Willy, I really like you. Okay?”
He didn’t answer. He just stood there with his head down.
“I mean, you’re the nicest friend I ever had,” I went on. “You’re understanding and sweet and fun to be with. I think the world of you. Okay?”
His head ducked even lower.
“But Willy?”
A soft, brown eye peeked up at me.
“I really need you to listen to me this time. Are you listening Willy?”
“Yes, Chuck.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, Chuck.”
“DO NOT!!!” I roared. “Never, Never, NEVER!!! Don’t EVER throw me in your water bowl—AGAIN!”
“But when the gate clunked you on the head—”
“No buts,” I hissed. “I know what happened when the gate hit me. But I don’t care. If I’m knocked out—just let me lie there. If I’m dead—just let me lie there. But whatever you do . . . don’t throw me in the water bowl! I’m gonna be the first cat in history to have webbed feet if you keep this up.”
With my tongue I squeezed more water from the fur on my left side. It dripped to the ground, gathered with the water that had already dropped off of me and made a mud puddle at my feet.
“But you keep getting knocked out.”
“I never got knocked out in my whole life! Not even once—until I started hanging around with you!”
Willy’s head hung so low, his nose touched the ground.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.
Gently I touched the knot on my head. I yanked my paw away. It still hurt. Even more tenderly, I felt it again. It was starting to swell.
“Why did you start laughing at me and let go of the gate, anyway?”
Willy’s enormous shoulders gave a little shrug.
“The way you were describing cows, I couldn’t help but get tickled. I didn’t mean to move and let the gate bang you in the head, though.”
I frowned. “What’s cows?”
Willy fought to keep the smile off his face. “They’re those big, hairy, frightening monsters, with teeth growing out of their heads.”
I slurped more water from my fur and glared at him.
“It’s not funny,” I scolded. “They are big. They’re huge! And they do have teeth growing out of their heads. I’ve seen them.”
“Those aren’t teeth.” Willy shook his head. “They’re horns.”
“What are horns.”
“The things sticking out of the tops of their heads.”
“But what are those things?”
“Horns.”
“I know that, but what are horns?”
“They’re the things that stick out of the tops of cows’ heads.”
My eyes rolled. Trying to talk with a Rotten Willy was like trying to talk with a . . . with a . . . dog. The whole conservation was just going round and round in circles.
“They’re really gentle,” Willy insisted. “They won’t eat you. All they eat is grass. They even run from you if you bark at them. Come on. I’ll show you.”
I followed him toward the gate. I could just see me—a cat—barking at those big, woolly monsters. What was that dumb dog thinking? When Willy got to the gate, he leaned to stick his nose in the crack. Quickly I darted in front of him.
“Hold it. Let me go first, okay?”
Willy gave one of his sheepish smiles.
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Good idea.”
• • •
Willy was probably one of the greatest cow chasers in the world. Like he said, the beasts were gentle and did nothing but munch grass. But when he barked and ran toward them, their heads shot straight in the air on one end and their tails shot straight in the air on the other. They screamed “MOO” and took off. Their ropelike tails had little tufts of hair on the end. They looked like flags as they lifted them in the air and raced away. They were so big and heavy, their feet shook the ground as they ran. Willy was hot on their heels.
But chasing cows was something we simply couldn’t do, together. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that as big as they were—even if they were gentle—one false move and I would end up squashed like a bug. I watched from a tree until Willy came to join me. He didn’t chase them for very long. That was because he said the people animals got all bent out of shape if they saw dogs chasing their cow animals.
Next we tried the mice.
I was probably one of the greatest mousers in the world. Willy wasn’t too hot. He could smell where they had been and managed to chase one into a hole. I showed him how to pounce. Only when he tried it, there was no mouse left to play with. The thing was smushed flat. It’s no fun to chase mice if you can’t play with them after you catch them. Chasing cows was something we simply couldn’t do together. So was chasing mice.