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

lunch stand.”
    â€œNo, thanks. It’ll be all right.”
    And making friends again, after anger, then shame, is a pleasure that starts hard, but ends with a special ease.
    â€œIt’s so stupid to fight,” said Harry Cat. “Today especially. I have good news.”
    Tucker’s hope leaped into his mouth. “Will she take him?”
    â€œShe’s consented to an interview.”
    â€œAn interview—”
    â€œThat’s all. For now.”
    Tucker tried to swallow his hope again.
    â€œWell? Where do we meet?” said Lulu.
    â€œWe?” said Harry.
    â€œWe?” said Tucker.
    â€œWhy, sure!” cooed the pigeon. “You don’t think I’d miss this, do you? Oo! oo! oo! ”

EIGHT
    Festivities
    â€œI am absurd,” sighed Tucker hopelessly, as he took a break from his labors in the kitchen quarter of the drainpipe. “I act absurd, I feel absurd.” He glanced into a piece of broken mirror propped against one wall. “I look absurd—I’m absurd!” It was very little consolation, but he popped a sliver of ham in his mouth. Stealing tidbits in advance is allowed to a cook, and Tucker felt he deserved a treat.
    It’s a very good thing that he and Harry had had their almost-fight two days before, because if they hadn’t, the mouse would certainly have been spoiling for it tonight. When Harry had said that Miss Catherine would permit an interview, what he hadn’t let on, right away, was that she had added, in a petulant voice, that she “certainly would not allow the animal in Horatio’s apartment.” She would come down to Bryant Park herself. And Harry had also failed to tell Tucker, until he thought the mouse could take it, that he had been so impressed by Miss Catherine’s offer, well, he’d asked her to stop by the drainpipe on her way down, for a bite to eat. Hence Tucker’s resigned absurdity. For even he had to admit there was something truly ludicrous about a mouse preparing a dinner party for two cats—with a crazy bird thrown in!
    Lulu Pigeon was the first guest to arrive. “Hi, man!”
    â€œHi, Lulu.” Tucker munched his ham gloomily.
    â€œHarry up collecting the guest of honor?”
    â€œNot ‘collecting,’ Lulu.” Tucker daintily lifted one claw. “He’s ‘escorting’ her down to my humble home.”
    â€œGroovy!” said Lulu. “This is going to be a classy bash, I see.”
    â€œI got a feeling I’m the one who’s getting bashed,” said Tucker.
    â€œOh, boy—bread crumbs!” The pigeon waddled toward a succulent heap that Tucker had piled up for her earlier in the evening. “And raisin bread crumbs—wow! You’re really putting on the dog.”
    â€œGet your beak out of those bread crumbs, Lulu! Nobody eats till everyone’s here.”
    â€œYou’re eating—”
    â€œI need it.” Tucker swallowed. “And that was the last until Madame Queen makes her entry.”
    Like most good hosts, Tucker couldn’t relax while he waited for his party to start. He fidgeted around the part of the floor that he had decided was a dining-room table, rearranging ripped but clean paper napkins, making sure that each animal’s own special Dixie cup was placed just so, and generally making himself and Lulu Pigeon so nervous that she was about to tell him to cool it—when, with a swish of fur against pipe, the two cats appeared.
    â€œMiss Catherine,” Harry began the introductions, “this is Tucker, Tucker Mouse, my friend, and this is Lulu, Lulu Pigeon, a friend of the family, you might say. Ha, ha.” Harry was fairly nervous himself—his laugh broke apart—since he was very well aware how much depended upon tonight.
    â€œI’ve heard much about you, Mr. Mouse,” said Miss Catherine.
    Tucker had promised himself that he wouldn’t be intimidated by