Free The Cats in the Doll Shop by Yona Zeldis McDonough Page A

you hungry?” I extend my hand, which is a bit greasy by now. Very cautiously, Plucky rises up and begins to move toward me, his delicate head bobbing on his slim neck. He stops. He wants the food, but he is afraid. So I set it down on the ground, wipe my hand on my coat (hoping Mama won’t notice the stain later), and wait.
    He watches me with his round, golden cat’s eyes as he moves closer still. Then he bends down his head to eat. As soon as he does, I am on him in a flash. He writhes in my grasp, but I hold tight, even when his sharp little claws take a swipe at my face. I feel a slice of pain, and I am sure there is blood. But I still don’t let go. Limping to the wall, I try to scale it again, still keeping Plucky firmly under my arm.

    But once at the wall, I realize I have a big problem. It was hard enough to scale the bricks the first time. Now I am holding a squirming, scratching cat, and everything hurts—palms, ankle, knees, cheek. As if all this is not bad enough, Plucky begins to meow—loudly—in protest.
    Suddenly, a light goes on upstairs and a window is thrown open. I look up, horrified, to see the angry face of the man with the mustache. “What are doing there?’ he shouts. “You’re trespassing! I’ll have you arrested!”
    I want to run, but there is no place for me to go. I can’t scale the wall, the door into the building is locked, and there is no access to the street or the other yards unless I climb another fence or wall, both of which I am unable to do. The man with the mustache disappears from the window. I can hear his feet stomping down the stairs. Another light goes on our building, and a head emerges from a window. Papa!
    â€œWhat’s all the commotion?” he calls. “People are trying to sleep!” More lights come on in the neighboring buildings, and more people come to their windows. Plucky wails piteously, twisting under my grasp.
    â€œPapa!” I cry. “Papa, it’s me, Anna! Come save me, Papa! Please!”
    Just then, the door in the building leading to the yard bursts open, and there stands the man with the mustache. I am terrified.
    â€œWait right there!” Papa yells back. “I’m coming!”
    â€œWho are you?” the man with the mustache yells, just as Plucky performs a sudden and final twist. He breaks free and leaps out of my arms onto his three legs. Hobbling as quickly as he can, he manages to disappear like an apricot-colored streak into the night.
    I hear noises coming from our side of the wall, and there is Papa, climbing over and dropping down onto the hard, packed dirt. I have never been so glad to see him in my whole life.

11
    W HERE IS PLUCKY?
    â€œHold still,” Mama says sternly. I wince when she touches me with the cotton ball. “It’s for your own good.” It is an hour later, and she is painting my cheek with gentian violet to prevent infection. She has already put it on my knees and hands. It burns. I must look silly with bright purple patches all over. But I don’t feel like laughing.
    Papa is pacing angrily back and forth as Mama cleans my wounds. “What were you thinking?” he says. “Don’t you see how dangerous that was?”
    I hang my head. But even though Papa is punishing me by taking away my allowance for a whole month, I am still glad he rescued me. As soon as he showed up, I ran straight into his arms and told him everything. The man with the mustache was still yelling.
    â€œBreaking and entering!” he hollered. “I’ll have the police over here in five minutes!”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous,” Papa said. “She wasn’t trying to steal from you. She was just trying to rescue the poor kitten. What kind of person puts poison out for a kitten ?”
    â€œI don’t want that animal on my property,” said the man. “Who knows what kind of disease he could be carrying?” He