Audacity Jones Steals the Show by Kirby Larson

Author:Kirby Larson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

“That’s going to be sore,” the girl pronounced after washing the place where the dog had nipped Min’s flank. The girl set out a very small saucer of cream. Then she left Min to further nurse her wounds and her pride.

Had she been asked, Min’s rescuer could not have explained why she had opened the window and encouraged the cat. It wasn’t as if anyone ever lent her a hand. Perhaps she’d helped because she was still feeling giddy over the whole dime she’d bullied from those two greenhorns the other day. Daisy hadn’t seen a dime in weeks. Months. She was generally lucky to get a penny for a pair of pickles.

“Don’t even think of keeping that cat,” Daisy’s mother declared. The older woman reeked of dill and the tang of vinegar and was preoccupied with great kettles that gave off enough steam to turn the apartment into a sauna. “We can barely feed ourselves.”

“I know. I know.” Daisy opened the window again. Looked out. The dogs were nowhere to be seen. “It won’t stay.” Of that she was sure, though Daisy would be hard-pressed to explain from whence her certainty derived.

Min merrowed her agreement with Daisy’s remark; she had no intention of staying. But she did inspect the small apartment, which was a flurry of activity—and nearly as crowded as had been the train station earlier. Min’s tour of the domicile required very little time; how long does it take a clever cat, even one with a sore hind leg, to explore three tiny rooms? But every step through that bedroom, parlor, and kitchen required care to stay out of the way of many pairs of feet.

One half of the sole table in the parlor was heaped with knobby green objects, which Daisy wrapped in bits of waxed paper and stuffed into a canvas sack. Another handful of humans sat at the far side of the table, rolling potent dried leaves into long sticks. These, Min discerned, were called cigars. The green things had an odd name that she couldn’t quite translate into Cat; it sounded like pickle, but surely not even humans used such a ridiculous-sounding word.

Min was grateful for her rescue and for the dish of cream, no matter how meager. She hinted for a taste of something else, but nothing else was offered. The humans in this place had an amazing capacity for working hard without taking sustenance. In contrast, the humans at Miss Maisie’s did very little but ate three times a day, sometimes more if you counted the French girl’s amuse-bouches, little afternoon snacks that Min was happy to help consume.

Seeing that there would be no further nourishment, Min meowed her thanks to Daisy for the open window at just the right moment and then was out that very window again, working her way to the pavement, tracking the now scant scent of Punk. Those dratted dogs had chased her a dreadfully long distance.

Though she dodged plenty of people and carts and wagons and noisy automobiles, Min thankfully encountered no more unfriendly canines on her trek.

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