Cages Read online

  “I’m sure we can straighten this out,” Dorothy said.

  “IS IT TRUE OR NOT?”

  Kit stood up and faced him. “Yes,” she said. “It’s true.”

  The blood seemed to drain from Wayne’s face. “What did you steal?” he asked.

  “A gold bracelet.”

  “She gave it back,” Dorothy said.

  “Why wasn’t I told?” Wayne said.

  “It happened while you were—sick,” Dorothy said. “We didn’t want to upset you. I was going to send them the three hundred dollars, as soon as I had it.”

  Wayne took a step closer to Kit. “Why would you steal a bracelet? What’s the matter with you?”

  “It won’t happen again,” Kit said.

  “Why did you do it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She expected him to yell some more. She was sure he would take away TV privileges or cut her allowance. Instead, Wayne turned slowly away from her, sank down on the couch, and put his head in his hands.

  “Shoplifting.” That’s all he said. Just one word. Somehow it was worse than if he’d yelled.

  “What do they mean by civil restitution?” Dorothy said. “Do we have to pay for the security guard’s time?”

  “The attorney said civil restitution is a legal way to help retail stores get back part of what they lose to shoplifters,” Wayne said. “And we’re responsible. As her parents, we’re responsible for what she does and we have to pay the bill.”

  “She didn’t mean to steal. It just—happened.” Dorothy sat beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. “It won’t go on her record,” she said. “She has to do community service—that’s why she goes to The Humane Society—and as soon as she’s put in enough hours, the whole thing gets dropped. It’s all erased, just as if it had never happened.”

  It might be erased from the official record, Kit thought, but it wasn’t going to be so easy to erase it from her life. Whether the charge was dropped by the court or not, she knew it was going to haunt her for a long, long time.

  KIT emptied all the money from her bank and counted it. Sixty-six dollars and twenty-five cents. It had seemed like a fortune the last time she counted. Now it was pitifully small, compared to what she owed.

  She put forty-five dollars back in the bank, to be used in case someone at school agreed to adopt Lady. Wayne could wait awhile to get his money; Lady needed help right now.

  She took a piece of notebook paper and began to write.

  Dear Wayne:

  I’m sorry.

  I wish I had never taken the bracelet and I’d give anything if I could undo all the trouble. I will repay the $300 with my baby-sitting money. Here is $21.25. It’s all I have right now but I’ll get the rest as soon as I can.

  Kit signed her name, folded the letter, and put it in an envelope. Then she put the $21.25 in the envelope, too. Since she had only one dollar bills, she could barely get the bulging envelope sealed.

  She thought about all the hours of baby-sitting that the money represented: changing Willy Klompton’s diapers, playing endless games of “Go Fish” with Jennifer Peters, washing two days’ worth of dirty dishes for Mrs. Klompton, who always left her kitchen in a shambles and then asked Kit to, “tidy up a bit, after the baby’s asleep.”

  Kit sighed, taped the envelope shut, and went downstairs.

  Wayne and Dorothy were watching television. Kit knew she could have talked to them, instead of writing the letter, but it seemed better to do it in writing. More official. She waited until a commercial break, so she was sure to have their attention. Then she handed the envelope to Wayne.

  “This is for you,” she said.

  He opened the envelope and removed the contents. He looked surprised but he said nothing. He just began counting the bills. Dorothy reached for Kit’s note and read it.

  Typical Wayne, Kit thought. He doesn’t care what I have to say; he only cares about the money.

  She turned and left the room. As she did, she heard Dorothy say, “She’s going to pay you back. Every dime.”

  Kit went to her room and rummaged in her desk drawer for the partial bag of chocolate stars that she’d stashed there. She got her current library book from the table beside her bed, locked herself in the bathroom, and filled the tub. Maybe the Triple-B Treatment would help her forget how many hours of Mrs. Klompton’s dirty dishes and Willy Klompton’s dirty diapers it was going to take to earn $278.75.

  The next day, Kit went to school filled with hope. Two boys had talked with her about adopting Lady. Both had promised to speak to their parents and let Kit know if they could have a dog. Surely, Kit thought, one of them would be able to take Lady.

  She hurried to her locker, hoping that one of the boys would be waiting for her. Instead, Marcia Homer was there, talking to Tracy.

  “Kit!” Marcia cried. “I have wonderful news. My parents said I can have your dog.”

  “You? You can?” Kit stammered.

  She felt Tracy’s hand on her arm.

  “I saw the notice yesterday,” Marcia said, “and as soon as I got home from play rehearsal I talked to Mom and she said it was OK with her if it was OK with Daddy, but he had a meeting last night and didn’t get home until late so I couldn’t call you.” Marcia twirled in a circle, hugging herself. “We used to have a dog,” she said, “but he got sick and we had to have him put to sleep. When I told Mom about your dog, she said she’s missed having Friskie underfoot. She said we can come over to your house after play rehearsal today and if we like Lady, we’ll take her right then.”

  Kit licked her lips, trying to sort out her thoughts. “She isn’t at my house,” Kit said. “She’s at The Humane Society.”

  “She isn’t your dog? I thought . . .”

  “I help at The Humane Society and Lady’s such a nice dog that I’m trying to find a home for her.”

  Marcia thought about that for a moment. “Are you sure she’s a friendly dog? And healthy?”

  “Positive.”

  “Well, then I guess it doesn’t make any difference whether she’s yours or not,” Marcia said. “Where is The Humane Society?”

  Kit gave Marcia directions and they agreed to meet there at 4:30.

  When Marcia left, Tracy exploded. “Of all the people in the school,” she said, “why would it have to be Marcia?”

  Kit could only shake her head.

  “How much is the adoption fee?” Tracy asked.

  “Forty-five dollars. It includes her shots and being spayed.”

  Tracy groaned. “Forty-five hard-earned dollars. All for someone who already has more money than she needs.”

  “It’s OK,” Kit said. “Marcia’s spoiled and she brags too much but a home is a home. Lady will get plenty to eat and lots of attention.” She thought of how Lady always wagged her tail whenever Kit talked to her. “She’ll probably even like listening to Marcia.”

  Tracy rolled her eyes. “I thought you said the dog was smart,” she said.

  Kit hurried home after school, got the forty-five dollars from her bank, and took the bus to The Humane Society. She wanted to arrive well before Marcia and her mother got there, to have some time with Lady by herself. She had a comb in her pocket, and a red ribbon. She wanted Lady to look her best.

  Kit had already decided that she wouldn’t visit Lady at Marcia’s house. It would be more than she could stand. She would play with Lady today and not see her again.

  Lynnette was talking on the phone when Kit arrived, so she went straight to the kennel. She walked toward the back, stopping to say a few words to each dog and letting them sniff her fingers through the wire cage doors.

  When she reached the last cage, she stopped. A black and tan Doberman lunged at the door of the cage.

  Quickly, Kit looked at the paper that was clipped to the cage door. Jasper. Part Doberman. 9 months old. Owner moved to an apartment that doesn’t allow dogs. The paper was dated the day before.

  There was no paper for Lady. Kit’s
notes, carefully recording the times when she had socialized Lady, were gone. Lady was gone, too.

  Quickly, Kit strode back through the kennel, peering carefully at each cage, just in case Lady had been moved. There was no reddish-gold terrier.

  No velvety ears. No love light. No Lady.

  Kit’s heart pounded in her ears as she ran out of the kennel and across the yard to the office. She crossed her fingers as she ran. Maybe the family of her daydreams had adopted Lady. Maybe Lady, right at that very moment, was romping in her own fenced yard, fresh from a bath. Maybe a little child was hugging her and feeding her dog treats.

  Or maybe . . .

  KIT had to know.

  She rapped quickly on the open door to Lynnette’s office and then, without waiting for Lynnette to say hello, Kit blurted it out.

  “Where’s Lady?”

  “Lady?”

  “Yes. Before, she was always in the very last cage. She isn’t there today. What happened to her?”

  “The little terrier.”

  “Yes. What happened to her?”

  Lynnette got up, walked around her desk, and closed the office door. “Sit down, Kit.”

  Kit knew. Lady wasn’t playing with her new family. Lady wasn’t running in the grass or getting her tummy rubbed or eating dog treats. Even before Lynnette told her, Kit knew that Lady had become one of the terrible statistics on the chart, one of the 50 percent that doesn’t get chosen.

  “I’m sorry,” Lynnette said. “We kept her as long as we could.”

  “She was such a nice dog,” Kit said.

  Lynnette nodded. “Most of them are.”

  “I found someone who said they might take her,” Kit said. “They’re coming this afternoon.”

  “Oh, Kit,” Lynnette said. “We didn’t know that.”

  “I wanted her myself. I tried . . .” Her voice broke and she stopped talking, struggling for control.

  “Go ahead and cry,” Lynette said. “This has happened to all of us who work here.”

  “How do you stand it?” Kit sobbed.

  Lynnette handed her a tissue. “If we weren’t here, what would have happened to Lady?”

  Kit thought about Lady, hungry and cold, dodging cars along the freeway.

  “We gave her a chance,” Lynnette said. “It didn’t work for Lady, but it does for many of the animals. Each time, we hope it will. We gave Lady a chance, and you gave her love. You gave her exercise and attention and some happiness. Be glad of that.”

  “How can I be glad when Lady’s dead?”

  “You did what you could for her. So did I. We both wish we could have done more but at least we did something. We tried.”

  “She was only two years old. She would have lived a lot more years.” Kit blew her nose. “It isn’t fair,” she said.

  “No,” Lynnette agreed. “It isn’t.”

  Kit took a deep breath and stood up.

  “I am sorry,” Lynnette said. There were tears in her eyes as she spoke. “If you don’t want to come back, I’ll understand. I’ll sign your report and give you credit for the full twenty hours. You’ve more than earned it.”

  As Kit opened the office door, she thought about what Lynnette had said and she knew it was true. She had done all she could for Lady. She had tried her best and despite the way it turned out, she was glad that she tried. Because of her, Lady had run in the yard and played ball and had her tummy rubbed. Because of her, Lady’s tail had thumped and the love light had glowed in Lady’s eyes.

  She turned and looked at Lynnette. “I’ll be back,” she said. “I’ll finish my time.”

  “I’m glad,” Lynnette said.

  “And when my twenty hours are up, I want to keep on coming. I’d like to be a volunteer, every week.”

  Lynnette put her arms around Kit and hugged her.

  Marcia and Mrs. Homer arrived a few minutes later.

  “The dog I told you about isn’t here anymore,” Kit said.

  “She got adopted already?” Marcia said. “Oh, rats, I was afraid of that.”

  “Then we’ll just look at the other dogs,” Mrs. Homer said. “We’re here now and we’re all set to take a dog home. Maybe there’s one we’ll like even better.”

  Kit thought fast. “The others aren’t free,” she said.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Homer said.

  “I’ll show you where the kennels are,” Kit said.

  She watched while Marcia and her mother went from cage to cage. Marcia covered her ears and complained about the barking but Mrs. Homer seemed to feel sorry for the dogs. She stopped several times and let different ones sniff her fingers. When she came to a chubby tan dog, she clapped her hands, clearly delighted. Then she poked Marcia and pointed at the dog.

  Kit knew the dog. It was Pansy, part cocker and part poodle. Kit had socialized Pansy on her last visit.

  Kit got a leash, opened Pansy’s cage, and led her out to the exercise yard. Marcia and Mrs. Homer followed, talking excitedly about how much Pansy looked like Friskie, the dog they used to have.

  As she listened to them, Kit knew they were going to take Pansy home with them. “I’ll let you get acquainted by yourselves,” she said, as she handed the leash to Marcia. “If you decide you want her, just go in the office and they’ll help you make the arrangements.”

  “I can’t believe our good luck,” Mrs. Homer said. “We came to look at a different dog and here’s one that’s exactly what we want.”

  “Even if Lady hadn’t been adopted already, we’d want Pansy,” Marcia said. “I can’t wait to take her home and teach her to fetch.”

  “Tomorrow I’ll take her to the groomers,” Mrs. Homer said. “We’ll get her hair trimmed and have her bathed.”

  “And put ribbons behind her ears,” Marcia added.

  “We’ll need to buy a new doggie bed. Let’s look for a flowered one this time.”

  “And toys!” Marcia said.

  Mrs. Homer laughed. “Oh, yes. A ball and a chewbone so she doesn’t ruin the furniture and maybe one of those soft squeaky toys for her to carry around. Remember how Friskie always liked those squeaky toys?”

  It was like the night in Pierre’s all over again. Kit watched and listened, overwhelmed with envy. Why couldn’t Dorothy be more like Mrs. Homer?

  As Kit walked back past the kennel, she heard harmonica music. Looking in, she saw Mr. Morrison sitting on his stool, playing a lively tune. When he saw her, he stopped playing and walked toward her.

  “I heard your favorite pup got put down yesterday,” he said. “I’m sorry, girl. I am, indeed.”

  “If only Wayne wasn’t so selfish and my mother wasn’t such a wimp,” Kit said, “Lady would still be alive. She’d be at my house right now, waiting for me to come home and play with her.”

  “Don’t waste your life on if-onlys,” he said.

  She scowled at him. She hoped he wasn’t going to give her some kind of a sermon.

  “The animals have no control over their lives,” he said. “They can’t reach through the wire and open their own cages. But we humans can.”

  “I could have set Lady free, if my mother had let me. But, no. She did what Wayne wanted. She always does what Wayne wants. Always!”

  “Perhaps your mother is trapped, too.”

  “You just said people don’t have to stay caged and you’re right. My mother doesn’t have to let Wayne control her. She has a choice.”

  “So do you, girl.” He played a few haunting notes on his harmonica. Kit waited, not sure what he meant. “Don’t let resentment and bitterness rob you of happiness,” he said. “Unlike Lady, you can set yourself free.”

  Before Kit could respond, he turned away from her and went back in the kennel, playing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” as he walked.

  What does he know? Kit thought. He’s just a foolish old man who plays music for dogs. How can he possibly know what would make me happy?

  All the way home on the bus, Kit struggled to hold back her
tears. She had come so close to finding a home for Lady. Kit leaned her forehead on the cool window and closed her eyes.

  “Put to sleep.” “Euthanized.” “Put down.” No matter what phrase was used to try to make the ugly reality prettier, it still came down to the same thing.

  Lady was dead.

  KIT couldn’t stop crying. She lay face down on her bed, choked with tears. She knew her eyes would be puffy and her nose would be red the next day. She knew that crying wouldn’t do any good, yet she couldn’t stop.

  Lady’s death unleashed all of Kit’s pent-up feelings about anything bad that had ever happened. She cried because her stepfather drank too much and because she was sure Marcia would win the Ninth Grade Scholarship and because there were too many unwanted animals in the world. Most of all, she cried because everything she did seemed to go wrong.

  After awhile, Dorothy stood tentatively in the doorway of Kit’s room and asked Kit if she would like something to drink. Kit shook her head.

  “Why don’t you get up now?” Dorothy said. “You’ll feel better if you splash cold water on your face.”

  Kit knew her mother was right but she shook her head again. She didn’t want to feel better. Not yet.

  She heard Wayne ask, “Is she still carrying on?”

  “We should have taken the dog,” Dorothy said. “I didn’t know Lady would be . . . that this would happen. We should have let Kit bring her home.”

  “We can’t take in every flea-bitten stray in the whole kennel.”

  “No. But she didn’t ask to bring them all home; she only asked for one.”

  It was the first time Kit had ever heard Dorothy take her side against Wayne. Too bad she didn’t do it sooner, when it would have done Lady some good.

  “Well, it’s too late now,” Wayne said. He lowered his voice but Kit could still hear anyway. “It was only a dog, Dorothy. Some stray mutt. The way she’s acting, you’d think it was one of us who died.”

  Kit clenched her teeth together and burrowed her face into her pillow to keep from saying something she shouldn’t say. She heard Dorothy shushing Wayne as they left. “You don’t mean that, Wayne.”