The first obstacle

Patches encountered

was,

of course,

the fence.

It was tall

and strong

and made of a sturdy metal mesh.

But a fence

perfectly designed

to confine an enormous dog

may present little challenge

for a small cat.

Patches quickly found

a way in.

Gus had been digging

in one corner,

and if she didn’t mind

scooching her neat white belly

through some crumbly dirt,

she                                                       yard.

could                                       Gus’s

crawl                           into

under             right

the       and

fence

When she emerged,

she looked over at the stoop.

The squirrel had been right.

A Gus-size lump

lay stretched

along it.

Even with her night-seeing eyes,

she couldn’t make out

the

long,

limp

ears,

the enormous mouth,

or the yellow teeth,

but she knew

that shape had to be Gus.

Patches

tiptoed

through the grass,

trying

to avoid

the crisp

leaves

scattered

about.

But despite being a cat

with very small paws,

that was a bit

like trying

to walk on air.

So the fallen leaves said,

rustle,

rustle,

snapple,

crick

with each

and every

step.

Patches tiptoed on.

Gus remained a lump on the stoop.

Patches’s tummy rumbled even louder

as she approached Gus’s bowl.

Ten more inches.

Six.

Two.

She leaned

over the edge of the bowl.

She opened her mouth.

She picked up

a crumb of Gus’s kibble.

The kibble didn’t have

the nice fishy taste

of the kibble served

in the chipped blue bowl.

Still,

it was food,

the first food

Patches had tasted

since breakfast.

And breakfast

had been   long,   long   ago.

But just as the little cat bit down,

just as the taste of kibble

burst

on her small, pink tongue,

just as her tummy

rumbled again,

this time in appreciation

for what was about to come,

just as all that happened,

Patches noticed something.

It was something

so astonishing

that she almost forgot to swallow.

Right in front of her,

under her own pink-and-black nose,

a place.

A special place.

The one she’d been searching for

all along!

This was it

exactly.

Hidden away,

snug,

dark,

quiet,

very, very special.

It was supposed to be a doghouse.

Patches knew that.

It was supposed to be Gus’s doghouse.

She knew that,

too.

But it couldn’t have been more perfect

or more exactly

what she needed

if it had been built

just

for her.

She sniffed.

The space smelled of Gus.

In fact,

it smelled a whole lot of Gus.

(And you’ll remember

that Gus smelled a whole lot!)

But the truth is,

though cats have very good noses—

far better than yours or mine—

their opinions about smells

are different

than ours.

And Patches found

the strong smell of Gus

rather pleasant,

despite the “go away” personality

that went with it.

Indeed,

the fragrance—

for that’s what it was to Patches,

a fragrance,

not a bad smell—

reminded her

of the nest of blankets

into which she’d been born.

It reminded her

of sleeping

with her mother

and her sisters

and her brothers,

curled around her.

Of being small

and cared for

and utterly,

completely

safe.

The smell

and the nicely enclosed space

made Patches feel so good,

in fact,

that she quite forgot

about being hungry.

She tiptoed into Gus’s house

and lay down

in the deepest,

darkest

corner.

She gave the tip

of

her

tail

a loving lick,

closed her eyes,

and set the motor

of her most contented purr

thrumming.