“Hey, no way, dude,” Ragweed assured him. “In fact, I’ll go check on Silversides. Like, maybe she’s gone.”
Once more Ragweed worked his way up through the pile. When he reached the top, he carefully edged aside some moldy newspaper and spied out. Silversides was in the same spot she had been before. But she was no longer alone. Next to her was Graybar.
CHAPTER 15
Trapped in the Garbage Pile
RAGWEED SLIPPED BACK to the middle of the pile where Blinker was waiting nervously. “Is she gone?” the white mouse asked.
“No way.”
“What is she doing?”
“Waiting for us, dude. Worse, she has her friend, Graybar, with her.”
“I never heard of a Graybar,” Blinker whispered.
“Like, I don’t think you want to, dude,” Ragweed warned. “Ragged ears, scars, limps like a fighter. Know what I’m saying? Bad to the bone.”
“I can imagine,” a dejected Blinker replied.
Ragweed, unsure of what to do, looked around. On the one paw, garbage surrounded them. The stench was awful. On the other paw, it was full of edible food, which meant they could—if they had to—stay. But only for a while. At some point they’d have to get out.
Ragweed knew where he wanted to go—Clutch’s car. It wasn’t far. If they managed to get there, they would be safe. The question was, how could they get from the garbage pile to the Ford without being caught? One cat was bad enough. Two made escape almost impossible.
Ragweed wished Clutch were with them. He was sure she had a lot more experience in these things than he did. It made him think about how much he admired her.
“I am terribly sorry to have put you into such a predicament,” Blinker offered. “And here you were about to go away.”
“Maybe,” Ragweed said, “but it was my choice to help you, dude, so we don’t have to talk about that anymore, okay? There’s always the chance we could outrun them. Like, how fast can you go?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Blinker said.
Ragweed pondered. Then he said, “Chill. I’m going to take another look out.”
Once more Ragweed climbed to the top of the garbage pile. This time when he came up it was by a large, mostly empty plastic bottle—curiously labeled “Dr. Pepper”—balanced precariously near the top. Careful not to nudge it lest he dislodge it and send it clattering down the pile, Ragweed surveyed the scene.
Silversides was where she’d been before, her eyes glued to the garbage pile. But she was alone again.
Ragweed was not ready to celebrate. Instead, he turned and confirmed his own worst fears. Not only was Graybar on the other side, he was sitting between the garbage pile and Clutch’s Ford. What’s more, he was waiting just as patiently as Silversides.
Ragweed returned to Blinker. “Silversides is still there,” he informed the white mouse. “And so is her friend Graybar. We’re surrounded.”
“Oh, my,” Blinker sighed, wiping away a tear. “It was an awful mistake to leave the safety of my room. I should have been satisfied with what I had. What have I achieved?”
“Listen, dude, you did the best you could. Know what I’m saying? Check it out. You can either sit here and moan or figure out how to get to the next step.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Blinker said, cringing. “It’s just that I don’t know what to do. I’m all bottled up.”
Ragweed sat up. “Hey! Maybe that’s the way to get out of this mess. It’s like, risky. But hey, dude, I don’t know what else to do.”
“I’ll . . . do . . . whatever you think is best,” Blinker stammered.
“Okay, then,” Ragweed said. “Keep behind me. And, like, no talking.”
Followed by Blinker, Ragweed worked his way to the top of the junk pile, coming up by the plastic bottle’s open neck.
“Now stay way cool,” Ragweed whispered. “First, you’ve got to squeeze into the bottle. But don’t make any extra movement. Once you’re in, stay on the uphill side. That’ll keep the bottle from tipping over till we’re ready. You get it?”
“I . . . I think so. What about you?”
“I’ll follow you in. Okay,” Ragweed urged. “Go for it.”
Whiskers trembling, Blinker poked his head into the bottle’s neck, then slipped the rest of the way in. His slimness served him well. Within moments he was wading in brown liquid. The bottle teetered, but Blinker kept to the uphill side of the junk heap and the bottle stayed put.
It was Ragweed’s turn. Bracing himself, making sure not to move too quickly, he squeezed into the bottle’s neck, inserting his front paws first so as to take up less room and at the same time pull himself forward.
Ragweed was plumper than Blinker, so it was a tight squeeze. He had to push and kick. Even then he became momentarily stuck. It took all his strength to squeeze and pull through the last inch of the neck. His movement caused the bottle to teeter.
Blinker, not daring to move, watched anxiously.
Finally together inside the bottle, the two mice scrambled to find the right balance.
“Like, we did it,” Ragweed whispered.
“I’m very glad,” Blinker said, though he did not sound it. His eyes were very wide and his teeth were chattering. It was humid inside the bottle, and the air was heavy with a cloying, sweet smell. “I think we’re in what’s called soda.”
“Wouldn’t know,” Ragweed said. He took a lick. “Killer sweet.”
“What . . . what do we do now?” the white mouse asked. His voice echoed, as if he were calling into an empty well.
Ragweed tried to look through the sides of the bottle, but its curves distorted the view.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s the way we’ll do it. When I give the word, we’re going to throw ourselves at the far side of the bottle, paws up, like this.” He held his paws flat out.
“If we bop the bottle right, it should, like, roll off the pile. Won’t matter if the cats see us. No way they can get at us. If the bottle goes the way I think
