Little Cat's Luck Read online

  realized her mistake.

  Making conversation with your dinner

  is never

  a good idea.

  It makes the first bite

  so very

  hard

  to take.

  “Please!”

  the mouseling said again,

  and his pink nose

  with its tickly-looking whiskers

  went

  sniffle-sniffle-sniff.

  Without another word,

  Patches lifted her paw.

  And the mouseling

  snatched up his bright red berry

  and

  s

  k

  i

  t

  t

  e

  r

  e

  d

  away.

  Patches laid her white chin

  on her white paws

  and sighed.

  What kind of a cat was she,

  anyway,

  who couldn’t even eat a mouse?

  Her tummy rumbled

  more loudly than ever.

  Then it wriggled again,

  just for good measure.

  When Patches woke again

  night still lay heavily

  upon the world.

  Nothing stirred,

  not even a mouseling.

  She crawled out

  from beneath the mailbox.

  The rain had stopped,

  but the sidewalk was still

  unpleasantly wet.

  Her tummy rumbled

  and wriggled

  even harder than before.

  Patches stepped onto the grass.

  It was wetter still.

  If she were home,

  she would be

  curled on her girl’s pillow.

  Just thinking about

  her girl

  and that soft pillow

  and the sweet smell

  of her girl’s breath

  when she slept

  almost set Patches to purring.

  Almost.

  She wasn’t home,

  though,

  and her girl wasn’t there,

  so the purr got stuck in her throat

  and stayed silent.

  Patches looked up

  at the fat-faced moon

  peeking out

  from behind

  his cloud.

  “Can you help?”

  she asked.

  “You must see everything

  from up there.

  I’ll bet you know

  all the special places.

  I’ll bet you even know

  where my house is.”

  The moon said nothing.

  “Please!”

  said Patches,

  remembering how

  she seemed to have no choice

  but to do what the mouseling asked

  when he’d said, “Please.”

  “Please!”

  she said again.

  “Will you help me?”

  A silvery voice

  floated

  down

  from

  overhead.

  “What-what-what

  are you do-doing down there

  in the night?”

  it said.

  “Don’t you know

  everybody’s

  s-s-sleeping?”

  The moon!

  The moon had spoken . . .

  and to her!

  Patches was so excited

  that

  a

  ridge

  of

  hair

  stood

  up

  all

  along

  her

  spine.

  Still

  she answered politely.

  This was the moon

  she was talking to,

  after all.

  “Dear sir,”

  she said,

  “I’m down here

  in the night,

  looking for a special place.

  One of my very own.

  And I’m lonesome

  and damp

  and much too hungry

  to sleep.”

  “Oh my,”

  said the moon.

  “My-my-my!

  I’m good at special p-p-places.

  It’s one of-of-of my specialties,

  didn’t you know?

  And I’m g-g-good at hungry,

  too.

  Just-just-just you wait!”

  So Patches did.

  She sat down

  in the wet

  grass

  and waited

  for the moon to feed her.

  In a moment

  she heard a skittering

  in a nearby tree.

  The skittering

  was followed

  by a swish in the grass.

  Was the moon going to come so close?

  Patches had thought

  such an important gentleman

  would merely drop

  something

  from the sky.

  A shower of kibble

  or perhaps

  a bit

  of tuna.

  She closed her eyes

  against the shine

  that was sure to come

  and waited

  some more.

  When nothing happened,

  she opened one eye.

  Then the other.

  The night was as dark

  as before,

  and the moon still floated

  in the sky

  far away.

  But a small red squirrel

  sat in front

  of her,

  holding a fat acorn

  in her precise

  little

  paws.

  “H-h-here it is!”

  she said.

  “Enjoy-joy-joy!”

  “Oh!”

  said Patches,

  in a rather small voice.

  When you’re expecting the moon,

  it can be hard

  to know what to say

  to a small red squirrel.

  But still,

  the little cat gathered herself

  quickly.

  She was,

  as I’ve already mentioned,

  a polite cat.

  And so she reached

  with a gentle paw

  to touch the acorn.

  It was smooth

  and round

  and extremely hard.

  “How kind,”

  she said.

  “Very, very kind.

  But my teeth,

  you see . . .

  my teeth

  are sharp and strong,

  of course.”

  And she opened her mouth

  to show

  just how sharp

  and how strong.

  “But I’m afraid

  they aren’t nearly

  as sharp and strong

  as yours.

  I don’t believe

  I could eat

  an acorn,

  no matter how hard

  I tried.”

  It was the squirrel’s turn

  to say,

  “Oh!”

  She leaned forward

  to peer at Patches’s teeth.

  “I see-see-see,”

  she said.

  And then she sat for a moment,

  thinking

  and nibbling on the acorn

  herself.

  (It would,

  after all,

  be a shame

  to let a perfectly good acorn

  go to waste.)

  “Have you not found anything

  that suits your teeth?”

  she asked

  after several nibbles.

  Patches ducked her head,

  embarrassed.
/>   “I did catch a mouse,”

  she said,

  and she gave the fine white fur

  on her chest

  a good comb

  with her spiky tongue.

  “It was a young mouseling.”

  “Oh!”

  exclaimed the squirrel.

  “Well,”

  she said,

  “that’s good, I’m sure.”

  She sat up

  and her tail

  sat up, too, curled, just at the end.

  “I’d almost for-for-forgotten about cats

  eating mice.”

  But then she leaned forward

  and studied Patches

  closely.

  “And you’re st-st-still hungry?”

  Patches ducked her head

  even lower.

  “I let him go,”

  she said

  to

  the

  grass.

  “Why?”

  cried the squirrel.

  “Why did you let him g-g-go

  when you

  were hungry?”

  “Because . . . ,”

  Patches whispered.

  This conversation

  was growing more embarrassing

  by the minute!

  “Because,”

  she said again,

  more softly

  still,

  “the mouseling said,

  ‘Please!’ ”

  For a long moment

  the squirrel sat silent.

  “I s-s-see,”

  she said

  finally.

  Then she lowered her tail

  until it rested

  on the grass,

  and said,

  “It would indeed b-b-be hard

  to eat

  someone who says,

  ‘P-p-please!’ ”

  “Yes,”

  agreed Patches.

  “Very hard!”

  And then cat and squirrel

  sat side by side

  beneath the solemn moon,

  trying to think.

  What was there in all the world

  for a cat,

  alone in the night,

  to eat

  besides acorns

  that were too hard

  and baby mice

  who were too polite?

  The wind,

  playing among the dry leaves,

  said, “Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh!”

  The moon stared and stared

  as though

  he had no one to look at

  except

  one calico cat

  and a small

  red

  squirrel.

  The night

  wrapped itself

  softly

  around cat and squirrel.

  But then Patches remembered.

  “That noisy dog

  across the street,”

  she said.

  “He has a bowl of kibble.

  He has water, too.

  I saw.”

  “Are you talking about G-G-Gus?”

  the squirrel cried.

  “The meanest dog in t-t-town?

  If you eat his food,

  he’ll eat you

  in a s-s-single g-g-gulp!”

  Patches considered

  being eaten in a single gulp.

  It sounded

  like an experience

  she would rather avoid.

  But still,

  her tummy

  kept complaining.

  Gazing across the street,

  she could see

  that

  lump was

  pointy Gus’s

  a doghouse.

  She could make out Gus’s bowls

  beside the doghouse

  too,

  because,

  as you know,

  cats see very well

  in the dark.

  “Does Gus sleep

  in the doghouse?”

  she asked.

  “No-no-no!”

  The squirrel flicked her tail

  with each “no!”

  “Gus always spends the night

  on the b-b-back stoop,

  as close

  to his b-b-boy

  as he can g-g-get.”

  Patches’s tummy rumbled

  again.

  Something must be done!

  She gave her paw

  a lick,

  drew it across her ginger ear

  for luck,

  then stepped out

  into the street,

  holding

  head

  and

  tail

  high.

  Surely

  the meanest dog in town

  barked so hard during the day

  that he must sleep

  soundly

  at night.

  The wind sighed,

  and the moon hid his face

  behind another cloud.

  The squirrel

  sat perfectly still,

  her paws neatly folded

  across her stomach,

  watching

  the

  white

  tip

  of

  Patches’s

  tail

  disappear

  in

  the

  dark.

  “Oh my-my-my!”

  she whispered.

  “I hope that little c-c-cat

  is quick!”

  The first obstacle

  Patches encountered

  was,

  of course,

  the fence.

  It was tall

  and strong

  and made of a sturdy metal mesh.

  But a fence

  perfectly designed

  to confine an enormous dog

  may present little challenge

  for a small cat.

  Patches quickly found

  a way in.

  Gus had been digging

  in one corner,

  and if she didn’t mind

  scooching her neat white belly

  through some crumbly dirt,

  she yard.

  could Gus’s

  crawl into

  under right

  the and

  fence

  When she emerged,

  she looked over at the stoop.

  The squirrel had been right.

  A Gus-size lump

  lay stretched

  along it.

  Even with her night-seeing eyes,

  she couldn’t make out

  the

  long,

  limp

  ears,

  the enormous mouth,

  or the yellow teeth,

  but she knew

  that shape had to be Gus.

  Patches

  tiptoed

  through the grass,

  trying

  to avoid

  the crisp

  leaves

  scattered

  about.

  But despite being a cat

  with very small paws,

  that was a bit

  like trying

  to walk on air.

  So the fallen leaves said,

  rustle,

  rustle,

  snapple,

  crick

  with each

  and every

  step.

  Patches tiptoed on.

  Gus remained a lump on the stoop.

  Patches’s tummy rumbled even louder

  as she approached Gus’s bowl.

  Ten more inches.

  Six.

  Two.

  She leaned

  over the edge of the bowl.

  She opened her mouth.

  She picked up

  a crumb of Gus’s kibble.

  The kibble didn’t have

  the nice fishy tas
te

  of the kibble served

  in the chipped blue bowl.

  Still,

  it was food,

  the first food

  Patches had tasted

  since breakfast.

  And breakfast

  had been long, long ago.

  But just as the little cat bit down,

  just as the taste of kibble

  burst

  on her small, pink tongue,

  just as her tummy

  rumbled again,

  this time in appreciation

  for what was about to come,

  just as all that happened,

  Patches noticed something.

  It was something

  so astonishing

  that she almost forgot to swallow.

  Right in front of her,

  under her own pink-and-black nose,

  a place.

  A special place.

  The one she’d been searching for

  all along!

  This was it

  exactly.

  Hidden away,

  snug,

  dark,

  quiet,

  very, very special.

  It was supposed to be a doghouse.

  Patches knew that.

  It was supposed to be Gus’s doghouse.

  She knew that,

  too.

  But it couldn’t have been more perfect

  or more exactly

  what she needed

  if it had been built

  just

  for her.

  She sniffed.

  The space smelled of Gus.

  In fact,

  it smelled a whole lot of Gus.

  (And you’ll remember

  that Gus smelled a whole lot!)

  But the truth is,

  though cats have very good noses—

  far better than yours or mine—

  their opinions about smells

  are different

  than ours.

  And Patches found

  the strong smell of Gus

  rather pleasant,

  despite the “go away” personality

  that went with it.

  Indeed,

  the fragrance—

  for that’s what it was to Patches,

  a fragrance,

  not a bad smell—

  reminded her

  of the nest of blankets

  into which she’d been born.

  It reminded her

  of sleeping

  with her mother

  and her sisters

  and her brothers,

  curled around her.

  Of being small

  and cared for

  and utterly,

  completely

  safe.

  The smell

  and the nicely enclosed space

  made Patches feel so good,

  in fact,

  that she quite forgot

  about being hungry.

  She tiptoed into Gus’s house

  and lay down

  in the deepest,

  darkest

  corner.

  She gave the tip

  of

  her

  tail

  a loving lick,

  closed her eyes,

  and set the motor

  of her most contented purr

  thrumming.

  In the still of the night,

  Patches woke

  suddenly.

  Her tummy woke her.

  Not the growly rumble of hunger,

  though you would expect

  by this time

  she must have been very hungry

  indeed.

  It was that other feeling,

  the wriggle