Trapped! Page 4

  Mr. and Mrs. Kendrill shooed him away as they left, too. Pete knew his best chance to escape was to wait for Benjie, who had lingered to fill his pockets with cookies.

  As Benjie hurried to the door, Pete followed him, and when Benjie went out, Pete dashed out, too. Benjie pulled the door shut, never noticing Pete, who loped across the yard toward Mrs. Sunburg’s property.

  Pete watched from under a bush as Mr. Kendrill supervised construction. Pete’s whiskers twitched at the smell of the cedar fence posts.

  The people dug postholes six feet apart, pounded the wooden posts into the holes, then dumped wet concrete, which they had mixed in a wheelbarrow, into the holes. Rocky held a level against the side of each post, to be sure it was straight.

  “We really should let that concrete set before we put the fencing on,” Mr. Kendrill said, “but there isn’t time to wait. Try not to wiggle the posts as you work.”

  Alex and Rocky held the posts in place while the adults stretched sturdy wire fencing between each post. Mary stapled the fencing on with heavy metal staples.

  A hinged gate with a latch went on the side of the pen facing Mary’s house. When the pen was finished, the group built a three-sided shed, with a roof, in one corner of the pen, where Piccolo would have shelter from rain and sun. Last they put in one free-standing post, for the pig to rub against.

  It wouldn’t be as good as living inside with a family, Pete thought, but it was a fine-looking animal house. If animals rated their lodging the way people rate hotel rooms, Pete would give the pigpen four stars.

  Mary filled a metal pail with water and put it in one corner of the pen. Rocky set a large tin trough beside it, then dumped in a bucket of table scraps that he had collected from around the neighborhood.

  Pete’s mouth dropped open in astonishment as he saw toast crusts, leftover ham-and-cheese omelet, half a peanut-butter sandwich, and some green-bean casserole drop into the trough. That was the biggest dinner bowl he’d ever seen! He wondered how many cans of kitty num-num it would hold. Fifty? Sixty? Maybe even one hundred! He upped the pigpen’s rating to five stars. Pete would be willing to sleep in that shed himself if it meant a bowl of food that big.

  At eleven, the crew took a break. Mrs. Sunburg passed around a plate of blueberry muffins while Rocky’s mom offered cans of apple juice and bottled water.

  “Do we need old blankets or towels for Piccolo to sleep on?” Benjie asked.

  “Eric said he’d bring hay for bedding,” Mrs. Sunburg said.

  Promptly at noon the rescue truck drove in. By then the pen was finished. The truck backed up to it, positioning the lift in front of the pen’s gate.

  “Hey!” Eric said as he jumped out of the truck. “That’s a mighty impressive pigpen!”

  “For an awesome pig,” said Jacob, who got out of the passenger side.

  “How’s Piccolo?” Benjie asked.

  “Her leg is still sore,” Eric said, “and it will take a while for the cuts and scrapes to heal, but she was full of energy this morning. The vet gave her a mild tranquilizer before we loaded her on the truck, so she’s sleepy right now and will probably snooze away the afternoon.”

  “Let’s move her before the tranquilizer wears off,” said Jacob.

  Alex unlatched the gate and swung it open while Eric and Jacob rolled up the truck’s door. They shoved the pig onto the lift, then Eric pushed the button, and the lift slowly lowered. When it reached the ground, Eric pushed the control again, causing the side of the lift next to the truck to raise slightly, letting the pig roll gently into the pen.

  Next the men tossed several bales of hay from the truck into the pen. Alex, Rocky, Mary, and Benjie spread hay on the ground under the roofed area of the pen.

  When they finished, Mary said, “There you go, Piccolo. Your bed is ready.”

  Piccolo didn’t move. Benjie stood beside her, petting her. When Piccolo didn’t respond, the kids left the pen. Alex closed the gate, and Rocky snapped a padlock on it.

  Eric said, “I did some checking about that trap you found. A couple of months ago a report was filed by a couple in Hilltop whose German shepherd got caught in a leghold trap in that same area. They found their dog, cut the trap off with a hacksaw, and got the dog to a vet in time to save it. The trap had no tag, and the trapper was never caught.”

  “Isn’t there something we can do to stop him?” Alex asked.

  “It’s a hard law to enforce,” Eric said. “We do our best, but there aren’t nearly enough game wardens or humane officers to cover a county this size. Now that I know about the problem, I’ll drive up that road whenever I’m in this area.”

  “The chance of actually catching the trapper in the act of trapping is practically nil,” Jacob said, “but sometimes if people see the rescue truck in the area, that alone makes them hesitate about breaking an animal-related law.”

  “We’ll take a drive up there right now,” Eric said, “before we head back to town.”

  Jacob and Eric shook hands all around before they drove off in the rescue truck.

  Benjie stood beside the pen, gazing at the sleeping pig. “Isn’t she beautiful?” he said.

  Pete stared at the pig’s round belly. Talk about corpulent! She resembled the big balloons that Pete saw in the Thanksgiving Day Parade each year. If Doctor Uninformed thought Pete, who was actually the perfect size, needed diet cat food, he would surely say this animal was a serious candidate for diet pig food. Instead the humans were feeding her leftover omelets and toast.

  After everyone had admired the pig and the new pen for a few minutes, Mr. Kendrill said, “I’m heading home. I have work to do.”

  “Thanks for helping us, everybody,” Alex said.

  “It was good to have a neighborhood project,” Rocky’s mom said. “We don’t get together often enough.”

  The adults left, but the kids stayed. They wanted to watch the pig awhile, even if all she did was sleep.

  Pete stayed, too, although it was time for his lunch and his afternoon nap in the sunny spot under the table. He was too curious about the pig to leave her. He wanted to see what would happen when she woke up, and he wondered if she might be able to understand Cat.

  5

  Alex was shocked to see Piccolo on the five o’clock news. He was sitting on the floor combing Pete while Benjie sat beside him, building a miniature pigpen out of LEGOS. Their mom clicked on the TV news while she prepared dinner.

  Pete didn’t like to be combed, but he tolerated it because Alex wanted to do it. Alex thought combing prevented Pete from getting hair balls, which the people mistakenly believed were undesirable. The humans didn’t understand how satisfying it was to retch and gag and finally expel a big wad of undigested cat fur onto the carpet.

  It was especially gratifying to urp up a hair ball in the middle of the night. The humans always leaped from their beds and came running in their pajamas and their bare feet, hoping to reach him before the hair ball eruption so they could remove him from the carpet and put him on the bathroom’s tile floor.

  Of course, they never arrived in time, but their hasty actions added a good bit of interest to an otherwise dull night. It had been particularly exciting the night that Mr. Kendrill failed to see the freshly deposited hair ball until he stepped in it, although Pete saw no reason for anyone to shout over what was clearly an unintentional accident. Humans tend to be cranky when they’re awakened abruptly.

  A cat’s stomach is a marvelous creation of Nature, Pete thought, looking fondly at his own substantial belly. It comes equipped with the perfect mechanism to rid the body of any fur that gets swallowed as a result of keeping oneself clean.

  The humans thought they had a better plan. Every time Pete coughed up a hair ball, Mrs. Kendrill reminded Alex that he needed to comb Pete every day.

  Pete allowed Alex to run the cat comb through his fur, but he knew that if he continued to groom himself and Lizzy, he could easily ingest enough fur to make another hair ball before long.

>   Since having to clean the carpet distressed the Kendrills, Pete decided that the next time he urped up a hair ball he would do it in the kitchen, while they were cooking dinner. That would help them understand how efficient cats are, and how willing to compromise.

  Alex continued to run the comb down Pete’s back as the news announcer talked about trouble in the Middle East and a political scandal in Washington, D.C., and the arrest of a man suspected of burglarizing three convenience stores. Alex tuned out until he heard the announcer say, “We have an unusual animal rescue to tell you about tonight. Stay tuned for details of the pig who escaped slaughter by jumping off a truck.”

  Alex grabbed the phone and dialed Rocky’s number. “Turn on channel four,” he said. Before Rocky could reply, Alex hung up and called Mary, telling her the same thing.

  When the commercials ended, the TV screen showed Piccolo being examined by a veterinarian. The announcer told how some children had seen the pig fall off the truck, how the driver failed to stop, and how Foothills Animal Rescue had taken the pig to the veterinarian.

  “The pig weighs two hundred fifty pounds,” the vet said, “so she’s about eight months old. That’s when pigs are usually slaughtered. If she had not fallen off the truck, she’d probably be pork chops by now.”

  “The pig was treated for her wounds and released to the rescue group,” the announcer said. “They have found a permanent home for her in the rural community of Valley View Estates, not far from where she jumped to freedom.”

  The weatherman came on next, but Mrs. Kendrill turned the TV off. “I wonder who notified the TV station,” she said.

  “Why did they have to say where Piccolo is?” Alex said. “If Hogman knows she’s in our neighborhood, he might come looking for her.”

  Pete felt chilled by the casual way the human had talked about pork chops. Pete didn’t want to share his family’s love and attention with the pig, but he didn’t want her made into pork chops and eaten for dinner, either. The pig was an animal, just as Pete was an animal. He didn’t think the humans ever ate cat chops, but even so, such talk made him uneasy.

  As soon as they finished dinner, Alex and Benjie went over to Mary’s house to check on Piccolo. Because they were talking about the TV broadcast, Alex forgot to watch for Pete, who slithered out and followed them.

  Mary was in the pen, sitting beside the pig, who was still dozing. “Right after that news broadcast,” she said, “Eric called to ask if we had contacted the TV station. Gramma told him no and said she thought he might have done it. He hadn’t, so Gramma called the TV station and asked how they found out about the pig.”

  “Would they tell her?” Alex asked. “I think their sources are confidential.”

  “They said one of their reporters regularly monitors the police radio and when she heard the call about the pig, she thought it would make a good human-interest story. She got a cameraman, looked up which veterinarian was closest to where the pig was found, and went there. By the time she arrived, Eric and Jacob had left on another rescue call, but the reporter interviewed the veterinarian and filmed her treating Piccolo.”

  “I wish the vet hadn’t said the name of our housing development,” Alex said.

  “Me, too.”

  “Maybe Hogman won’t see the news broadcast,” Alex said.

  “Maybe,” Mary agreed, “although the stations usually broadcast stories like that several times. You can watch the news on Sunday morning and see exactly the same thing you saw Saturday night.”

  Alex knew she was right. He also knew that if the man learned where Piccolo was, it could mean problems ahead.

  Pete was the first to hear the rumbling engine of the old pickup truck as it drove slowly down the street.

  Alex heard it next.

  “Listen,” Alex said, holding up one finger to shush the other kids. “That sounds like the truck Piccolo fell out of.”

  “Hogman’s looking for Piccolo,” Benjie whispered. “I knew it! He’s driving all around trying to find her.”

  “He doesn’t know she’s here,” Mary said. “If he did, he’d come down the driveway.”

  Alex went to the corner of Mrs. Sunburg’s house and peered around it, looking toward the street.

  “Don’t let him see you,” Mary said. “He might recognize you from yesterday, when you yelled at him to stop.”

  Alex was glad they had built the pen in a part of the yard that didn’t show from the street. All of the lots in Valley View Estates were at least two acres, with many trees. He saw Hogman’s truck go toward the cul-de-sac at the end of the street, and then a few minutes later, it cruised back the way it had come.

  The kids were silent, listening until the rattle of the truck faded away.

  “He must have seen that news story,” Rocky said.

  “Maybe not,” Mary said. “Our houses aren’t far from where Piccolo fell off the truck. Hogman might be driving aimlessly around, hoping to see a lost pig. He’ll probably quit looking for her in a day or two. He’ll think she got hurt when she fell, and went into the woods and died.”

  Alex hoped Mary was right. Although he’d never met the driver of that truck, he didn’t like the man and didn’t want a confrontation with him, no matter who had official custody of Piccolo.

  • • •

  By morning, the pig’s tranquilizer had worn off. Alex hurried over right after breakfast and found Mary already in the pen. Rocky arrived a few minutes later.

  “She likes to be scratched behind her ears,” Mary said. “She seems happy and friendly today.”

  “She knows we saved her,” Alex said.

  Pete, who had climbed out of Alex’s bedroom window and then down the maple tree, sat in his hiding place under the bush and watched as Alex entered the pigpen and began petting the pig.

  “She’s really clean,” Mary said. “She uses that far corner of the pen for her bathroom, and she goes there every time.”

  “Good Piccolo,” said Rocky. “What a smart pig.”

  Big whoop-de-do, thought Pete. Cats do the same thing, and nobody ever makes a big fuss over us. Even Lizzy, who can’t read, write, or understand humans, knows enough to use the litter pan.

  “After her wounds heal, maybe we can give her a bath,” Alex said. “She may be smart, but she smells like a full garbage can.”

  Ha! thought Pete. Finally someone speaks the truth.

  “I read about pigs on the Internet last night,” Rocky said. “They’re supposed to smell the way they do because pigs leave many smells on everything they pass. It’s their way of showing who they are.”

  “You’re saying even if we bathe her, she’ll still smell?” Mary asked.

  “That’s right.”

  Pete decided to do some research of his own when he had a chance. Maybe he could find a reason why his family should not keep a pig.

  “There’s a lot of information about pigs,” Rocky said. “When I have time, I’m going to find out when piggy banks were invented and what it means when someone goes hog wild.”

  “What about living high on the hog?” Mary asked. “What is a pig in a poke?”

  Alex began rubbing the pig’s head, behind her ears. Piccolo responded by grunting. Alex rubbed the pig’s neck. Piccolo leaned against him, with her eyes closed.

  Piccolo sat down. Alex kept rubbing. The pig lowered her front legs, then suddenly collapsed, falling over on her side with an OOOMPH! sound.

  Pete watched in astonishment as the pig rolled on her back with her feet in the air.

  “She wants a belly rub!” Alex said, clearly delighted, and he began rubbing the pig’s stomach with the flat of his hand. Mary and Rocky joined in.

  “Piccolo’s in hog heaven,” Mary said, and all the kids laughed.

  Pete glared at them from under the bush. It wasn’t funny. Alex was giving that pig a kitty massage! How could he be so disloyal? Kitty massages were Pete’s treat, something Alex had always done only for him. Even Lizzy didn’t get kitty massages. N
ow Alex, Rocky, and Mary all bent over the pig, rubbing and scratching on her fat pink stomach as if the pig were queen of the universe and they were her privileged servants.

  Pete’s tail whipped furiously back and forth, sending a swirl of dust into the air.

  Suddenly the pig raised her head, struggled to a sitting position, and then stood up, her big ears pricked forward. She gave a sharp, abrupt grunt that sounded almost like a sneeze.

  A second later, Pete heard that engine sound again—the rattling noise that had upset Alex when he heard it the day before.

  The pig grunted again, then began clicking her teeth. Pete looked at the pig with new respect. Cats have astute hearing, but the pig had heard that engine even before Pete had. The sharp grunt and the clicking teeth must be her alarm call, warning the people that the truck was coming.

  The people paid no attention. Obviously they did not understand Pig any better than they understood Cat.

  The engine noise grew louder. Alex turned toward it and saw his little brother, tears streaming down his cheeks, running down the driveway toward the Kendrills’ house. The truck that the pig had jumped from rolled along right behind Benjie.

  “Oh, oh,” Alex said. “This looks like trouble.”

  The three kids quickly left the pigpen. Mary closed the padlock, clicking it shut. As they headed into Alex’s yard, toward Benjie, the truck stopped and the driver got out, leaving the door open. He wore stained jeans and muddy boots. His greasy hair grazed the collar of his dirty blue shirt.

  Hogman. Alex thought the name Jacob had given the truck’s driver made him sound greedy and in need of a bath. It seemed to fit.

  “He saw me on the corner when I was playing spy,” Benjie cried. “He asked me where I live, but I didn’t tell him. I ran for home, but he followed me.”

  “I’m not gonna hurt you, kid,” the man said. “I only wanted to ask if you knew where my pig was, but that question’s been answered.” He pointed at Mary’s backyard, in the direction of the pen. His hand looked as if it had not touched soap and water for weeks. “There she is, right there.”