Socrates. She makes a strange warbling noise in her throat and arches her back, her fur standing on end. Cats do that so they look bigger, to frighten away other animals.
Socrates is not scared. His coat is all puffed up, too, making him look monstrously huge. He opens his mouth wide to show his sharp teeth and lets out another loud hiss.
Maggie frowns. “That’s not good,” she says.
“Duh!” Brenna says.
“Maybe—” I start, but before I can finish the sentence, the cats jump on each other. Socrates lashes out with his claws, then chases the female behind the azalea bushes. The bushes shake as the cats growl, hiss, and howl in pain.
“We have to do something!” I cry.
“What?” asks David.
“I’ll get the hose!” Maggie says as she runs for the side of the house. “Water always stops a cat fight.”
The tuxedo cat bolts out of the bushes, with Socrates hot on her heels. She stops at the corner of the building and turns her claws on him. He pounces. They go at it again. Someone is going to get hurt!
“Hurry, Maggie!” Zoe calls.
I take a step toward the fighting cats.
“No, Sunita!” Brenna shouts as she grabs my shirt and pulls me back. “Don’t touch them. You’ll get hurt. He’s furious—if you try to stop him, he might bite or scratch you.”
She’s right. I’ve never seen Socrates like this before.
The two cats separate and try to stare each other down. I gasp at the sight of blood dripping from a bite on Socrates’ cheek. There’s a gash on his hind leg, too. The tuxedo cat won’t put her front right paw on the ground, and I can see where Socrates bit her shoulder. She turns sideways and Socrates prepares to pounce again.
“Stand back!” Maggie calls as she returns, dragging the hose behind her.
She presses the handle of the nozzle and sprays the angry cats. Both of them take off down the street like they were shot out of a cannon.
“Socrates!” I shout. “Come back!”
Socrates and the tuxedo cat disappear around the corner.
“We’ve got to follow them,” I say urgently. “They’re both bleeding.”
“I’ll come with you,” Maggie says, dropping the hose on the ground.
“Me too!” Brenna and David say together.
“I’ll stay and tell Gran what happened,” Zoe says. “Hurry, you guys!”
We run after the cats—first down the block, then around the corner and through a long alley. Maggie sprints ahead of the rest of us.
“I can see them,” she shouts. “This way.”
We race down another alley, then come out by the gas station at the intersection of Roosevelt Avenue and Dorset Street. Two cars are getting gassed up at the station, but there is no sign of any cats.
“Are you sure they came this way?” Brenna asks, scanning the block.
“Positive,” Maggie answers.
“Maybe they turned somewhere,” David suggests.
“You kids looking for something?” asks a man pumping gas.
“A cat,” Brenna answers. “Actually, two of them, one orange and one black. Have you seen them?”
“Just a minute ago,” the man says. “They ran across the street.”
I look at the others. “Let’s go.”
Directly across from the gas station is an old button factory, abandoned and locked up tight.
“Socrates couldn’t get inside,” Maggie points out as she scans the front of the building. “I bet he turned around and went home another way.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I think he’s here.”
“Why?” David asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer, looking up and down the street for a sign of Socrates. “A hunch maybe, a feeling. Maybe he chased her back here. Let’s check around the back of the building.”
Behind the factory is a loading area totally overgrown with trees, bushes, and weeds. I bet this would look like heaven to a cat on the run.
“You guys, come look!” I shout.
They jog over.
“You could hide a hundred cats back here,” I say. “Socrates is in there, I’m sure of it. We need to look for him.”
“How are we
Socrates is not scared. His coat is all puffed up, too, making him look monstrously huge. He opens his mouth wide to show his sharp teeth and lets out another loud hiss.
Maggie frowns. “That’s not good,” she says.
“Duh!” Brenna says.
“Maybe—” I start, but before I can finish the sentence, the cats jump on each other. Socrates lashes out with his claws, then chases the female behind the azalea bushes. The bushes shake as the cats growl, hiss, and howl in pain.
“We have to do something!” I cry.
“What?” asks David.
“I’ll get the hose!” Maggie says as she runs for the side of the house. “Water always stops a cat fight.”
The tuxedo cat bolts out of the bushes, with Socrates hot on her heels. She stops at the corner of the building and turns her claws on him. He pounces. They go at it again. Someone is going to get hurt!
“Hurry, Maggie!” Zoe calls.
I take a step toward the fighting cats.
“No, Sunita!” Brenna shouts as she grabs my shirt and pulls me back. “Don’t touch them. You’ll get hurt. He’s furious—if you try to stop him, he might bite or scratch you.”
She’s right. I’ve never seen Socrates like this before.
The two cats separate and try to stare each other down. I gasp at the sight of blood dripping from a bite on Socrates’ cheek. There’s a gash on his hind leg, too. The tuxedo cat won’t put her front right paw on the ground, and I can see where Socrates bit her shoulder. She turns sideways and Socrates prepares to pounce again.
“Stand back!” Maggie calls as she returns, dragging the hose behind her.
She presses the handle of the nozzle and sprays the angry cats. Both of them take off down the street like they were shot out of a cannon.
“Socrates!” I shout. “Come back!”
Socrates and the tuxedo cat disappear around the corner.
“We’ve got to follow them,” I say urgently. “They’re both bleeding.”
“I’ll come with you,” Maggie says, dropping the hose on the ground.
“Me too!” Brenna and David say together.
“I’ll stay and tell Gran what happened,” Zoe says. “Hurry, you guys!”
We run after the cats—first down the block, then around the corner and through a long alley. Maggie sprints ahead of the rest of us.
“I can see them,” she shouts. “This way.”
We race down another alley, then come out by the gas station at the intersection of Roosevelt Avenue and Dorset Street. Two cars are getting gassed up at the station, but there is no sign of any cats.
“Are you sure they came this way?” Brenna asks, scanning the block.
“Positive,” Maggie answers.
“Maybe they turned somewhere,” David suggests.
“You kids looking for something?” asks a man pumping gas.
“A cat,” Brenna answers. “Actually, two of them, one orange and one black. Have you seen them?”
“Just a minute ago,” the man says. “They ran across the street.”
I look at the others. “Let’s go.”
Directly across from the gas station is an old button factory, abandoned and locked up tight.
“Socrates couldn’t get inside,” Maggie points out as she scans the front of the building. “I bet he turned around and went home another way.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I think he’s here.”
“Why?” David asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer, looking up and down the street for a sign of Socrates. “A hunch maybe, a feeling. Maybe he chased her back here. Let’s check around the back of the building.”
Behind the factory is a loading area totally overgrown with trees, bushes, and weeds. I bet this would look like heaven to a cat on the run.
“You guys, come look!” I shout.
They jog over.
“You could hide a hundred cats back here,” I say. “Socrates is in there, I’m sure of it. We need to look for him.”
“How are we
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