Freckles continues recounting how his family helps Old Guy through a terrible ordeal. To read from the beginning, go here for Part 1, or here for Part 2, and here for Part 3.
Old Guy finally yawns out loud. Up in our direction. “Thanks fellas.”
She waits at the bottom. They’re almost down the ladder. Now the man’s on the ground, hands her the Old Guy. "Here you go, buddy. You did great," he says.
She takes the Old Guy upstairs. Where the dog and I wait for them. On deck.
The man carries the ladder out back. To the shed where I hunt. But no time for that.
We follow the lady and Old Guy inside. "A treat. Give him a treat. Time for a treat," says the dog. Punctuates this with those yips I don’t like.
Oh well. I join in with this indignity, and run circles around her legs as I agree. "Yes," I say, "give him some cottage cheese. It's soft, he'll gum it right down. Salty too."
"You boys seem relieved," she says. "Happy to see your Old Guy safe now? Me too.”
I run. Jump up to the back of the sofa.
She walks by, the dog next to her. “Thank you, Freckles, for doing such a good job.”
She reaches over with one hand. Pets me first, then down for the dog.
Usually I’m last.
Old Guy's almost asleep. She puts him down on one of the sofa cushions. Next to where she was reading. I jump off the top of the sofa, down to the floor. In front of the cushion where she put Old Guy.
She goes back to the kitchen. "Yes, that's right," says the dog. Excited now. "Cottage cheese. The Old Guy's favorite."
They're gone, good. I tell Old Guy something. I won't embarrass myself spelling it out here.
He opens one eye. Stabs me with one of those Siamese stares. The steely-blue kind that scare me. Like when the lady first took me home to meet my new family.
But that stare of his doesn’t scare me. Not now.
She comes to the sofa, puts the bowl on the cushion. Something she never does. So fastidious, that woman. Now she just sits. Gentles the head of Old Guy for a moment. Then goes back to reading her book.
He's really worn out. I can't stand the thought of him going to sleep forever.
I should have seen those bad-boy puppies coming before they got in the yard. I'd have chased their rumps off sooner. Before Old Guy panicked. As it is, they'll never come back. They have claw marks and bites to remind them.
You don't mess with Freckles, boys. And never, I mean never, mess with Old Guy. Or you'll wish you were never born.
The dog agrees. I didn't realize I'd purred all this out loud. He comes over, on soft pads. Lays down next to me. Oh no. Well, why not, my reputation is still good here. I can handle a snuggle nap with the smelly beast.
He licks my face. Phew! I wipe it off. And wipe it again. Ewe, now its on my paws. I must lick my paws. Still, having him near feels good somehow.
The man comes inside. Joins us by the fireside. Watches all from his chair by the fish tank.
"He loves cats," says the woman.
"Good thing," says the man.
I purr my agreement. I yawn. Try not to sleep. Don't want to miss anything.
Woken by snorting and slurping. In between gulps. Coming from the sofa.
The dog lets me go. We pad over to see what's what.
"Good kitty," she says. "You're hungry now. That's right, eat it up."
Old guy gobbles the cottage cheese. He almost can’t breathe, he’s eating so fast.
The man smiles at her. From the top of his paper.
I go back to the warm rug. I'm so lucky to have a family. I will watch out more, next time. There better never be a next time. Those bad bulldog puppies better never come here again. If they do, they’ll be sorry.
The dog comes back, satisfied about Old Guy’s progress with the cottage cheese. He winds around a few times and lowers to the warm throw rug. The same one we shared just a few moments ago. He wraps his forelegs around me.
The man gets up. Throws a log on the fire.
I fall asleep.
The end.
Well, not really; there’s always something happening in Freckles' neighborhood.
So, stay tuned for a new story: THE (NOT) FARMER’S WIFE - A Gobbler Brothers’ Tale.
Story © by KT Fabler - more at:
