Fat & Bones (6 page)

Nothing.

He jumped to the next step.

Still nothing.

He jumped down a few more.

Jimmy inhaled deeply—it was now or never—and then took the remaining steps in consecutive leaps, skidding to a halt at the bottom.

The kitchen was dark except for a thin beam of moonlight shining through the curtained windows. Something shiny and reflective covered the floor. Jimmy stretched out his foot and pulled back in shock.

Water.

Jimmy had no way of knowing how deep the water was, and he did not wish to jump in, both because he didn't know how to swim and because before he left, he had licked his coat until it appeared as smooth as velvet. If he got wet, he would look like a ragamuffin and stand no chance of competing with that Smitty.

Oh, that cursed Smitty. That handsome, cursed Smitty. Smitty would not let a wet floor stop him. Perhaps Smitty was on the other side of the kitchen already, whispering plans about a dream nest into Alice's ear. Perhaps he was tickling her big, beautiful paws and telling her what he intended to name their many children.

Jimmy ground his teeth.

Think, Jimmy. Think.

He needed a boat.

With some effort, he jumped back up the stairs, panting when he reached the top. He ran back into the bright family nest and threw the scraps of cloth out of the measuring cup that served as his bed. Then he grabbed a metal souvenir spoon with a windmill on the handle and lugged it inside the cup.

“Everything all right, Jimmy?” said his mother, coming out of her bedroom in her nightcap.

“You betcha,” said Jimmy.

He hauled the measuring cup out of the nest, into the hallway, and carefully dropped it down each step until once again he stood at the bottom, water in front of him and Alice somewhere far away to the left.

Every second he lost was a second Smitty gained, so he jumped into the measuring cup, dipped the spoon into the water, and began paddling vigorously.

Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.

He used his tail as a rudder, directing himself across the floor. He paddled for he didn't know how long. He stopped, just for a second, just to let his weary shoulders relax, when he heard a low wheezing sound.

The cat!

Back he sprang, brandishing the spoon like a sword.

Wheeze.

Jimmy's heart raced, his mind raced, his blood raced, and he wished he were racing right back up the stairs.

He would have, too, had it not been for the lingering vision of that Smitty tickling Alice's feet. Smitty would not have let the cat stop him. In fact, Smitty was probably with Alice right that moment.

Right that moment!

Wheeze.

The measuring cup came to an abrupt stop. Instinctively, Jimmy ducked. He cowered on the floor of his small craft, imagining a giant paw swinging down from above, crushing him completely.

And still, he thought of Alice.

He cautiously stood up and then lifted one paw out of the measuring cup, feeling around for whatever he had bumped into.

His toes brushed against something—a little mushy, yes, and damp, but relatively firm. Not cat but land!

He jumped out of the measuring cup, still holding onto the spoon.

Wheeze.

The sound came from below his feet.

Jimmy kneeled down. A thin line of something grasslike lifted slowly before him, revealing an enormous weeping eye.

Wheeze.

The eye blinked.

Sniff.

A sniff of a different pitch entirely.

Jimmy whirled around, and his nose bumped into something furry.

“Hello, mousie-pie.”

Jimmy's life flashed before his eyes. Or, rather, the life he would never live. He saw Alice, he saw their nest, he saw their children—he saw all that would never be. He saw his life given away to that Smitty.

“Going someplace?” said the cat.

“You-you-betcha,” said Jimmy. He took a step backward and landed on the eye.

“Get off her eye, rodent!” hissed the cat.

Jimmy stumbled. He saw now that there was a second eye on the floor. Both blinked. Both wept.

Jimmy turned to hop into the measuring cup and paddle for freedom, but a paw on his tail held him back.

“Where are you running off to, mousie-pie?”

Jimmy was too terrified to answer.

The cat stuck his nose in Jimmy's face. “I'd like to get your thoughts on this,” said the cat. “Can I count on you to give me your honest opinion?”

Jimmy had no choice but to nod.

“Good.” The cat slumped his shoulders and then swerved to show Jimmy his rear end. A shaft of moonlight revealed the cat's mangled tail. “Do you think it will grow back?” he said.

The fur was clotted with blood. Jimmy could see the bone. The tail did not look like it would grow back, but Jimmy said, “You betcha.”

The cat sniffed. “Really?”

“You betcha.”

“Oh, I always knew you mice were a decent sort of creature,” said the cat. “Beyond decent tasting, I mean. You're a sensitive lot.”

Wheeze.

The cat shifted on his haunches. “Oh dear, oh dear,” he said. “She just won't stop crying.” He licked the tears from the weeping eyes.

A large nose south of the eyes discharged another wet, wheezing noise.

Jimmy backed up against the edge of the cup. The spoon banged against the glass.

“Where are you going, mousie-pie?” The moon shone on the cat's face, on his narrowed green eyes, on his pink protruding tongue, on his white teeth.

Jimmy didn't answer. He didn't hesitate. He didn't want to stick around on that wheezing, weeping flat face any longer. He jumped into the measuring cup and took off, working the spoon left, right, left, right, as if his life depended on it. Which it did.

The cat's rising paw blocked out the moonbeam. Jimmy ducked, feeling the wind above his head.

The cat's hisses sent waves across the water, driving the measuring cup forward, threatening to capsize it.

Soon darkness overtook the kitchen.

Jimmy heard,
wheeze, sniff
—then, “Oh mousie-pie, oh mousie-pie, sweet little mousie-pie.” But from a distance now. The voice grew faint.

Exhausted, Jimmy collapsed at the bottom of the measuring cup. For the first time in his life, he wished he were bigger, stronger, hairier, and more threatening. He should have shoved the souvenir spoon into the cat's gaping wound.

He should have … he should have …

Cold, alone, and miserable, Jimmy realized that the reason he had never spoken to Alice was because he had done so little in his life. And thus he had nothing to say.

Nothing but “you betcha.”

And what girl wanted to hear that all the time? Those were not the words of love. Those were the words of a small mouse. An insignificant mouse. A mouse that—

“Ahoy there!”

Jimmy's head shot up. He had reached the other side of the kitchen, but not in time.

In the shadowy darkness, Smitty stood on top of the stove. And next to him, big, beautiful Alice.

Oh, that cursed Smitty! That handsome, cursed Smitty!

Jimmy sprang to his feet. He threw his fists into the air. He opened his mouth to finally curse Smitty to his face when the measuring cup flipped over, throwing Jimmy out into the open water.

He surfaced just in time to see Smitty leap off the stove and perform a flawless swan dive.

Smitty threw his arm around Jimmy's neck and dragged him to the side of the stove, where a cupboard door stood open.

Alice stood in the cupboard doorway, reaching out her hand.

“Got him?” said Smitty.

“I sure do!” said Alice, hauling Jimmy inside with ease.

Bedraggled and half drowned, Jimmy stared at the two faces studying him.

“His name's Jimmy,” said Smitty.

“Yes, I know,” said Alice.

She knew his name. Her voice was rich and deep. It sent shivers through him.

“He's cold,” said Alice. “Smitty, go fetch him a blanket.”

“Right away,” said Smitty.

“Oh, you poor dear,” said Alice, shaking Jimmy's whiskers free of water.

Jimmy gazed upon his beloved and opened his mouth.

This was his chance. It was now or never. Smitty was gone. And Jimmy was alone with Alice.

He had seen the weeping eyes, fled the capricious cat, and had braved the kitchen floor for this very opportunity. He must speak. He must tell her how much he loved her. He practically worshipped her. He wanted to marry her. He wanted to ask her if she'd be all right naming their first son Jimmy Jr. He'd always wanted to have a son named after him.

“Uh,” said Jimmy.

“Yes?” said Alice.

“Uh—”

Alice leaned in, concern on her face.

“Uh—”

If only Jimmy had spoken.

If only.

Smitty returned with the blanket, unfolded it, and wrapped it around Jimmy's shoulders.

Jimmy nodded his thanks.

Smitty stood up. He took Alice's hand in his own. His handsome face glowed with pleasure and pride. “Jimmy, old boy, I guess you'll be the first to know the good news.” He inhaled and said, “Alice and I are getting married.”

Jimmy's body went numb beneath the warmth of the blanket.

Alice blushed and ducked her head and could not have looked lovelier. “You'll come to the wedding, won't you?” said Alice.

Jimmy wanted to die. He wanted to die right then and there. He tried to shake his head but could not say no to Alice, so he nodded instead.

Smitty said, “I can't wait to tell my folks. Can we borrow your cup and spoon to get back across? I came over on a graham cracker, but I'm sure it's dissolved by now.”

Again, Jimmy nodded against his wishes.

“Thanks, Jimmy,” said Smitty, “you're a real sport.” He jumped into the measuring cup and extended his paw to Alice. “Hop on in, my love!”

Alice smiled and smoothed her tail. She sashayed to the measuring cup and stepped in.

“Oh,” said Smitty, as the cup sank dangerously low.

“Oh,” said Alice, as the cup rocked back and forth. She hopped out.

“I think—maybe …,” said Smitty.

“Yes,” said Alice. “I think perhaps I should wait behind.”

“No matter,” said Smitty brightly. “I'll be back in a jiff with a larger vessel.” He lifted the spoon. “Look after my bride-to-be for me, will you, Jimmy old boy?”

Jimmy's heart stopped. He looked at Smitty. He looked at Alice. A thunderclap sounded in his chest.

He loved.

He hated.

He put his arm around Alice, and he said, “You betcha, Smitty, old boy. It's a long trip back. Make sure to take a break on the bit of land over by the moonbeam.”