roscoe dangled his tail over the edge and wiggled it.
Rocky’s eyes flashed wide. He backed off and took a running leap at Roscoe’s tail. At the last instant Roscoe flipped his tail out of the way.
“Darn! Missed!” Rocky snarled. He spun around and took another turn. “I’ll get you this . . . time. When I do, I’m going . . .”
Again Roscoe moved his tail. Rocky was running so fast when he leaped, and concentrating so hard on the tail, he almost turned a backward flip in midair.
Rikki laughed and fell against me. Roscoe bounced the limb until it swayed wildly.
“Come on, you dumb mutt,” he taunted. “You can jump higher than that. What’s wrong? You some kind of wimp or something?”
It made Rocky so mad, he couldn’t even speak. All he could do was snarl and slobber and growl as he leaped over and over again—trying to get hold of Roscoe.
“That’s enough,” I called finally. “Come on and leave the poor pooch alone.”
Roscoe strolled slowly the length of the limb. Rocky was totally furious. I guess he wasn’t paying any attention to where he was going, because he ran smack-dab into the wood fence between his yard and Willy’s. He hit the board with a bang that sounded like he either cracked the wood or his head. I couldn’t tell which.
When Roscoe reached us, Rikki rubbed her cheek against his. “That was so cool,” she purred. “You rattled that dumb dog until I thought he was going bonkers.”
Roscoe puffed out his chest and flipped his tail from side to side. “It was hilarious,” he agreed. “I mean, I know dogs are dumb. But can you believe that guy? Just crashed into a fence. Bet if I walked back out there, the stupid beast would probably do it again.”
They both laughed.
“You two cool it,” I hissed. “Follow me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
I turned and started down Willy’s pecan tree. Suddenly I stopped. I was so busy watching Roscoe taunt the Doberman, I didn’t even glance to see if Willy was there—to see if he was watching us. When I did turn to look, I was shocked.
Willy was no place in sight. A knot clumped up in my throat. A sudden chill rippled my fur.
The stranger!
I remembered seeing him on the front porch of Willy’s people’s house. What if Willy had been dog-napped? What if . . .
Frantic, I leaped from the tree and raced to Willy’s doghouse. It was empty. I charged across the yard and looked behind the bush in the corner. Willy wasn’t there!
What if the stranger had hurt him? What if the stranger scared him and he ran away? My whiskers drooped. My tail dragged the ground.
Suddenly my whiskers sprang up. The big double gate to Willy’s side yard was wide open. My eyes flashed.
Maybe the stranger opened the gate and let my friend out. But why?
Behind me I could hear Rikki and Roscoe mumbling. They griped about the way this yard smelled of dog. I caught something about how disgusting it would be if my friend actually lived here—this close to some smelly old pooch.
I ignored them and raced for the gate. There was an odor there—a smell. One was people. I didn’t recognize it. The other—it was Willy. Nose almost touching the concrete, I sniffed and sniffed.
The young man with the black hair trotted after him.
“Fresh pot?” he asked. “You’re feeding the good stuff to a bunch of strays . . .”
His voice trailed off when they got to the other room. Rikki and Roscoe stepped up on either side of me and stretched their necks so they could see inside.
“That guy’s weird,” Rikki said. “You see all that red gunk down the front of him?”
“Yeah,” Roscoe agreed. “And he can’t even talk people English. How come he talks so funny?”
“It’s an accent,” I told them. “Luigi is Italian. He hasn’t been here very long, so he doesn’t make quite the same mouth noises that most of the people do, who we’re used to listening to.”
It was just a moment or two before Luigi came back. He sat three bowls in front of us. “Here you go. You kitty cats is going to love this. Luigi makea the best spaghetti and meatballs in the whole world. Eat up. You see.”
Roscoe sniffed his bowl and licked his lips. Rikki didn’t even bother to smell hers. She just pitched right in.
Purring, I rubbed against Luigi’s leg to thank him before I started on my meal. His laugh made me feel good. It made the whole world bright.
“Wonder where is my little-bitty puppy friend, today.”
Without lifting my head from the spaghetti, I glanced at Rikki and Roscoe. They were so busy slurping their food, I don’t think they heard Luigi. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
Luigi stepped over us. He leaned forward and peeked behind the trash cans. Then he walked the other direction and looked beside the building. “Well, maybe he not hungry today.” Luigi shrugged.
The young man with black hair stood, holding the screen halfway open. I couldn’t tell whether he was opening it for Luigi or guarding it so we wouldn’t sneak in.
“I can’t believe you’re wasting three bowls of your best spaghetti and meatballs on a bunch of worthless stray cats. Why don’t you just feed them leftovers or scraps out of the garbage can?”
The happy pleasant smile suddenly left Luigi’s face. His soft brown eyes narrowed. The corners of his mustache drooped.
“This one is my friend,” he said, pointing down at me. “These others is his friends, so that make them Luigi’s friend, too. Luigi no feed his friends leftovers. Only the best for friends of Luigi.”
“But, Uncle Luigi,” the boy protested. “They’re just stupid cats. You dish all the good stuff out to strays, you’ll reduce your profit margin.”
Luigi frowned.
“You’ll lose money, Uncle Luigi,” the boy explained.
“So?”
“Feed junk to the bums who come in off the street or to cats and dogs. Save the good stuff for paying customers and—”
“No!” Luigi’s voice was so loud and angry, I stepped back from the delicious spaghetti. “No,” he repeated. “Money not important. Money is . . . is . . . a thing. Things not important. Friends what count in this life. Luigi never turn his friends away. Luigi never feed his friends junk. Luigi love his friends. Friends love Luigi right back. Love . . . that is what important. Maybe you get older, you figure this out.”
With that, he pushed past the boy and went back to his kitchen. I looked down at my bowl.
Luigi’s spaghetti and meatballs was the most wonderful thing I ever ate in my life. I’d already gobbled down about half of it and each bite tasted better than the one before.
Trouble was, all of a sudden I didn’t feel so hungry anymore.
CHAPTER 9
One time when I was little, I climbed up on the bookshelf next to the planter box in the window. I slipped and landed in the cactus. It hurt.
Luigi’s words . . . what he said about friends and love being important. . . that hurt—worse.
He wasn’t even talking to me. He was speaking to the boy who called him “Uncle Luigi.” But his words stuck me just as sharp and painful as the cactus needles did.
One time when Katie was in school, she came home crying because some of her friends called her names. The Mama hugged her. Then she smiled and said:
“Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can never hurt you.”
I think . . . maybe . . . the Mama was wrong.
Back then I didn’t understand why Katie cried. Now I did. What Luigi said about friends . . . his words, well . . . they stuck me like the cactus needles. Only the prickly thorns were deep down inside of me. Not in my leg or my bottom, where I could pull them out with my teeth. Inside . . . where I couldn’t reach. Where all I could do was feel the hurt.
Luigi’s spaghetti was marvelous. Superb. Fantastic! It was the best spaghetti and meatballs in the whole entire world. I couldn’t eat it. All I could do was sit and stare at what was left in my bowl.
It just wasn’t right. How could I be such a rotten friend?
Willy saved my life. Willy shared his food with me. Willy let me sleep in his doghouse. Willy played tag and hide and seek with me. Willy loved Luigi and his sensational spaghetti and meatballs.
I didn’t even think about inviting him to come with us.
Two days. It had been two whole days since I’d seen my friend. Two days since I even gave him so much as a thought. It made me mad to think about it—mad to even admit it to myself—but I was ashamed of Willy.
Why couldn’t I tell Rikki and Roscoe that I was friends with a dog? Why did I cringe when I thought Luigi might ask where my “puppy friend” was?
In the meat sauce at the edge of the bowl, there was a reflection. It was a cat. He was looking up at me. He was an ugly cat. He was a fraidy-cat. I didn’t like the looks of him—not one little bit.
He was me.
• • •
“Would you slow down, Chuck?” Rikki called from behind me. “We just finished the best meal I ever had in my life, and you’re racing off like something’s chasing you.”
I didn’t look back.
“Yeah, slow down,” Roscoe echoed. “I’m so full, I’m about to blow up. Where are you going in such a rush?”
I didn’t answer. Determined to tell my new friends about Willy, I just kept marching. Across the field, past the workmen, through Rikki and Roscoe’s yard, around my house, I never slowed my pace. Not until. . .
At the curb in my front yard I stopped.
There was a stranger! I saw him walking into Willy’s house. I just got a glimpse of him, but he wasn’t Willy’s people.
We don’t like strangers. Whenever one came into my house, I was always nervous. I hid under the couch or behind the Daddy chair in front of the TV. Willy wasn’t as leery of strangers as I was, but I still couldn’t help but wonder if he knew there was someone in his house.
“That’s it, Chuck!” Roscoe said. Then he belched. “I’m not taking another step until you tell us where we’re going.”
“Me, neither,” Rikki agreed. “If I keep chasing you at this pace, I’m going to explode. What’s up?”
Without taking my eyes off the stranger, I answered: “We’re going to meet my friend.”
Rikki stepped beside me and rubbed her cheek against my shoulder. “If this friend tries to feed us like Luigi did . . . I can’t take another bite of anything, Chuck. I mean it.”
“No.” I shook my head. “He’s not a people friend. He’s . . . he’s . . . Willy. He’s my best friend in the whole world.” I looked over my shoulder at them. “I think you’ll like him. Maybe . . . not at first. It might take you a little time, but once you get to know him . . . well . . . he’s kind of different.”
“Different?” they both asked.
I gave a quick nod. “Yeah. Come on.”
They followed me across the street and down the sidewalk. Right in front of Rocky’s house, I stopped again.
”I think you’ll like him. Maybe . . . not at first. It might take you a little time, but . . .”
My own words seemed to echo inside my head. “It might take you a little time, but . . .”
That’s what they needed—a little time. If I just marched into Willy’s yard and he came out to greet us . . . Rikki and Roscoe would totally flip out. I mean, what self-respecting cat wouldn’t flip out at how huge Willy was? On the other hand, if we went at it slow . . . if I gave them some time to see how sweet he was and how careful he was not to hurt me and what a cool sense of humor he had . . .
I turned and looked at Rocky’s house, then past it to where the fufu poodles lived. The gate at the edge of their backyard was opened.
My whiskers gave a little twitch. It was about the right time of day. Maybe . . . just maybe . . .
“You two wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Cautious and jumpy, I trotted to the gate. I took a deep breath and stuck my head around the corner. The place seemed empty. Step at a time, I eased out into the yard. These poodles were sneaky. If they were here, they could come flying at me from any direction at any time. I kept close to the fence until I was about halfway into the yard. Then quickly I bounded toward the big pecan tree.
Still nothing.
I meowed as loud as I could. I rubbed my side on the bark and meowed again. Then . . . making as much noise as I could, I ripped my way up the trunk to the first limb.
Nothing! Not one single snarl. Not one little yap. No fufu, fluffy-butt poodles came growling and barking and trying to get me.
It was safe. They were gone—probably walking around the football track with the woman people who they belonged to.
I leaped from the tree and raced back for my two friends.
• • •
“I don’t like this,” Rikki hissed. “It smells like dog in here.”
“Come on up,” I meowed. “They’re gone. Besides, this isn’t even the scary part. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
The two cats followed me up the tree. Once at the right spot, we left the trunk and walked out onto a big limb. There wasn’t a breath of wind. I was glad. The huge branch that stretched from this pecan tree went over Rocky’s yard. It came really close to another branch. That limb came from the pecan tree in Willy’s yard. There was a little space between them. I always hated trying to make the jump when the wind was blowing. Leaping from one swaying limb to another was really dangerous. Without the wind even the leaves were perfectly still.
Walking along the limb, I glanced down at the wooden planks below me. It was the fence between Rocky’s yard and the fufu poodles’ yard. Rocky was lying near the back porch to his house, guarding his food bowl. When he saw me, his eyes sprang wide.
The sudden roaring and snarling and growling sent a little chill racing up my tail and back. But that was about all. Of course, I knew it was just Rocky.
Rikki and Roscoe didn’t fare quite so well. Maybe I should have told them about the nasty Doberman. I glanced back.
Rikki was flat on her stomach with all four paws wrapped around the limb we were on. Her claws were dug deep into the bark. Roscoe’s tail blew up like a balloon. He doubled back to the trunk and disappeared.
Yep, I thought with a sigh. I should have told them.
CHAPTER 10
It’s just Rocky,” I tried to explain. “He’s a mean, nasty Doberman. He’s just noise, though. Rocky makes a lot of racket, but he can’t leap high enough to reach the limb. We’re perfectly safe. Now, come down before you hurt yourself.”
Roscoe ignored me. Eyes as wide as the bowl Luigi fed us in, he dangled by one paw from a tiny limb up high in the pecan tree. No matter how calm I tried to be or how much I coaxed, he wouldn’t come down. The poor little branch almost bent double under his weight. All I could do was shake my head.
“Come on, Roscoe. You’re going to fall and get hurt. It’s safe. Honest. Come on down.”
He just hung there.
Sure enough . . . the little limb snapped.
There was a crashing sound. Branches cracked. Leaves fluttered and fell. Roscoe’s tail spun. Claws grasped for anything. He hit one limb, then another. Spinning and swirling and flailing, he finally managed to catch himself on a forked branch about four limbs from the top. Desperately holding on with his front paws, his hind feet kicked and struggled. Roscoe managed to chin himself. At last he got a hind claw into the bark and dragged himself up.
Wide-eyed, he sat there puffing and panting until he finally managed to catch his breath.
“Are you okay?”
He looked down at me and gave a quick nod.
“I’m sorry,” I called up to him. “It was my fault. I should have warned you about Rocky.”
“Didn’t scare me,” Rikki boasted, with a flip of her tail.
Roscoe and I looked down at her. Rikki was sitting on the big limb next to the trunk. Dainty as could be, she licked her paw and washed her face. Then she primped her shoulders and neck. “Didn’t scare me a bit,” she repeated.
Yeah, right, I thought. I might have believed her if I hadn’t had to climb over her to get to Roscoe. The way she was flattened out on the limb, with all fours dug in—I don’t think a Texas twister could have pried her loose. Now, though, she was pretending to be as cool and calm as could be.
Once Roscoe got himself back together, we made our way to join Rikki on the big limb. I apologized again for not warning them about Rocky. Then I explained how Tom and I always used the limbs as a skywalk over the yards.
“Wait, then follow me one at a time,” I meowed over my shoulder. “The jump from one limb to the next is a little scary. If we go one at a time, and wait for the branch to stop bouncing, it’s a lot safer.”
Confident and brave, I trotted along the limb and over Rocky’s yard. Sure enough, here he came.
“I’m gonna get you . . . this time.” He snarled as he leaped into the air. “I’m gonna yank . . . you out of that tree . . . and tear you into tiny . . . pieces and gobble you . . . down for supper and . . .”
Rocky couldn’t jump and bark at the same time. So everything he barked and snarled was all chopped up.
I didn’t even bother to glance down at him when I jumped from the big limb on the fufu poodle’s pecan tree to the one that led to Willy’s yard.
“ . . . and I’m gonna drop you . . . in my food bowl and . . . save you for a midnight snack and . . .”
“Your turn next, Rikki,” I called back, once I’d reached the safety of Willy’s yard.
She primped just a little more, then hopped up and started out onto the limb.
“Oh, boy,” Rocky howled. “Another kitty cat.
Now I’ll. . . have two cats for . . . supper. I’m gonna jump . . . up and grab your . . . tail and yank you . . . down from there and . . . chew you up. Then . . .”
“Ah, shut up, Rocky!” I hissed.
Rikki looked brave, but her legs trembled just a little. She made the jump, though. Roscoe was not far behind her.
He made it, too. Only once on our side, he stopped to look down at the dumb Doberman. Digging his claws firmly into the bark, he started to bounce. The limb bobbed up and down. Roscoe dangled his tail over the edge and wiggled it.
Rocky’s eyes flashed wide. He backed off and took a running leap at Roscoe’s tail. At the last instant Roscoe flipped his tail out of the way.
“Darn! Missed!” Rocky snarled. He spun around and took another turn. “I’ll get you this . . . time. When I do, I’m going . . .”
Again Roscoe moved his tail. Rocky was running so fast when he leaped, and concentrating so hard on the tail, he almost turned a backward flip in midair.
Rikki laughed and fell against me. Roscoe bounced the limb until it swayed wildly.
“Come on, you dumb mutt,” he taunted. “You can jump higher than that. What’s wrong? You some kind of wimp or something?”
It made Rocky so mad, he couldn’t even speak. All he could do was snarl and slobber and growl as he leaped over and over again—trying to get hold of Roscoe.
“That’s enough,” I called finally. “Come on and leave the poor pooch alone.”
Roscoe strolled slowly the length of the limb. Rocky was totally furious. I guess he wasn’t paying any attention to where he was going, because he ran smack-dab into the wood fence between his yard and Willy’s. He hit the board with a bang that sounded like he either cracked the wood or his head. I couldn’t tell which.
When Roscoe reached us, Rikki rubbed her cheek against his. “That was so cool,” she purred. “You rattled that dumb dog until I thought he was going bonkers.”
Roscoe puffed out his chest and flipped his tail from side to side. “It was hilarious,” he agreed. “I mean, I know dogs are dumb. But can you believe that guy? Just crashed into a fence. Bet if I walked back out there, the stupid beast would probably do it again.”
They both laughed.
“You two cool it,” I hissed. “Follow me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
I turned and started down Willy’s pecan tree. Suddenly I stopped. I was so busy watching Roscoe taunt the Doberman, I didn’t even glance to see if Willy was there—to see if he was watching us. When I did turn to look, I was shocked.
Willy was no place in sight. A knot clumped up in my throat. A sudden chill rippled my fur.
The stranger!
I remembered seeing him on the front porch of Willy’s people’s house. What if Willy had been dog-napped? What if . . .
Frantic, I leaped from the tree and raced to Willy’s doghouse. It was empty. I charged across the yard and looked behind the bush in the corner. Willy wasn’t there!
What if the stranger had hurt him? What if the stranger scared him and he ran away? My whiskers drooped. My tail dragged the ground.
Suddenly my whiskers sprang up. The big double gate to Willy’s side yard was wide open. My eyes flashed.
Maybe the stranger opened the gate and let my friend out. But why?
Behind me I could hear Rikki and Roscoe mumbling. They griped about the way this yard smelled of dog. I caught something about how disgusting it would be if my friend actually lived here—this close to some smelly old pooch.
I ignored them and raced for the gate. There was an odor there—a smell. One was people. I didn’t recognize it. The other—it was Willy. Nose almost touching the concrete, I sniffed and sniffed.
