He had never been so frightened in his life. Never. The woman’s face was monstrous. Her hair was monstrous. And the word on her name tag (RITA!) appeared monstrous to him, too.

Be calm, he told himself as she poked her pencil around. He held himself as still as he could.

But then Rita screamed.

And it was absolutely impossible not to answer her long, piercing shriek with a piercing shriek of his own.

She screamed; he screamed.

And then every one of his animal instincts kicked in. He acted without thinking. He tried to escape. He leaped from the box and ended up, somehow, exactly where he did not want to be: in the middle of the monstrous hair.

Rita jumped up and down. She put her hands to her head. She swatted and clawed, trying to dislodge him. The harder she hit him, the higher she jumped, the more fiercely the squirrel clung.

In this way, Rita and Ulysses danced together around the Giant Do-Nut.

“What’s happening?” someone shouted.

“Her hair is on fire,” someone answered.

“No, no, there’s something in her hair,” another person shouted. “And it’s alive!”

“Arrrrgggghhhhhh!” screamed Rita. “Helppp meeeeeee!”

How, Ulysses wondered, had things gone so wrong?

Only moments ago, he had been looking at the Giant Do-Nut menu, captivated by the glossy pictures of food and the dazzling descriptions that accompanied the pictures.

There were giant donuts with sprinkles, giant donuts powdered, iced! Giant donuts filled with things: jelly, cream, chocolate.

He had never had a giant donut.

Actually, he had never had any kind of donut.

They looked delicious. All of them. How was a squirrel to choose?

And to complicate matters, there were eggs: scrambled, poached, over easy, sunny-side up.

Sunny-side up! thought Ulysses as he clung to Rita’s hair. What a wonderful phrase!

A man emerged from the kitchen. He had on a gigantic white hat, and he was holding something metal that flashed in the overhead lights of the Giant Do-Nut. It was a knife.

“Help me!” screamed Rita.

And me, thought Ulysses. Help me, too.

But he was quite certain that the man with the knife had no intention of helping him.

And then he heard Flora’s voice. He couldn’t see her because Rita was now spinning around, and everything in the restaurant had become somewhat blurred — all the faces had become one face; all the screams had become one scream.

But Flora’s voice stood out. It was the voice of the person he loved. He concentrated on her words. He worked to understand her.

“Ulysses!” she shouted. “Ulysses! Remember who you are!”

Remember who he was?

Who was he?

As if Flora had heard his unspoken question, she answered him, “You’re Ulysses!”

That’s right, he thought. I am.

“Act!” shouted Flora.

This was good advice. Flora was absolutely right. He was Ulysses, and he must act.

The man with the knife stepped toward Rita.

Ulysses loosened his hold on her hair. He leaped again. This time he leaped with purpose and intent. He leaped with all his strength.

He flew.