When Patches woke again

night still lay heavily

upon the world.

Nothing stirred,

not even a mouseling.

She crawled out

from beneath the mailbox.

The rain had stopped,

but the sidewalk was still

unpleasantly wet.

Her tummy rumbled

and wriggled

even harder than before.

Patches stepped onto the grass.

It was wetter still.

If she were home,

she would be

curled on her girl’s pillow.

Just thinking about

her girl

and that soft pillow

and the sweet smell

of her girl’s breath

when she slept

almost set Patches to purring.

Almost.

She wasn’t home,

though,

and her girl wasn’t there,

so the purr got stuck in her throat

and stayed silent.

Patches looked up

at the fat-faced moon

peeking out

from behind

his cloud.

“Can you help?”

she asked.

“You must see everything

from up there.

I’ll bet you know

all the special places.

I’ll bet you even know

where my house is.”

The moon said nothing.

“Please!”

said Patches,

remembering how

she seemed to have no choice

but to do what the mouseling asked

when he’d said, “Please.”

“Please!”

she said again.

“Will you help me?”

A silvery voice

floated

down

from

overhead.

“What-what-what

are you do-doing down there

in the night?”

it said.

“Don’t you know

everybody’s

s-s-sleeping?”

The moon!

The moon had spoken . . .

and to her!

Patches was so excited

that

a

ridge

of

hair

stood

up

all

along

her

spine.

Still

she answered politely.

This was the moon

she was talking to,

after all.

“Dear sir,”

she said,

“I’m down here

in the night,

looking for a special place.

One of my very own.

And I’m lonesome

and damp

and much too hungry

to sleep.”

“Oh my,”

said the moon.

“My-my-my!

I’m good at special p-p-places.

It’s one of-of-of my specialties,

didn’t you know?

And I’m g-g-good at hungry,

too.

Just-just-just you wait!”

So Patches did.

She sat down

in the wet

grass

and waited

for the moon to feed her.

In a moment

she heard a skittering

in a nearby tree.

The skittering

was followed

by a swish in the grass.

Was the moon going to come so close?

Patches had thought

such an important gentleman

would merely drop

something

from the sky.

A shower of kibble

or perhaps

a bit

of tuna.

She closed her eyes

against the shine

that was sure to come

and waited

some more.

When nothing happened,

she opened one eye.

Then the other.

The night was as dark

as before,

and the moon still floated

in the sky

far away.

But a small red squirrel

sat in front

of her,

holding a fat acorn

in her precise

little

paws.

“H-h-here it is!”

she said.

“Enjoy-joy-joy!”