Free Snakes Don't Miss Their Mothers by M. E. Kerr

Rex.”
    â€œNot yet, Bob. I’m sorry.”
    â€œOh, this is sad,” said Irving. “This is right out of Days of Our Lives.”

18
Life Aboard Summer Salt II
    T HERE WAS NO SIGN of Snack the seagull. The man was out there on the aft deck pounding nails, his breath puffing out little clouds in the cold afternoon air.
    Placido and the girl were inside, where there was a visitor: Ms. Fiona Fondaloot.
    Ms. Fondaloot paraded about in her black Prada pants and her black suede three-inch-heel boots, smoking long thin brown cigarettes. The smoke was permeating every crevice inside Summer Salt II , and Placido was blinking his eyes against this invasive fog.
    He was perched on the table watching while Ms. Fondaloot unscrewed her Mont Blanc pen.
    â€œIf you can’t be Jane Brain, because you spoke out of turn,” she said in her rich Russian-accented baritone, “perhaps you’ll be right for the Ballbat cookie commercial. Slip into this, Jimmie.”
    â€œIt looks like a sleeping bag, Fiona.”
    â€œIt’s good velvet. Don’t rip it. It was lent to me as a favor, so you can get used to it before the audition. I do a lot of extra things for you, you know, because your mother crossed over.”
    â€œI wish you’d just say ‘died.’ She died.”
    â€œI never say ‘died,’” said Ms. Fondaloot. She began writing on the long yellow pad with the blue lines across it. “I’ll write down the address of Dolla, Dolla, and Dolla so you can give it to the limo driver tomorrow. The Ballbat client will be there at eleven. You be on time.”
    The girl got into the dark-brown costume and pulled up the zipper.
    â€œI can’t move!” she complained. “Does the client know how well I sing and dance?”
    â€œYou’re a cookie crumb, darling. You don’t dance. You curl up in that with your head covered.”
    As soon as the fresh ink was applied to the yellow paper with its blue lines, Placido marched across and sat down on it.
    â€œThat’s going to cost that cat his butt!” Ms. Fondaloot hollered, trying to swat Placido as he jumped back.
    â€œYYYYYEEEEEEEEOW!” Placido exaggerated.
    â€œWhat are you doing to him?” the girl cried out.
    â€œHe’s smeared the address!”
    â€œDon’t hurt him!”
    Don’t hurt him? Placido nearly swooned at the sound of fear in the girl’s voice. She did care about him after all! Jimmie liked Placido!
    â€œI won’t hurt him,” said Ms. Fondaloot. “I’ll kill him if I ever get my hands on him! He did that deliberately!”
    â€œHe was playing, Fiona.”
    â€œNot that cat. He has no game in him. They don’t when they come from nothing,” she said. “What is your father doing, Jimmie?”
    â€œThe aft deck is rotting,” said the girl. “Daddy’s fixing it.”
    â€œJimmie, you’ve got to get your head inside the costume too…. Get that ugly cat out of here!”
    Ugly, was he? Placido stomped back to the master’s cabin. As much as he hated the sound of the hammering coming from that direction, he tolerated it. One had to have priorities, and right at the moment Placido’s was to nap atop Ms. Fondaloot’s black cashmere coat there on the bunk. Have a hairy New Year, Ms. Fondaloot!
    Placido would probably dream of Snack, as usual, but he would not mind at all if he dreamed, instead, of Jimmie.

19
Coming?
    â€œ WHAT A BEAUTIFUL LAB you are!” said the lady. “Come here, boy, don’t be afraid…. Someone must have abandoned you. Did someone leave you in the woods?”
    She was crouching near him, one glove off, beckoning to him.
    Goldie was sitting there trembling from the cold and hunger. He had been followed for a while by a brown Bronco with P U on the license plate. When a large, shaggy-haired man finally parked and got out, Goldie saw the red gloves. Every dog