Socks (7 page)

In the kitchen Charles William demanded admiration. “Ticky?” he said, slapping his palms on the tray of his high chair. “Ticky?”

“Kit-tee,” said Mrs. Bricker.

“Ticky,” said Charles William, and laughed. He had invented a game.

Socks was soothed by the hum of the
dryer and by the heat rising through the diapers. His throat began to vibrate with a hoarse and rusty-sounding purr, as if he had not purred for a long, long time. “Kit-tee.” “Ticky.” Mrs. Bricker and the baby were talking about him.

S
ocks soon discovered, once his bed and dish had been returned to their old place in the laundry, that being inside the house with Charles William was quite different from watching him through the window. Charles William had outgrown his morning nap, and whenever Socks was in the room, he no longer was content to stay in his pen playing with Brown Bear or with
his plastic ball filled with sloshing plastic fish. The minute his mother set him down inside the pen he began to fuss. If his mother ignored his fussing, he clung to the bars and
howled. His playpen bored him, and he wanted out. If the cat was out, he should be out, too.

All this howling and shaking of wooden bars worried Socks, who sat beside the playpen like the Sphinx, with his paws flat in front, staring at the only human being he knew who was anywhere near his own size. The louder Charles William cried, the more uneasy Socks became until finally he ran meowing to Mrs. Bricker to tell her that she must do something to stop the crying.

Mrs. Bricker always relented. “All right, you two,” she said, as she lifted her son out of the pen and set him on the carpet. “You win.” She was careful never to have Socks and the baby alone when Charles William was outside his playpen.

Charles William was into everything. He tried to chew the lamp cord until his mother came running to pry it out of his
fingers and to unplug the lamp. He crawled into the laundry and threw Socks's dry food all over the floor. Mrs. Bricker started serving Socks's meals on top of the clothes dryer.

Charles William pulled magazines off the coffee table with a slam that woke Socks with a start. He cried when his mother would not let him taste the dead moths he found. He sat in his high chair yelling “oy-doy-doy” into his cup, because he could make more noise that way. He stuffed his mouth with cottage cheese and blew it all over the kitchen for his mother to wipe up. He pulled pans out of the cupboards and banged them on the floor, a sound most disturbing to a cat's sensitive ears. When given an educational toy, three wooden rings to fit on a peg, he threw away the rings, grabbed the peg as if it were a tomahawk, and pounded the floor with its base.

Most of all Charles William delighted in crawling after Socks. “Ticky?” he said hopefully. “Ticky?”

Socks came to accept his new name from the baby. Let the Brickers call him Ticky, and all they earned was a look of contempt.

“Pet the kitty gently,” said Mrs. Bricker, when Charles William reached for Socks's tail.

Socks learned to put up with Charles William and, when necessary, to escape under the dining room table where he was fenced in by chair legs.

“See, the kitty's tired,” said Mrs. Bricker to Charles William, when Socks had fled to safety. Actually Mrs. Bricker was the one who was tired.

Charles William was not only an active baby, he was growing heavier, and lifting him in and out of his high chair or onto the table in his room, where his diapers were
changed, was tiring to his mother. In the afternoon, after she put Charles William down in his crib with his bottle and Brown Bear for his nap, Mrs. Bricker kicked off her sandals and fell asleep on the couch in the living room.

There was nothing Socks enjoyed so much as a warm body to lean against while he washed, but as soon as he settled himself against Mrs. Bricker and was grooming himself with long, hard licks, pausing to chew the rough spots, she pushed him to the floor. “Socks,
please
,” she said. “Be a good cat.”

In a moment Socks was back against the exhausted mother, licking, chewing, and occasionally scratching until his fur was sleek and his paws snowy. Mrs. Bricker, who knew when she was defeated and was too tired to protest, slept, and after a few minutes of vibrant purring so did Socks.

One afternoon, when Mrs. Bricker had put Charles William in his crib for his nap, Socks jumped down from the top of the clothes dryer, where he had been crunching dry cat food. He was passing the baby's room on his way to join Mrs. Bricker on the couch as Charles William heaved his bottle out of his crib. The top, which he had managed to twist, came off, and the sight of all the milk spilling across the floor caught Socks's attention.

Socks went to investigate, and although the milk was ordinary milk instead of the formula he once had enjoyed, he crouched and lapped while Charles William watched. When Socks had finished and was tidying his whiskers, Charles William got on his hands and knees and began to rock his crib as if he wanted to show what he could do. The crib began to move. Charles William rocked harder. The crib slid across the bare
floor to the door, which Charles William was able to reach out to and push shut, an accomplishment that pleased him. He rocked some more, past the door, until the crib touched the wall and barred the door.

Socks looked up at Charles William and meowed. How was he going to get out with the door shut?

Charles William was delighted to have the cat speak to him personally. This was something new. Socks meowed again. He did not want to be shut in the bedroom when he was supposed to be napping in the living room.

Charles William wanted to amuse the cat. He worked at a crack in his plastic-covered crib bumper, tearing at it until he pulled out a tuft of cotton, which he threw out between the bars of his crib.

With alert eyes Socks watched the fluff floating toward the floor. A second fluff
followed, and a third. Socks leaped to clap it between his paws as if it were a butterfly. The baby chortled and tossed out a bigger piece of cotton. Socks leaped for that one, too, dropped it, and batted it across the floor. Now the crack in the plastic was big enough so that Charles William could get both his small hands into it. He pulled out gob after gob of cotton for the cat's amusement.

Socks leaped and pounced and raced in a wild ballet, skidding through what was left of the milk, rolling over with cotton in his paws, while Charles William laughed and pulled out more cotton. Socks leaped for that, too, pleased to play with the fluffy stuff, pleased to entertain an admiring audience. Faster and faster Socks raced and leaped. Charles William screamed with laughter. Socks heard the padding sound of Mrs. Bricker hurrying down the hall in her bare feet, but he paid no attention.

Charles William was silent when he heard the doorknob turn, and Socks paused to pant. Mrs. Bricker tried to open the door, but she could not because of the crib wedged in the corner. “Oh!” she cried, and rattled the door. “Charles William, are you all right?” she asked, as if she expected him to answer. Then, after a pause, she added, “Socks! Are you in there?”

Charles William's attention returned to the torn crib bumper. On with the game! Handfuls of cotton snowed down from the crib for Socks, and Charles William laughed harder than he had ever laughed in all his ten months.

The door rattled again. “Charles William, what are you doing?” Mrs. Bricker's voice was frightened.

His mother could not get in! Charles William found this development so funny that he laughed even harder. He stuck out
his tongue and blew.
Thith-puth-putt
. He found his new noise hilarious.

“What am I going to do?” Mrs. Bricker asked herself, and ran down the hall in her bare feet. In a moment Socks heard her running out the back door, and in another moment he saw her anxious face above the windowsill.

Charles William pulled out the last handful of cotton and threw it to Socks. His mother was outside, and he and the cat were inside. Charles William thought this situation was a huge joke.

Socks was tired of chasing cotton. He lay on his side panting while Mrs. Bricker pushed at the window.

Charles William did not want the fun to end. He was even willing to sacrifice Brown Bear by throwing him over the crib railing. Socks got to his feet, waggled his rump, and sprang on the bear.

“Socks!” shouted Mrs. Bricker through the closed window. “You stop that!” No matter how hard she pounded on the frame she still could not budge the window, which was too high for her.

Socks saw no need to obey. There was nothing she could do to stop his sparring with Brown Bear.

Charles William threw his blanket out of the crib and looked around for something else to amuse the cat. His sharp eyes saw a tiny tear in the wallpaper beside the doorjamb. He grasped the bit of paper and pulled.

“No, no!” shouted his mother, who had papered that room herself to get it ready for her new baby. “Charles William, no, no!”

Thith-puth-putt.
Charles William blew again. He did not have to mind his mother. He pulled off a long, satisfying shred of
blue paper printed with yellow daisies. All by himself, he pulled it off! Nobody helped him. Delighted with his skill and cleverness, he dropped the curl of paper through the bars of his crib to share with Socks. He laughed so hard that he began to hiccough.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Bricker. “Charles William, be a good boy while I run and get a stepladder.”

Charles William sat hiccoughing while Socks sparred with Brown Bear, and then he noticed the light switch beside the door. Still hiccoughing, he pulled himself to his feet and worked at the switch until he found the secret of flipping it. The ceiling light went on. Charles William actually turned on the light all by himself! He had flipped the switch by the door, and the light had gone on up there. He had turned on the light just like a grown-up. He turned it off. Miraculous! On. Even more
miraculous. Off. On. Off. On.

The fun, the laughter and hiccoughs, and the magic were suddenly too much for the baby. Charles William sat down with a thump and lay back with his thumb in his mouth. Gradually his hiccoughs subsided.

Socks, who had been distracted from Brown Bear by the light, lay panting in the midst of the cotton. Only half-sorry that the fun had ended, he was pleased that Charles William was learning to play. He looked up at the baby and, after a moment of hesitation, leaped lightly to the top of the chest of drawers and from there into the crib.

Charles William smiled drowsily around the thumb in his mouth. This had been the best afternoon of his whole life, the most interesting, the most exciting, the most fun. He had found someone to play with.

Socks turned around until he found
exactly the right spot beside Charles William. He lay down with his back pressed against the back of the baby whose thumb dropped out of his mouth as he fell asleep.

Socks licked a paw, rubbed an ear, and let his washing go at that. For the first time since he had slept on Mrs. Risley's lap, he was completely at peace. The crib was comfortable, the room quiet. The rustle of Charles William's plastic pants inside his corduroy overalls was friendly and soothing. Socks now had a playmate and companion. He rested his chin on his outstretched foreleg, but before he could sleep the stepladder bumping against the house made him raise his head.

Socks heard Tiffy say, “Mrs. Bricker, why are you climbing the ladder?”

“Because Charles William locked me out of the bedroom,” answered Mrs. Bricker.

“I didn't know he was big enough,” said Tiffy.

“It's a long story,” said Mrs. Bricker. “I'll tell you later.”

Socks watched Mrs. Bricker raise the window and throw her leg over the sill. She paused when she saw him so close to her baby. Socks gazed at her with a long, clear look that told her plainly, I have found a friend. This is where I belong.

Socks did not take his eyes from Charles William's mother, and she did not take her eyes from him as she climbed into the room and slid the crib away from the door. Then they both noticed Tiffy watching through the window.

“Tiffy, go back!” ordered Mrs. Bricker in a loud whisper. “You might fall.”

“Lucky Charles William,” said Tiffy, before she disappeared from the window.

Socks returned his gaze to Mrs. Bricker,
who picked up Brown Bear and set him in the crib. With a smile, she reached over to stroke Socks's fur, giving him permission to stay with Charles William.

Only then did Socks close his eyes.