“I’m really not sure,” Ragweed admitted.
“Well, anyway, you’re in, dude. Like, give me four.”
“Four what?”
“Four to the paw, mouse.” Clutch held up her paw.
Ragweed reached out to shake it. Instead, Clutch slapped down on his paw, laughing. “Hey, mouse, I feel like I’m greeting Christopher Columbus. You know, welcome to the rest of the world, dude. Like, we’re here. What took you so long?”
“I think I better get some sleep,” Ragweed said. His head was swirling.
“Right, mellow out, kick back, chill and sleep in. Like, I do it all the time. But for now, I’ve got some things to do. Whatever. Just make sure you don’t let Silversides in.”
Ragweed looked around anxiously. “Will she try?”
“Hey, dude,” Clutch went on, “that cat’s serious bad news. That’s why I have a bolt hole out back. But, like, if Silversides wants you out, dude, she’s not going to rest till you’re heading for heaven in an Indy Five Hundred. Know what I’m saying? Can you handle it? Take the heat with the chill?”
“I think so,” Ragweed said, though he could not help wondering if it might not be wise—to save time and his life—to catch the next train right out of Amperville.
CHAPTER 6
F.E.A.R.
HAVING FAILED TO CATCH RAGWEED, an angry, frustrated Silversides slunk home. There she hoped she would find some comfort, perhaps a chin stroke from a human, a fondle behind the ears.
Using her head to butt open the cat flap that had been installed at the back of the house, she went to the girl’s room. The girl, however, would have nothing to do with her. Once again, a mouse—Blinker, this time—stood in Silversides’s way.
There were times Silversides was convinced that if she could just get her claws into that horrid white rodent, much that was wrong in the world and her life would be made right. Unfortunately, the girl was too protective.
Telling herself she preferred to be left alone, Silversides took a few chews of the dry, gritty food bits in her bowl, lapped up two licks of stale water, then retreated to her bed by the furnace.
Though Silversides tried to settle down, she remained agitated. In her mind she kept seeing Ragweed pinned against the hole in the car. She knew she would have caught him, too, if some mouse had not interfered. All she saw of that mouse was the green fur on its head.
For the rest of the afternoon Silversides lay fuming on her rug. By early evening she was intensely restless, feeling a need to do something to calm her anger. Then she thought of Blinker, the white mouse upstairs. Maybe tonight she would be lucky enough to catch the vermin—or at least to torment him.
Rousing herself, the white cat crept to the top floor of the house by way of the back stairs. Stealthily she moved toward the girl’s room. To her great joy the door had been left ajar.
A small shove, and Silversides slipped into the room. There she paused. Though the light was dim, her vision was good. Her sense of smell was better. The scent of mouse was overwhelming. Blinker was close. What a pleasure, thought Silversides, to nab him and drag him from the girl’s room. It just had to be done quietly so no one would know what happened.
Treading lightly, Silversides let her nose guide her forward. Within moments she knew exactly where the white mouse was—on the girl’s bed.
The cat rose up on her hind legs. Sure enough, there lay Blinker asleep on the pillow, a few inches from the girl’s golden hair, the spot where Silversides used to sleep. The cat’s wrath boiled.
Silently she sprang upon the bed, then slithered forward on her belly. A yard from the mouse, she tensed her rear legs and waggled her rump. After a count of three, she jumped. As she did, her rear foot scraped the girl’s blanket.
That was enough sound for Blinker. His eyes popped open. He saw the cat midair. Squeaking with terror, he dived for the protection of the girl’s hair. The girl, disturbed, shifted her head.
Though Silversides knew she was going to miss the mouse, it was too late to hold back. When she came down, she landed right on the girl’s face.
The girl screamed, sat up, grabbed the cat, and flung her away. Silversides, managing to twist about, landed on her feet and galloped from the room. As she raced down the hall, she heard the girl scream, “Keep out, you awful cat!”
In a rage even greater than usual Silversides tore out of the house. At first she had no thought where she was going. Very soon, however, she veered toward Graybar’s home. The vice president of F.E.A.R. lived a few city blocks away in a reeking old sewer. It took but moments to reach.
Graybar was eating from a pile of discarded chicken innards and bones. “Hey, pal,” Graybar said when Silversides appeared. “Good timing. Eats.”
“I’m not hungry,” the white cat said. Food stolen from garbage was but one of Graybar’s habits Silversides endured. “I’m mad.”
“No big deal,” Graybar sneered as he twitched a ragged ear. “You’re always mad. What got you this time?”
Silversides recounted not only how she had failed to catch Ragweed but what happened regarding Blinker.
Graybar nodded with sympathy. “Ever notice that when these mice get away it’s never on their own? Always depending on someone else. They gang up on us.”
“They are vicious,” Silversides agreed.
“Tell you what, though,” Graybar said, crunching an old chicken legbone in two with his rear teeth. “I’ve got some good news.”
“I need some.”
“I found one of their clubs. They call it the Cheese Squeeze Club.”
Silversides’s gloom dropped away. Her claws tingled. “Where is it?”
“Down on Durham Street. Used to be a shoe-shine shop. How about you and me going over and brightening things up?”
“I’d love to,” Silversides said.
“You’re on, babe. Soon as I eat this chicken
