Heroic efforts by Freckles have brought the two-legs man to the rescue. Yet all’s not over for their two family members. They're still stuck, high up in a tree.
To catch up go here for Part 1, or here for Part 2.
Her hands too. Both, on the rails. She's slow, but hesitates. She looks down at him. Her smile isn’t so nice like it usually is. More scared.
"Don't look down, Baby Doll. It's easier that way."
"Should I look up?"
“No, just straight in front of you. Look at your hands. Let your feet go down one rung at a time. That’s it, now the next one.”
She stops. Why? I’m still pacing. The dog thumps his tail.
“You can do it. I'm here. I won't let you fall. I promise,” says the man.
How can he promise that? It's slippery up there. Even with claws.
I'm pacing. The dog follows me. We're both pacing. He pants, I’m yowling. He circles me. Makes a soft bark. We don’t want her to fall. Please.
Finally. She’s almost down.
Now, she made it. But Old Guy is still up there.
The man takes her in his arms. Asks if she's okay.
"Yes, but my cat is scared, all alone up there. His heart must be tired from that climb. That's why I went up.”
Hissing, making high pitch sounds. The man notices. I yowl, then run to one end of the deck. To the corner, where the man can still see me. I paw the air, trying to point down the street. I hiss some more.
"Oh look," the lady says. "Freckles must know.”
“Yeah,” says the man. “Baby bulldogs must have chased Old Guy up there."
I agree. Sit and swish my tail. Those mean guys better not come back. I go back to watch up close again.
She holds the ladder while the man climbs up. Thankfully, Old Guy waits for him on the strong limb.
Usually those two are not on speaking terms. Old Guy was with the lady first. Then the dog, long before the man. And then I came along. But the dog likes the man. I do too. But not Old Guy, too jealous. Can't help it I guess.
I mew up. "Old Guy, be nice. The man is going to help you. Please, let him."
Old Guy mews for the first time. "I know,” he says. “Thanks Freckles."
The man reaches for Old Guy with one hand. Old Guy climbs onto his arm. The man curls Old Guy close, climbs down, using only one hand on the rail.
He's good. I have new respect for this man.
"Old Guy, Old Guy," says the dog. He’s wagging his bushy tail. Now his whole body, along with it. Goes down on his forelegs. Puts his rear up in the air.
Dogs have no pride. But this time I feel the same.
"Old Guy, you're the champ," I say. "You did great. You got away from the bad pups."
I go back to pacing the deck. The dog, too; he joins in-between pants with soft barks. Old Guy perches on the man’s shoulder, peeks around and pins us with those icy blues of his.
They're still coming down the ladder. Then, Old Guy’s face goes past ours. I crane my neck over the edge of the deck. Not so far now.
"Yes, Old Guy!" the dog says. "You’re the boss. Head of the pack. Good how you let the man help you. The lady will be so pleased. You’ll get a treat, I just know it."
Old Guy is too tired to answer. So now, I’m even more worried.
Stay tuned for Part 4.
Story © by KT Fabler - more at:
