Socks Read Free Page A

although the sport was gone. The ringing of the telephone made him anxious when no one was home to answer. The buzzing of the doorbell frightened him, so that he hid under the bed, but he need not have bothered now. No one came to open the door. Socks lost interest in food. His Ping-Pong ball no longer amused him. Without love he was bewildered and dejected.
    Then late one morning Socks was roused from a doze by the slam of the station-wagon door on the driveway and the soundof the voices of both his owners. With glad meows he sprang from the couch. As soon as the door opened, Socks was outside, his forepaws against Mrs. Bricker’s thigh, stretching up to be petted. A light breeze ruffled his fur, and spring sunshine drew the fragrance from the lemon blossoms. Life was good again.
    â€œDid you miss me, Socks?” Mrs. Bricker stooped to rub the hollow behind his ears where his fur grew short and fine. “Were you lonesome without me?” she asked.
    Socks’s throat pulsated with purrs. He rubbed against her legs, back and forth, round and round, as she entered the house. He could not get enough petting to satisfy his pent-up loneliness.
    â€œI missed you, too,” said Mrs. Bricker in such an understanding voice that Socks felt he must take advantage of her. With a hopeful meow, he started toward the kitchen,paused, and looked back to encourage her to follow him to the refrigerator. Until that moment he had been so happy to see his family that he had not noticed the bundle in Mr. Bricker’s arms.
    Socks hesitated. Which was more important, a tidbit from the refrigerator or his right to investigate everything that came into the house? Curiosity won, and he turned back.
    â€œSee what we’ve brought,” said Mr. Bricker.
    A smacking noise came from inside the bundle. Instantly Socks was alert. There was something alive in there. His spine prickled, and he paused to sniff cautiously.
    Mrs. Bricker folded back the blanket, and Mr. Bricker leaned over so Socks could see. He saw a creature with a small, wrinkled, furless face, a sight that made his hair stand on end. His eyes grew large and he backedaway. Whatever the thing was, he did not trust it.
    As Socks stared at the strange creature in the bundle and listened to it smack and snuffle, he began to understand. His owners, his faithful, loving owners, had brought home a new pet to threaten his position in the household. Socks turned his back and lashed his swollen tail. He was filled with jealousy and anger and a terrible anxiety. The Brickers might love the new pet more than they loved him.

    â€œPoor Socks.” Mrs. Bricker stooped to smooth his fur, but Socks moved away from her hand.
    An unhappy wail came from the bundle.
    â€œOh, dear! He can’t be hungry already.” The worry in Mrs. Bricker’s voice was a new sound to Socks.
    â€œHe sure can,” said Mr. Bricker, as he sat down on the couch with the wailing bundle on the lap that had always belonged to Socks. “Listen to him! You can tell he has a fine pair of lungs.”
    Socks turned his back and began washing to pass the time until he made up his mind how to regain the lap from the new pet.
    On her way to the kitchen, Mrs. Bricker spoke in her special voice, higher than her normal voice, that she always had used for her cat. “I’m hurrying,” she said. “I’ll have your bottle in a minute.”
    Socks paused in his washing with one paw behind his ear until he understood that this time she was not speaking to him, a slight that hurt him almost as much as the loss of the lap. He scrubbed his paw back and forth across his nose until he could contain his longing for reassurance no longer.
    Alert and ready to run at the first sign of danger, Socks crept cautiously toward Mr. Bricker, who reached for the bottle his wife had brought from the kitchen and said, “Let me feed him. You sit down and rest.”
    Mrs. Bricker sat down, but she did