Little Cat's Luck Read online

  she’d been noticing

  of late.

  But what she felt this time

  was more than a wriggle.

  It might have been a fist

  clenching,

  except that the fist was her belly.

  In fact,

  the fist was her whole body,

  drawing tight,

  squeezing,

  squeezing,

  then

  finally . . .

  letting go.

  After a too-brief moment

  it happened again.

  And then again.

  The clenching was so strong

  and so entirely new

  that it frightened Patches.

  What was happening?

  She wanted her girl!

  She wanted her girl close!

  She wanted her girl now!

  But,

  of course,

  her girl was nowhere

  near.

  And the fierce clenching

  came again.

  “Help!”

  Patches cried,

  exactly as she had called

  to the moon

  earlier.

  Though this time

  it wasn’t the moon

  she wanted

  to come to her rescue.

  What could the moon do

  for a bellyache?

  But surely someone was near.

  Anyone.

  “Help!”

  she called again.

  “Please!”

  And someone did hear her.

  Can you guess who?

  It wasn’t the moon.

  The moon sees everything,

  but the truth is,

  he hears very little.

  And it wasn’t the small red squirrel.

  The squirrel had watched

  Patches disappear

  under fence

  Gus’s

  and then,

  afraid to watch any longer,

  she had climbed a tree

  and tucked herself

  away

  in her leafy nest.

  She hoped to sleep

  through the sounds

  of a calico cat

  being eaten

  in a single gulp.

  It wasn’t Patches’s girl,

  either,

  though the girl

  certainly would have come

  if she’d only

  been able to hear

  her cat’s call.

  But the girl was blocks away

  and sound asleep,

  a salty crust

  of tears

  dried on her cheeks.

  She had gone to sleep

  crying

  over her missing

  Patches.

  No,

  the one who heard Patches’s call was—

  you’ve guessed it,

  haven’t you?—

  none other than

  the

  meanest

  dog

  in

  town.

  Gus lifted his great head

  to listen.

  The night was still dark,

  but there it was again . . . that sound.

  He sighed

  and dropped his chin

  to his paws.

  Whoever was calling

  had nothing to do

  with him.

  Truth be told,

  no one

  had anything

  to do with him

  these days.

  Even his boy

  spent little time

  out in this green yard

  with his dog.

  So whoever was making that noise

  was none

  of his

  concern.

  “Help!”

  The call came again,

  and Gus lifted his head

  once more.

  The voice was so close.

  Almost as though the call came

  from inside his yard.

  Almost as though it came

  from inside

  his very own

  doghouse.

  Which wasn’t possible,

  of course.

  Who would dare

  go inside

  a doghouse

  belonging

  to the meanest dog in town?

  “Please!”

  the voice said.

  “Can someone come?”

  Gus rather liked that word . . .

  please.

  He couldn’t remember

  when anyone

  had ever

  said “Please!” to him.

  They said, “NO!”

  They said, “SIT!”

  And “STAY!”

  Even “SHUT UP!”

  But never “Please!”

  Gus tilted his head

  to hear better.

  “Somebody!”

  the voice said again.

  And then, “Anybody!”

  And then, “Please!”

  once more,

  though the “Please”

  got very small

  this time.

  Gus leaped to his feet.

  He was certainly an anybody!

  He was,

  in fact,

  somebody.

  He was

  even

  a rather large somebody.

  And whoever was calling

  might need

  to

  be

  helped

  down

  from

  a low branch

  or bog

  dug a

  out of

  over

  lifted some

  or obstacle.

  If that was the kind of help needed,

  a large dog such as he

  could surely be useful.

  He shook himself awake,

  the shake

  starting with his head

  and

  his

  long,

  limp

  ears,

  traveling down his back

  and ending

  with his whiplike tail.

  But before he stepped

  down into the yard,

  he stopped to think.

  Maybe

  when he got there—

  wherever there was—

  whoever was calling would say,

  “Not you!

  I didn’t mean for you to come.”

  Maybe they would say,

  “I don’t need help from the meanest dog in town.”

  Who would?

  Gus lay down once more,

  rested his head on the concrete stoop,

  and closed his eyes.

  Some things just weren’t his problem.

  But then . . . there it was again.

  Louder this time.

  “Please!”

  And this time when Gus lifted his head

  he knew . . .

  the voice really did come

  from his doghouse.

  The nerve!

  He would have to do something

  about that.

  Not that he liked his doghouse

  all that much.

  He much preferred the big house

  where his boy lived.

  But still,

  the doghouse did belong to him.

  It was

  just about

  the only thing

  in this world

  that did.

  So . . .

  Gus lumbered across the dark yard

  and shoved his big head

  inside the deeper dark of his doghouse,

  a growl

  already gathering

  in his throat.

  Can you imagine the picture that greeted him?

  Gus found

  the

  ugly,

  patchy

  c
at,

  the one he had sent away

  earlier in the day,

  curled into a corner,

  as though she owned the place.

  “What are you doing in my house?”

  he roared,

  and he opened his mouth

  so wide

  that he could have . . .

  well,

  you know exactly what he could have done.

  But he didn’t.

  Not yet,

  anyway.

  Which leaves us all waiting

  to see

  what will happen

  next.

  Patches gazed

  at the great gray head

  thrust

  into her special place.

  She gazed

  at the huge mouth,

  too.

  When she’d called for help,

  this wasn’t exactly

  the help she’d had in mind.

  Even the moon

  would have been

  friendlier.

  And the squirrel was right.

  Gus’s mouth was big enough

  to eat

  a small cat like her

  in a s-s-single g-g-g-ulp.

  But before Patches could think about

  how uncomfortable it might be

  to be eaten

  in a single gulp,

  the fist

  of her belly

  clenched

  again.

  It clenched so hard

  that she could no longer think

  about anything at all.

  She could only feel

  what was happening

  inside her.

  And now

  what was happening

  outside her

  too!

  Because,

  when she looked back,

  she saw

  something emerging

  from inside her very own body.

  A silvery sac,

  shiny,

  bumpy,

  wiggly with life.

  Patches had never seen

  anything like it.

  Never!

  What was she to do?

  But that was when

  some force took over.

  The force came

  from

  so

  deep

  inside

  that she couldn’t even call it

  a voice.

  It was more an understanding.

  A certainty.

  And she realized she knew

  exactly

  what to do.

  She began to lick

  the silvery sac

  with all her might

  until her rough tongue

  tore it open.

  And when the sac tore,

  a slippery

  black

  kitten

  slid into the world.

  The black kitten had tightly shut eyes

  and tightly folded ears.

  He had a stubby tail

  and the tiniest paws

  you could imagine.

  He even had

  five minuscule claws

  on each paw.

  And when he opened

  his pink mouth,

  he cried,

  “Mama!”

  in a voice so small

  it was almost

  silence

  itself.

  Patches,

  who was now Mama

  for the first time in her life,

  heard.

  And she murmured,

  “My baby!”

  Then she went back to licking,

  licking,

  licking.

  She licked

  her baby’s eyes,

  his nose,

  his ears,

  his tail.

  She licked her baby

  everywhere

  until he was soft

  and dry.

  Then she drew him close

  to her belly

  to nurse.

  But when she looked up,

  after all this

  had been accomplished,

  there he was

  still,

  the meanest dog in town

  with his huge head

  not two inches

  from her

  and her brand-new baby.

  Patches didn’t know what to say

  or do.

  She might have tried,

  I’m sorry for having my baby in your house.

  But she couldn’t form the words,

  because she wasn’t sorry.

  Not one little bit.

  Gus’s house was

  the perfect place

  for bringing a tiny kitten

  into the world.

  Besides,

  Gus was gazing at her baby

  as though at a miracle,

  so she said

  instead,

  “Perhaps you would like

  to name him.”

  “Me?”

  Gus whispered

  in the smallest voice

  ever to emerge

  from a large, gray dog.

  “You want me to name your baby?”

  “Of course,”

  Patches answered.

  “After all,

  he was born in your house!”

  And without even asking herself

  whether it was a wise

  thing to do,

  Patches gave Gus’s great nose

  a lick.

  Then she waited

  to see what he would do.

  While she waited,

  the moon

  slipped

  from behind the cloud

  that had been hiding his face

  and peered down

  at them

  all.

  He was waiting

  too.

  Gus seemed to have lost

  all power of speech.

  Now, you and I might think

  that a dog who spends his days

  up down

  running and a fence

  shouting,

  “GO AWAY!

  GO! GO! GO!”

  wouldn’t have a kitten’s name in him,

  but we would be wrong.

  When Gus finally spoke,

  he said,

  still in that small voice,

  “I think the little fellow

  should be called Moonshadow.

  Yes . . .

  Moonshadow

  seems just right.”

  The moon smiled.

  You might not believe me,

  but it’s true.

  The moon really smiled!

  By this time

  the commotion

  had awakened the squirrel

  in her leafy nest.

  She scrambled down

  from her tree,

  scurried across the street,

  and climbed the fence

  to see what was happening

  to her new friend.

  After a moment

  she gathered her courage,

  jumped down into the yard,

  and crept right up next to Gus

  so she could peer

  into his house.

  “Oh!” she said

  when she saw the black kitten,

  “I see.”

  And then she added,

  “There will be m-m-more,

  you know.”

  “More what?”

  Patches asked.

  “More b-b-babies,”

  the squirrel said.

  “When I have b-b-babies,

  I always have

  m-m-more than one.”

  “Oh!”

  said Patches.

  She had a fine imagination—

  cats usually do,

  just think how they turn

  a

  trailing

  strin
g

  into

  a

  running

  mouse—

  but she hadn’t imagined

  even one baby,

  let alone more.

  Nonetheless,

  soon her belly clenched

  again,

  and when she looked back at the place

  that had produced the first kitten,

  another silvery sac

  was on its way.

  By the time

  all was done,

  two more kittens

  lay snuggled

  with their mama.

  Another boy,

  a fine orange tabby.

  “His name is Little Thomas,”

  Patches said,

  suddenly understanding.

  And the last,

  a tiny calico girl,

  all dressed

  in ginger and black

  patches

  on a field of white.

  “Perhaps you’d like to name

  this one?”

  Patches said

  to the squirrel.

  The squirrel closed her eyes to think.

  She had never named

  her own babies.

  When she opened her eyes

  again,

  she saw the great gray dog

  lying

  with his paws stretched

  on each side

  of mother and babies,

  and she said,

  “I th-th-think this one should be called

  Gus-Gus-Gustina.”

  “Ah,”

  said Patches.

  “Gustina it is.”

  And this time it was Gus

  who smiled.

  Just about the happiest smile

  you’ve ever seen

  on a dog.

  Now,

  all this sounds

  like a happy ending,

  doesn’t it?

  Everyone safe and happy.

  Mother and babies.

  Gus.

  The small red squirrel.

  Even the moon.

  But our problems

  are not quite

  over,

  which means,

  of course,

  our story

  can’t be over

  yet.

  Because after a while

  Patches said,

  feeling rather sad

  despite the great rush of joy

  that had come

  with the kittens,

  “If only my girl

  could see

  these fine babies.”

  “Where is your girl?”

  Gus and the squirrel asked

  together.

  Except that the squirrel said,

  “Where is your g-g-girl?”

  “I don’t know,”

  Patches replied.

  And then more softly still,

  “And she doesn’t know

  where I am

  either.”

  Gus’s long ears

  hung

  down

  even

  longer

  than

  before.

  The squirrel’s tail

  went

  limp and flat.

  Patches closed her eyes

  and laid her chin

  very gently

  across her three kittens.

  She and her babies

  were in trouble,

  and she knew it.

  So . . . here is where our story

  has brought us.

  We have

  not just

  one small calico cat,

  but a small calico cat

  and three tiny,

  helpless

  kittens,