By this time

the commotion

had awakened the squirrel

in her leafy nest.

She scrambled down

from her tree,

scurried across the street,

and climbed the fence

to see what was happening

to her new friend.

After a moment

she gathered her courage,

jumped down into the yard,

and crept right up next to Gus

so she could peer

into his house.

“Oh!” she said

when she saw the black kitten,

“I see.”

And then she added,

“There will be m-m-more,

you know.”

“More what?”

Patches asked.

“More b-b-babies,”

the squirrel said.

“When I have b-b-babies,

I always have

m-m-more than one.”

“Oh!”

said Patches.

She had a fine imagination—

cats usually do,

just think how they turn

a

trailing

string

into

a

running

mouse—

but she hadn’t imagined

even one baby,

let alone more.

Nonetheless,

soon her belly clenched

again,

and when she looked back at the place

that had produced the first kitten,

another silvery sac

was on its way.

By the time

all was done,

two more kittens

lay snuggled

with their mama.

Another boy,

a fine orange tabby.

“His name is Little Thomas,”

Patches said,

suddenly understanding.

And the last,

a tiny calico girl,

all dressed

in ginger and black

patches

on a field of white.

“Perhaps you’d like to name

this one?”

Patches said

to the squirrel.

The squirrel closed her eyes to think.

She had never named

her own babies.

When she opened her eyes

again,

she saw the great gray dog

lying

with his paws stretched

on each side

of mother and babies,

and she said,

“I th-th-think this one should be called

Gus-Gus-Gustina.”

“Ah,”

said Patches.

“Gustina it is.”

And this time it was Gus

who smiled.

Just about the happiest smile

you’ve ever seen

on a dog.

Now,

all this sounds

like a happy ending,

doesn’t it?

Everyone safe and happy.

Mother and babies.

Gus.

The small red squirrel.

Even the moon.

But our problems

are not quite

over,

which means,

of course,

our story

can’t be over

yet.

Because after a while

Patches said,

feeling rather sad

despite the great rush of joy

that had come

with the kittens,

“If only my girl

could see

these fine babies.”

“Where is your girl?”

Gus and the squirrel asked

together.

Except that the squirrel said,

“Where is your g-g-girl?”

“I don’t know,”

Patches replied.

And then more softly still,

“And she doesn’t know

where I am

either.”

Gus’s long ears

hung

down

even

longer

than

before.

The squirrel’s tail

went

limp and flat.

Patches closed her eyes

and laid her chin

very gently

across her three kittens.

She and her babies

were in trouble,

and she knew it.