Read Online Harry Cat's Pet Puppy by George Selden - Free Book Online Page B

furious, and fit to be tied—a not unusual state for him these days. He was alone—he was almost always alone now—sitting in the deserted drainpipe, trying to patch up a paper flower with a bit of Scotch tape. Both flower and tape had been salvaged that very afternoon from the treasure trove that an overflowing trash basket can be.
    â€œIt’s humiliating,” the mouse mumbled. (Among other strange practices like mending paper flowers, he had taken to talking to himself. Nowadays, it seemed to him, there was nobody else to talk to.) “Degrading!—that’s what it is.” The Scotch tape got stuck to the fur on his chest. “The worst time in my life.” He yanked off the tape. Some fur came with it.
    The worst time in Tucker Mouse’s life began the day after Harry had made the acquaintance of Miss Catherine. He slept late the next morning, and when he woke up, after having a bite to eat—from Tucker’s carefully hoarded food—he decided that he would visit her, take her up right away on her invitation. “Strike while the iron’s hot,” he said.
    â€œSo go strike,” said Tucker.
    But on the way out Harry saw something new. “What’s that?”
    â€œThat,” the mouse proclaimed proudly, “is a piece of carefully rolled-up pink ribbon. Rescued this morning from the Loft’s Candy Shop. A salesgirl was wrapping up a box as a gift, and—”
    â€œI’m taking it,” Harry announced.
    â€œYou’re what? ”
    â€œWhen you visit, you’re supposed to bring a gift.”
    â€œWell, get your own gift!” said Tucker. “She’s your friend.”
    â€œNo time.” He scooped up the neat roll with one paw. “Besides, I’ve got a feeling that she’ll like this.” Then he thought better of it and popped the bundle into his mouth. That way he could carry it carefully and not get it dirty. Before the mouse could begin to moan, he was gone.
    And that night, when he got back, there sat Tucker gloomily in the absence of his pretty pink ribbon. “I was right. She liked it.”
    â€œWhy shouldn’t she like it?” demanded Tucker. “I would have you to understand, precious things like that don’t grow on trees. No wonder she thought you were a thief.”
    Harry ignored the fancy language—a sure sign of a mouse’s displeasure—as well as the dig, and said, “She’s got a hope chest.”
    â€œWhat’s a hope chest?”
    â€œIt’s a kind of an old-fashioned habit.” Harry smiled. “And it’s nice. A place where single ladies—lady cats, lady dogs, lady human beings—keep things that they like. And they hope.”
    â€œSo? What do they hope for?”
    â€œWhat would they?”
    â€œFor an old bag like Miss Catherine—”
    â€œShe’s not an old bag! She’s a middle-aged cat.”
    â€œâ€”it’s too late,” finished Tucker.
    â€œI don’t care,” said Harry. The same smile flickered. “I think it’s nice. Miss Catherine’s hope chest is the sewing basket of Mr. Smedley’s mother. That’s where she put the ribbon, along with her other favorite things. She told me all about them over a bowl of milk we shared.”
    While Tucker grumbled on jealously—he was only jealous about the milk, of course, since he would have liked a sip himself—Harry Cat was getting some good ideas, which he wisely decided to keep to himself. The first was, how alike Miss Catherine and Tucker were in their passion for collecting things. The second—they had similar tastes, too: a fondness for buckles and beads and bright whatnots, although sometimes Tucker lost his head over crazy things like high heels. And the third idea was—!
    â€œNow about this bead,” said the cat next morning.
    â€œWhat about my favorite green bead? ” Tucker snatched back his