Free Harry Cat's Pet Puppy by George Selden Page A

messy these winter days, and like the people who live in New York the cats there either stay especially clean or else tend to turn into bums.
    â€œHow’s tricks, man?”
    â€œNot so hot, Lulu. Some kids spraying graffiti on the subway cars decided that it would be lots more fun to spray me. And while I was running away from them, a lady wearing boots stepped right on my tail. It wasn’t her fault, though—she didn’t see me.”
    â€œEnough with the tail! The tail will get better. How did Miss Catherine like the two plastic toothpicks I sent up yesterday?”
    â€œNot much. And that’s something we’ve got to talk about, all that stuff. When Miss Catherine saw the toothpicks, she just laughed and said, ‘Really, Harry—’”
    â€œSince when does she call you Harry?”
    â€œOh, she’s called me by my first name for days.”
    â€œVery charming,” nodded Tucker. “In another year or two she may call you Puss-puss.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you?” The cat recognized a certain perilous edge in his friend’s voice.
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with me! I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me! I am sick, Harry Cat, sick and tired of working my claws to the bone for the sake of a pampered—”
    â€œNow hold on, Tucker—”
    â€œâ€”a pampered house cat! And speaking of working my claws to the bone, and having my fur torn out—”
    â€œ Were we speaking of having your fur torn?” purred Harry impatiently. His fur began to rise and crackle with electricity.
    â€œYes!” Tucker shouted. “Here’s a present for Puss-puss for tomorrow!” He threw the patched flower straight in Harry’s face.
    â€œThat flower?”
    â€œThat flower! What’s wrong with that flower?”
    â€œA pack rat wouldn’t have dragged it home.”
    â€œAre you calling me a rat?”
    â€œOo! oo! oo!” Lulu Pigeon wasn’t exactly a bad bird, but she had a mischievous sense of humor and didn’t mind getting a few good laughs out of watching friends quarrel.
    â€œI’m not calling you a pack rat,” hissed Harry through his teeth. “I’m just saying this gift is absurd!”
    â€œAbsurd!” It was as if someone had pulled Tucker’s whisker of self-respect. “I will not be made to look absurd.” He ripped up the flower furiously. “And I’ve had it, Harry! I’ve had it up to here!” He held his claw beneath his chin—not too high, perhaps, but for an outraged mouse, the limit. “Why don’t you go up and live with Miss Catherine? Just jump in her hope chest—she can keep you there with the rest of the junk! Since you don’t like this pack rat’s home.” He crumpled the torn pieces into a ball. “And when you get up there, give this to Miss Catherine, with my love!” And threw it straight into Harry’s face.

    â€œAll right, that did it!” Harry stood on his four legs, trembling, and advanced on Tucker threateningly. For an instant they seemed like nothing but natural enemies—cat, mouse—and blood was in the few inches of air that separated the two of them.
    â€œOkay, boys—break it up!” Lulu Pigeon waddled between them and spread her wings apart. “Enough’s enough. Who would have thought anybody could bust up the happiest drainpipe in all New York? Harry Cat and Tucker Mouse—” She clucked her tongue reprovingly. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
    Harry and Tucker looked away from each other. Eyes, when you’re ashamed, can be painful.
    â€œNow shake hands,” ordered Lulu. “Or shake paws. Shake claws. Shake anything!”
    They shook.
    â€œIt’s my nerves,” explained Tucker. “I’m worried—about Huppy.”
    â€œMy tail,” explained Harry.
    â€œYou want some ice? I could get some ice for your tail from the