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

didn’t even notice them. He dashed up beside his friend. “Dumb me!”
    â€œHow stupid can an alley cat get! Right here, before our eyes—all this time.”
    They stared at the unsuspecting man, whose future seemed already leashed to him.
    â€œHe’s lonely, he’s lonely,” gloated Tucker Mouse in a singsong voice. He rubbed his claws together. “Now who can you think of to keep Mr. Smedley company?—and maybe take some piano lessons!”

FIVE
    Snow—and Other Complications
    With the problem of Huppy—they thought—neatly solved, Tucker and Harry took the remainder of the afternoon off, for rest, relaxation, and self-congratulation. To be sure, a few details remained to be settled—such as how they could introduce Huppy to Mr. Smedley, and whether he would like the dog, much less want to adopt him—but in the first rush of relief, neither cat nor mouse could bother his head about such trivial practicalities. Besides, there was no chance to take any action today. Mr. Smedley stayed only for five or ten minutes, chatting with the Bellinis, who owned the newsstand—then he vanished downstairs to the IRT subway tracks. It definitely was a day for just lounging around, as snowy days often are, and for feeling the comfort and coziness of being indoors while it’s storming outside.
    And it really did snow! The animals could tell that because rush hour began an hour ahead of time. The people were let out of offices early to try to beat the weather home. By six o’clock the subway station was almost deserted, and those few human beings who straggled in looked like huffing and puffing snowmen.
    But who cared?—in a drainpipe carpeted with clean newspapers, when all worries had been swept away. The only thing that nagged at the edges of Tucker’s and Harry’s pleasure was the thought of Huppy—out there in the blizzard somewhere. But they’d find out all about that tonight.
    When Tucker’s salvaged watch read ten, Harry said, “Come on—we promised.”
    â€œDon’t need to tell me,” declared Tucker Mouse.
    They were both looking forward to the journey down to Bryant Park—because after being inside in a snowstorm, the next best thing is to be right out in the teeth of it. There was this pleasure also: one of the rare times that New York City looks really clean is when there’s a blanket of snow over it. A fresh blanket, that is; in a couple of days New York snow turns sooty and dirty. (Another clean minute can come in the summer, just after a drenching rain. But that, too, does not last long.)
    The cat and the mouse crept up through the pipes. But at their usual exit hole they were met with a hard blank wall of white.
    Harry scratched at its surface. “Solid as concrete.”
    That could mean only one of two things: either there was a howling wind outside that had packed the snow down this hard, or so much snow had fallen that the pedestrians had trampled it into a solid mass. In either case, it meant there would be no frolicking down an empty Forty-second Street, jumping in snowdrifts just for the fun of it.
    In fact, it meant there was no going down Forty-second Street at all. After scratching his way a few feet, Harry’s claws were in ruins. “No use,” he said, “I can’t make it. We’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”
    â€œBut Huppy—”
    â€œChances are, he and Max have holed up somewhere anyhow.”
    But the next day, a Friday, the blizzard continued. The cat and the mouse tried every single pipe route they knew, including the long way to Forty-first—with precisely the same result each time: no going out.
    On Saturday morning the storm ended at last. The people in the subway station appeared without their white icing. But their teeth were chattering now. A cold spell had followed the snow. And since it was the weekend, nobody bothered to shovel out. The