all far from home.
Gus was perfectly willing
to share his house
and his kibble.
Once he’d seen the kittens,
especially Gustina,
he would have shared anything,
including his heart.
But a house
just right
for a large dog
isn’t meant for a cat and kittens,
especially
when the leaves are falling,
which means winter is close.
And besides,
if there is anything
a new mother needs,
it is exactly the right food.
Lots of it.
How else can she make milk
in her own body
for her babies?
And we already know
Patches would not do well
on a diet of polite mouselings.
Gus would have shared his food,
of course,
but his dog kibble
was great chunks,
too big and too dry
for a small cat.
So Patches
and Gus
stayed quiet
for a long time,
thinking.
The silence was broken
finally
by the small red squirrel.
She sat up
and
jerked
attention.
to
tail
her
“You stay p-p-put,”
she said to Patches and Gus.
“I’m going to g-g-go
on the squirrel n-n-network.
There must be
s-s-someone out there
who can help.”
“Good,” Patches said.
She had no idea
what the squirrel n-n-network was,
but what could she do
except
stay put
anyway?
So the squirrel
ran up the tree
next to Gus’s house,
chattering loudly.
“C-c-come!” she called.
“C-c-come squirrels.
C-c-come rabbits.
C-c-come birds and b-b-bats.
We have a mother
who needs our h-h-help!”
And she leaped
from tree to tree to tree,
still calling,
until she had disappeared
into the night
and even her voice
had faded away.
When all was silent again,
Gus,
still cradling mother and babies
between his great paws,
spoke.
“You sleep,”
he said to Patches.
“You’ve worked very hard tonight
and must be tired.
I’ll keep watch.”
And so Patches
and the new kittens
slept.
Gus,
faithful to his word,
watched
and
watched
and
watched
through
all
the
rest
of
the
night.
At last
the night faded away.
Even the moon
moved on,
dropping
over
the
edge
of
the
earth.
The sun peeped
over the other edge.
And a morning breeze
set the dry leaves
gossiping
about all they had seen
during the night,
especially
the new kittens.
Still,
the squirrel
did not return.
Patches woke rested
and nursed her babies,
her put-put-putting purr
quieter this morning.
And Gus continued to watch,
quiet for a change
too.
Even when the mail carriers
pulled up
to the post office
across the street
to begin
sorting the mail,
he didn’t shout,
“Go away!
Go! Go! Go!”
even once.
“I wonder what’s wrong with Gus?”
one of them said.
But Gus was fine.
Actually,
the big, gray dog was happier
than he’d been
for a long, long time.
the main ingredient
for happiness—
for dogs
as well as for us humans—
is having someone
to love.
And though he’d only just met her,
Gus loved Patches.
And he loved
her three
fine
babies,
one of whom he had named
himself
and one
who was named
after him.
Still . . .
no sign
of the small red squirrel.
The sun was riding
high in the sky
by the time Patches and Gus
heard the squirrel
returning.
But it wasn’t only
their own squirrel
they heard.
They heard the chatter
of dozens of squirrels,
the soft hop-hop-hopping
of herds of rabbits,
the twittering
of flocks of birds.
And trailing after them all
with its silent,
zigzagging flight,
was even one
very sleepy bat.
(Bats,
as I’m sure you know,
are night creatures.
They fly
through the dark,
then snug in someplace safe
to sleep
through the day.
But this one had heard the call
and had come
anyway.)
All the creatures
gathered around.
“Everyone
has come to h-h-help,”
the squirrel said.
“T-t-tell us
about the girl you have lost.”
And so Patches did.
She told them
about her girl,
about the way her girl
petted her
and played with her.
She told them about the sweet scent
of her girl’s breath
on the pillow at night.
She even told them
about the chipped
blue bowl
that her girl
filled with delicious kibble
and sometimes even
a touch
of tuna.
“Hmmmm!” said one of the rabbits.
“I’ve seen lots of girls.
And they live
in lots of different houses.
How will we ever
find a house
by looking
for a girl?”
“Oh!” Patches said.
She hadn’t thought
about that.
So then she told them
about
the watching window
and the golden tree
and the leaf
that
had
wafted
this
way
and
that,
the leaf that had called her
from home.
“A golden tree!”
the birds all sang.
“S-s-surely,”
the squirrels chattered,
“we can f-f-find
a golden tree
in front of a h-h-house
with a wa-wa-watching window.”
“Yes,”
said the rabbits,
“surely we can.”
And so off they flew
and leaped
and hopped
in search of Patches’s house.
(The bat
went home
to sleep.
But don’t blame him.
If you were a bat
and had been
gobbling mosquitoes
all night long,
you’d surely be sleepy
too.)
Patches helped herself to several bites
of Gus’s kibble,
took a long drink of water,
and then,
warmed to the tip of her tail
at having so many good friends,
went back
to caring for her babies . . .
and waiting.
All would soon be well.
She was certain of it.
The sun rode low in the sky
by the time the rabbits
returned,
walking steadily and slowly
with only
occasional
an hop.
They flopped to the ground
and said
not a word.
The birds flocked
to the tree
next to Gus’s house,
twittering so softly
among themselves
a word they were saying.
Then at last,
the small red squirrel arrived
with his friends,
all of them
dragging their tails
like furry rags.
“There are just too-too-too many
houses
and too-too-too many golden trees,”
the squirrel explained,
“and too-too-too many
watching windows, too-too-too.
I’m afraid we will n-n-never
find your house
and your girl.”
Patches’s
heart
dropped
like
a
stone.
She had been foolish
to leave home
without once
turning
to look back.
She had been foolish
to leave home
at all.
“Oh my,”
she said.
And she gazed
at her tiny babies.
Would she and they
have to make their way
in the world
alone?
And then,
for the first time,
she remembered
someone else.
The mouseling!
The mouseling with
the bright berry
in his mouth.
The same kind of berry
that grew on the bushes
around her house!
She hadn’t told her new friends
about the berries.
She hadn’t told them
about the mouseling,
either.
Maybe,
just maybe,
the bright red berry
came from her bushes.
If so,
surely
the mouseling could help!
And so Patches explained again.
This time not
only
about her girl
and the golden tree
and the watching window.
This time
she explained
about the bushes
filled with bright berries
around the base
of the house.
And about the mouseling
who,
perhaps—
just perhaps—
knew right
where those bushes
grew.
Then,
although it was very hard
for her to leave her kittens,
even for a moment,
she gave each
a lingering lick
and said,
“Gus will watch over my babies
while they sleep.
Why don’t I come with you?
We’ll find the mouseling,
and together
we’ll find my house.”
And so squirrels
and rabbits
and birds
and Patches
set off in search
of a mouseling
who surely knew
exactly
where to find
her house.
It didn’t take long to find
the mouseling.
His nest lay between the roots of the great oak
just behind the post office.
He was tucked in with
his mother
and his brothers and sisters.
The mother mouse
was more than a bit startled
to have a cat
poke her pink-and-black nose
and her long, white whiskers
into her nest.
But the mouseling said,
“It’s all right, Mama.
If you only say ‘please,’
this cat
won’t eat you.”
His mother wasn’t so sure
about the power
of please,
even though
she had faithfully taught
her children
to say it.
But since this cat
already had her nose and whiskers
inside the nest,
she squeaked “p-l-e-a-s-e”
as sweetly as she could,
then stayed very still,
waiting
to see what would happen
next.
But Patches,
as we know,
had no interest in sampling mice.
Instead she explained
about the berry bushes,
about how important it was
to find them
and the house
and the girl,
too.
“The berry!”
the mouseling shouted.
“Oh, that delicious red berry!
Of course,
I can show you
exactly
where I found it.”
And Patches
and the flocks of birds
and herds of rabbits
and half the squirrels in town
followed the mouseling
through the grass,
along a sidewalk,
across several streets—
always looking both ways first—
and at last,
to a yard
with a golden tree,
a watching window,
and a whole row
of bushes
with bright berries
stretched all along the base of the house.
Patches had never seen
her house
before,
not from the outside.
But she knew
she had found the right place
the instant she saw it.
Just looking at it
set her fine, white whiskers trembling.
“That’s it!” she cried.
“That’s my golden tree
and my watching window,
too.
It’s where my chipped blue bowl
lives
and my girl.
Especially my girl.”
And she ran up to the front door
and mewed
as loudly
as one small calico cat
could,
“I’m here!
I’m here!
I’ve come home!
At last!”
And the door flew open
and a girl appeared
and gathered Patches
into her arms.
(Our happy ending,
don’t you think?)
The girl kissed Patches
and hugged her
and dripped happy tears
on her patchy fur.
“My Patches,” she cried.
“My dear, dear Patches!
I knew you’d come home!”
And with that
she stepped back inside the house,
still holding Patches close,
and shut the door.
“I’m going to keep you safe,”
she told her beloved cat.
“You’ll never,
ever,
ever
go outside
to get lost
again!”
It should have been a joyous moment—
and it was,
except for one small
problem.
When Patches heard the door
snap shut,
she could think of only
one thing.
Her babies.
Her babies!
Unless she could get
her girl to understand
about her kittens,
she would never
see them
again!
And so she cried,
loud and strong,
“My babies!
We have to go back for my babies!”
But,
of course,
though the girl loved Patches
with all her heart,
she heard only,
“Meow!
Meow, meow, meow, meow!”
“I know,”
she said.
“You’re so happy
to be home.”
And still holding Patches close,
she went to find
the chipped blue bowl
to give her
an early supper.
A happy ending.
Almost.
Outside the house
the squirrels,
the rabbits,
the birds,
and the little mouseling
all
gasped.
Every one of them
had thought
Patches’s problems
would be over
when they found her house.
No one had thought
to make a plan
for reuniting
the little mother
with her babies
after they’d found
her girl.
“We’ll b-b-break the d-d-door down!”
the squirrels cried.
“We’ll peck at the windows!”
the birds chirped.
“We’ll hide close by and watch!”
the rabbits whispered.
Because the truth is,
even when rabbits want very much to help,
they
are not
exactly
brave.
“Do it!
Do it!
All of you!”
the mouseling squeaked.
“And while you’re doing it,
I’ll
scare
the
girl!”