closed-door bedroom. Even if that were possible, the cat defenses at Mrs. Norris's flat were maximum security. Her cat was always her most precious possession and she'd often bragged that she'd never permitted one to escape in the many decades she'd lived there.
I was simultaneously frightened and excited. I thought of sweet Mrs. Norris's despair and wanted desperately to show her that Sid was all right after all. Yet as much as I wished to crawl out of bed and try to pet him, I was petrified of leaving the sanctuary of my covers. By now Sid had stopped bathing and had curled up to sleep. The end of his tail wagged placidly.
I considered calling out to my sisters, whose rooms were closest to mine, but fretted that Sid might vanish in response to a loud noise. Eventually, I decided to pin my eyes on him and stay awake for the remainder of the night. I was certain that if I watched him the entire time he would still be there in the morning when, in the sunlight, I might feel better about approaching him. I imagined how happy Mrs. Norris would be when she saw that her beloved old companion was thriving and keeping her company, albeit not always visibly. The thought of driving out Mrs. Norris's sorrow, even for a little while, filled me with delight.
For several hours I lay there, studying him, my eyes feeling dry and swollen, like a pair of hot coals in my head. Several times I drifted off briefly, starting out of sleep to see Sid's furry coat shining in the moonlight. Each time he seemed to change positions slightly, until at last he was facing me full on, his eyes two gleaming, ghostly orbs.
There seemed to be a connection forming between us. The longer we looked into each other's eyes, the stronger it became, until there was a sort of click in the center of my head. That's when I felt it, an upsurge of overwhelming love that was at once warm, soft, innocent, and absolutely unconditional. I'd sensed such love before when one of the many animals that I'd cared for â cats, horses, dogs, birds â had shown me affection, but never had I felt it so strongly and so viscerally, yet in that one moment when Sid seemed to be wordlessly whispering to me, it was the only real thing in the whole of reality.
With that warm sense of love, I finally fell asleep. When I awoke a few hours later in the thin, grey light of early morning, the spot on the carpet was empty. Sydney Ragamuffin Norris III was gone.
Chapter Eight
Becky
Bridgeport, Connecticut
November 28
I sunk lower in the passenger's seat. If it wasn't for the seatbelt, I'd have been cowering under the dash. I hated driving at night in a strange town, even if it was Mom doing the actual driving, with Gwen in the backseat for support. What had started as a mild aversion to large crowds had deteriorated into a fear of venturing out in public at all, esp e cially after dark. It had been months since Mom and I'd been shopping, and even longer since we'd all gone out to dinner. Even my walks around the neighborhood had stopped. If it wasn't for my parents and an occasional visit from Gwen, I'd be a total hermit.
"Here it is, Mrs. Reynalds," Gwen said, fumbling through the printed directions that had guided us to Bridgeport. "On the left."
Mom navigated into the left lane and flipped on the turn signal. She glanced sideways at me and squeezed my leg encouragingly. "You doin' okay, babe?"
I shrank from her touch. "I guess so."
"It's okay," Gwen piped up from the back. "We're almost there."
I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was home, safe in bed, but it didn't drive out the sick feeling of being out, exposed, and vulnerable. This had all been Gwen's idea. I trusted her completely, but it took everything in me not to panic. The ghostly voices that had been haunting me had grown worse in the past several days. I felt certain that if they got any worse Mom and Dad would surely find out and it would be a one-way ticket to the funny farm for me.
I was getting worse
I was simultaneously frightened and excited. I thought of sweet Mrs. Norris's despair and wanted desperately to show her that Sid was all right after all. Yet as much as I wished to crawl out of bed and try to pet him, I was petrified of leaving the sanctuary of my covers. By now Sid had stopped bathing and had curled up to sleep. The end of his tail wagged placidly.
I considered calling out to my sisters, whose rooms were closest to mine, but fretted that Sid might vanish in response to a loud noise. Eventually, I decided to pin my eyes on him and stay awake for the remainder of the night. I was certain that if I watched him the entire time he would still be there in the morning when, in the sunlight, I might feel better about approaching him. I imagined how happy Mrs. Norris would be when she saw that her beloved old companion was thriving and keeping her company, albeit not always visibly. The thought of driving out Mrs. Norris's sorrow, even for a little while, filled me with delight.
For several hours I lay there, studying him, my eyes feeling dry and swollen, like a pair of hot coals in my head. Several times I drifted off briefly, starting out of sleep to see Sid's furry coat shining in the moonlight. Each time he seemed to change positions slightly, until at last he was facing me full on, his eyes two gleaming, ghostly orbs.
There seemed to be a connection forming between us. The longer we looked into each other's eyes, the stronger it became, until there was a sort of click in the center of my head. That's when I felt it, an upsurge of overwhelming love that was at once warm, soft, innocent, and absolutely unconditional. I'd sensed such love before when one of the many animals that I'd cared for â cats, horses, dogs, birds â had shown me affection, but never had I felt it so strongly and so viscerally, yet in that one moment when Sid seemed to be wordlessly whispering to me, it was the only real thing in the whole of reality.
With that warm sense of love, I finally fell asleep. When I awoke a few hours later in the thin, grey light of early morning, the spot on the carpet was empty. Sydney Ragamuffin Norris III was gone.
Chapter Eight
Becky
Bridgeport, Connecticut
November 28
I sunk lower in the passenger's seat. If it wasn't for the seatbelt, I'd have been cowering under the dash. I hated driving at night in a strange town, even if it was Mom doing the actual driving, with Gwen in the backseat for support. What had started as a mild aversion to large crowds had deteriorated into a fear of venturing out in public at all, esp e cially after dark. It had been months since Mom and I'd been shopping, and even longer since we'd all gone out to dinner. Even my walks around the neighborhood had stopped. If it wasn't for my parents and an occasional visit from Gwen, I'd be a total hermit.
"Here it is, Mrs. Reynalds," Gwen said, fumbling through the printed directions that had guided us to Bridgeport. "On the left."
Mom navigated into the left lane and flipped on the turn signal. She glanced sideways at me and squeezed my leg encouragingly. "You doin' okay, babe?"
I shrank from her touch. "I guess so."
"It's okay," Gwen piped up from the back. "We're almost there."
I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was home, safe in bed, but it didn't drive out the sick feeling of being out, exposed, and vulnerable. This had all been Gwen's idea. I trusted her completely, but it took everything in me not to panic. The ghostly voices that had been haunting me had grown worse in the past several days. I felt certain that if they got any worse Mom and Dad would surely find out and it would be a one-way ticket to the funny farm for me.
I was getting worse
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