Webster Read Free Page B

rattling at the latch on his kennel door .
    Okay, okay. Time to remember that he was a veryfearsome, large dog. Maybe the monster would be afraid of him ? In fact, if the monster dared to come inside, he would show his teeth, growl fiercely, and then attack it.
    Or, um, maybe slink past it, and run to safety?
    There was a clank, and then slowly—ever so slowly, terrifyingly slowly—the door swung open.
    Okay. This was it. The dog took a deep breath and promised himself that he would be brave, and go down fighting. He would make sure that the monster would remember that he had tangled with a true beast.
    Stump, skitter, stump, skitter. Then, he heard little erratic claws scraping across the floor, and—the monster was standing right in front of him! It had big crooked yellow eyes, and long talons, and—oh.
    It was a cat. A weird-looking, tiny—but frightening—cat, with slightly crossed eyes and a big black splotch across its white face, like a defective mustache.
    Then again, lots of times, cats were untrustworthy and vicious, right? And violent? So, the dog waited, tensely, to see what was going to happen.
    â€œHello,” the cat said. “I am Florence.”
    Wait, the cat had a British accent. What was up with that?
    â€œIt’s all right,” the cat said. “Joan and Thomas are upstairs asleep, and it’s after midnight.”
    Even so, the dog just stared at her.
    â€œPlease tell me you know how to talk,” Florence said. “It will be most unsettling, otherwise.”
    Of course he could talk. He just didn’t, very often. Since he had lost his family many months ago, back in Arkansas, his encounters with other animals had usually been brief, and raising his fur or wagging his tail or whatever had been enough.
    â€œWell?” the cat said, looking impatient.
    â€œWhy do you have a British accent?” he asked.
    It was quiet for a few seconds.
    â€œBecause I can,” Florence said grandly.
    The dog blinked, forgot how aloof he was—and laughed. She might be a cat, but there was still something plucky and hilarious about her.
    â€œEveryone’s very worried,” Florence said. “I heard them saying that you’re barely eating, and that you’ve mostly just been lying here staring at nothing for hours on end.”
    Yeah. So? The dog didn’t say anything. Or move.
    â€œPlanning on getting up anytime soon?” Florence asked.
    Nope. He was not.
    â€œWell, I simply won’t have it,” Florence said, and stamped one of her paws on the floor for emphasis. “There’s been quite enough moping, and you will come with me right now .”
    The dog started to jump to his feet, but then paused. “I don’t want to,” he said. “And I’m a very, very bad dog, missy, so don’t try to argue with me.”
    Florence sighed. “You dogs take rejection so hard—it’s awfully tedious. Now, come along. We have kibble and biscuits.”
    They had food? Okay. He was extremely wicked and all—but, he was also hungry, and besides, she sounded like she meant business.
    She led him down the dark hallway, and he could see that a few of the dogs were sleeping, while other cage doors were open.
    â€œDo you pick and choose who gets to come out at night?” the dog whispered.
    Florence shook her head. “Some of them are going to the adoption fair tomorrow in town, so they’re resting up. Put their best feet forward and such.”
    The dog wasn’t sure what an adoption fair was, butFlorence was stumping so briskly and efficiently down the hall that he was afraid to interrupt her again. Her walk was a strange limping stagger, and as he trotted behind her, he tried to pretend that he hadn’t noticed.
    â€œI have no cerebellum,” Florence said.
    The dog nodded uneasily.
    â€œDr. K. thinks that my mother maybe had distemper when I was born, and so, my brain didn’t form