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
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,