Socks Read Free

they had not been married long enough to have an old bath towel, and when the winter rains came, they supplied him with a pan of Kitty Litter.
    The Brickers talked to their cat. “Socks, you’re getting a lot of service around here,” said Mr. Bricker, as he left his studies to get down on his hands and knees and retrieve the Ping-Pong ball Socks had batted under the chest of drawers out of reach of his paw.
    â€œSuch silky fur.” Mrs. Bricker spoke in her just-for-Socks voice as she left off typing to press her cheek against his coat and let her long hair fall over him like a curtain. Socks’s throat throbbed with purrs. He wasespecially happy when he could interrupt her work on the papers that she typed for students. Her typewriter was his rival for her attention, and Socks did not like rivals.

    The only real unpleasantness in Socks’s new life was an unhappy day spent in a veterinary’s hospital, which was soon forgotten. Socks thrived. His eyes changed from blue to the color of new leaves. He grew into a sleek cat, affectionate toward his loving owners but firm about getting his own way. He was the center of the Bricker household, and he was content.
    Then a strange thing happened. Mrs. Bricker’s lap began to shrink. One day Socks was perfectly comfortable resting on her knees, and the next day he did not have quite enough room. Each time he napped on her lap, he had to curl himself into a tighter ball with his tail wrapped more closely around his body. Finally oneevening, when trying to find room to rest his chin, he lost his balance and fell to the floor with a thump. Both Brickers burst out laughing. Socks was insulted. He turned his back and twitched his tail back and forth across the carpet to show his displeasure.
    â€œPoor Socks!” said Mrs. Bricker between giggles. “You lost your dignity, didn’t you?”
    â€œCome on, old boy!” coaxed Mr. Bricker. “Try my lap for size.” He moved his chair away from his desk to make room.
    The tail twitched. The Brickers would have to work harder before Socks would forgive them. Owners must be disciplined. If they really wanted to be forgiven, they would have to tempt him with a snack from the refrigerator.
    Instead of going to the kitchen, Mrs. Bricker suddenly said in an urgent voice, “Bill! It’s time to go.”
    â€œAre you sure?” Mr. Bricker’s voice registered excitement, worry, and joy all at once.
    Socks waited. These people had to learn.
    â€œI’m positive,” said Mrs. Bricker in a small, scared voice. “This is it.”
    With great dignity Socks stalked to the one piece of furniture forbidden him: the chair with the loopy upholstery. He placed his forepaws on the chair, arched his back, and pulled. Rip , rip, rip. There.

    The Brickers gave Socks attention, but not in the way that he expected. He found himself snatched up, carried down the hall, and tossed into the dark laundry beside his pan of Kitty Litter. The door shut after him. “Sorry, old boy,” said Mr. Bricker, as he gave the door an extra push to make sure it was latched.
    After a moment of shocked silence, Socks let out a yowl of rage and waited for release. He could hear the Brickers talking in quick, anxious voices. He could hear the whir-whir-whir of the telephone dial, but he did not hear anyone coming down the hall to let him out.
    Socks meowed his loudest, crossest meow. Footsteps hurried, the front door slammed, out on the driveway the old station wagon started, died, started again and drove away. The house was silent. So wasSocks. After months of catnip and kidney, of service and attention, to be treated like this!
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    In the days that followed, Mr. Bricker dumped food into Socks’s dish early in the morning before he left the house and again at night after he returned, but in between Socks was alone. He waited on the windowsill, he slept, he honed his claws on the forbidden chair,