Chihuawolf
Authors: Charlee Ganny
Copyright © 2011 by Charlee Ganny
Cover and internal illustrations © Nicola Slater
Cover and internal design © 2011 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by Rose Audette
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systemsâexcept in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviewsâwithout permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.
Source of Production: Versa Press, East Peoria, Illinois, USA
Date of Production: August 2011
Run Number: 15887
but particularly to
Baby Kitty
1989â2011
the tiny orange cat everyone loved.
Long, dark shadows stretched menacingly across the backyard. The clock on the Methodist Church tower struck 8 p.m. A high, eerie childlike voice broke the night's silence.
“Oh, poop!”
Paco the Chihuahua hung his head. A fat tear formed in his right eye, became a silver drop, ran down his little black nose, and dripped onto the lawn. “Pardon my language, Pewy,” he apologized to a very fat skunk sitting on the grass. “But it's no use. I sound like a cat with its tail caught in the screen door.”
Professor “Pewy” Pewmount put a paw up to his chin and thought for a moment. “I believe the problem is that you're a tenor. Not your fault. It's your tiny size. Try again. Begin the howl way down in your belly. Think of your throat as a long pipe. Push the sound up and out. I think you can do it.”
“You do,
mi
amigo?
” Paco brightened. He respected the Professor's intelligence enormously. After all, the old skunk knew how to get the lid off every garbage can in town.
Paco threw his head back, inhaled deeply, concentrated, and let loose a howl. “Ahhhhooooooouuuuu.”
Pewmount clapped. “Much better, my friend. Much better. You've definitely improved.”
Paco shivered with excitement. “
Ah
sÃ?
Do I sound like a werewolf? Do I? Do I?”
The skunk got down on all fours and prepared to leave. Tomorrow was a trash collection day. He needed to visit all the garbage cans on Elm Street yet tonight. “I have never heard a werewolf, and I hope I never do. But you now resemble that Boston terrier on the next block. Maybe you will sound like a beagle if you keep practicing.”
“But that's not good enough! I must howl like a werewolf by the next full moon. I wish I weren't
muy
poco
âmuch, much too little.” The miniature dog lay down on the grass and put his head dejectedly on his front legs.
Professor Pewmount, who was so fat he waddled instead of walked, moved slowly away into the night. “Never put your wishbone where your backbone ought to be. That's what my sainted mother used to tell me. You got yourself into this mess⦔
Paco rose and shook himself. “And I've got to get myself out of it. I know.
Gracias
anyway, Pewy.”
A girl's worried voice rang through the clear night air. “Paco! Sweetheart, where are you? Oh my little
Paquito
, where are you?”
Paco cringed. He hung back. He did not go bounding up to the back door. He got down on his belly and backed quietly under a Hosta plant. Peeking out through the broad leaves with one eye, he spied a flash of pink. Two feet in bunny slippers marched directly to his hiding place.
“There you are! You are a naughty boy not to come when I call you!” A ten-year-old girl with short brown hair reached down and scooped the small dog up into her arms.
Paco whimpered and squirmed. It wasn't that he didn't love Olivia. He adored her. But he knew what she wanted to do. He had seen the bottle of nail polish on the kitchen counter. No werewolf wore painted toenails. Other dogs would make fun of him. Worse, Natashaâthat fine, silky Afghan hound he worshiped with all his heartâwould know he was a fraud. She would realize he wasn't a werewolf. He was merely a small dog who told big stories to try to win her affection.
He couldn't bear the thought. He squirmed desperately as Olivia carried him toward the house. White showed around his dark eyes. His whiskers vibrated with fear. But he could not escape. Olivia tightened her grip.
“What's the matter with you?” she scolded. She pushed through the back door and entered the kitchen. “Don't you want to look handsome for your play date tomorrow? You must have a bath, and look over there. I bought you blue nail polish!”
Blue?
Paco tilted his head. His ears perked up.
That
changed
everything. Rock stars wore
blue
fingernails. Rock stars were cool, fierce, and
muy
popular.
He immediately felt better.
Paco did not give in to despair, even when he found himself knee-deep in warm water, lilac-scented shampoo cascading down his back. He still had a few days to transform himself into the terrifying creature sometimes called the great
lycanthrope
âthe dreaded werewolf.
Paco shivered with delight at the thought of becoming that feared creature of myth and legend. He could do it. He would no longer be a member of the smallest dog breed in the world, a seven-pound Mexican shorthair who trembled at the slightest threat. His outside appearance would match what he was on the insideâbig, mighty, and fearless. He would have long fangs and sharp claws. He would snarl, and everyone would run. He would be irresistible to the woman he loved.
The woman he loved.
Natasha
. Paco smiled to himself. Her name sounded like a rushing stream.
Natasha.
Her dog tags jingled when she swayed.
Natasha.
Her barking fell like soft music on his ears.
Natasha.
Paco's mood darkened. She called him a canine cannoli, a furry fajita, a miniature snoozer. He sighed.
He tasted the bitterness of the truth. He knew where he stood with her. Natasha didn't like puny little pooches. She only gave her heart to
perros
grandesâ
big dogs! Great Danes. German shepherds. St. Bernards. Rottweilers. Mighty mastiffs. And if they were bad dogsâdogs who dug huge holes in the yard, dogs who chewed up entire sofas, dogs who picked fights or stole bones or ran away for hoursâNatasha liked them even better. Only the biggest, the baddest, the boldest leader of the pack became the beautiful Natasha's boyfriend.
Paco the Chihuahua, the
poquito
, the pipsqueak, could never win herâbut maybe Paco the Werewolf would.
There were demons in the house. Norma-Jean and Little Annie looked like ordinary cats, one gray, one black, but Paco knew the truth. Nothing was ordinary about them. Those two possessed criminal minds. They stole his food. They took over his doggy bed. They spent their days plotting new ways to torment him. And like wisps of smoke or transparent ghosts, they slipped away unseen and were never caught at their misdeeds.
Now, fresh from his bath, his nails barely dry and magnificently blue, Paco entered the living room, hoping to watch some television before he went to bed. He was halfway to his favorite spot on the recliner when he heard giggling. He tensed. He swiveled his head. He saw four glittering yellow eyes peering at him from under the sofa. His breath quickened. He turned to run. But not fast enough.
A gray paw snaked out, and a sharp pain shot through Paco's tail. He yelped and spun around to snap at the offender. No one was there. Another sharp pain stung his tail. He yelped louder and turned around again.
Norma-Jean sat directly in front of him with a huge smile on her face. “Catch me if you can, little guy,” she smirked.
Little!
The word made Paco mad. Once again, being
muy
poco
was his problem.
Paco growled and curled his lips back to show his tiny white teeth. He sprang forward. Norma-Jean dashed away. But before Paco could give chase, a black blurâLittle Annieâraced up and swiped him on the nose as she passed.
Paco yelped even louder.
He heard laughter. The two cats stood on the back of the sofa, their arms around each other's shoulders, their bellies shaking with mirth. Norma-Jean looked down and taunted him. “What's the matter? Legs too short to catch us?”
The thought rushed into Paco's mind,
If
only
he
were
bigger, they wouldn't tease him. Just wait until he was a werewolf. He'd show those cats.
Paco took a great leap and landed on the sofa cushions. His frantic barking echoed through the room. The two cats scrambled up the drapes and climbed onto the curtain rod. They clung to the brass bar and peered down at Paco. They each gave him a wink. Then they started mewing as if their little hearts were breaking.
A few seconds later, Olivia rushed into the room. She spotted the two cats, who were crying piteously from their high perch. She saw Paco bouncing up and down on the sofa, hoping to jump high enough to reach them.
“Paco! Bad dog!” she yelled. She dashed across the room to grab him.
Paco didn't hesitate. He flew off the sofa in a flash and scurried as fast as he could into the kitchen. His nails clicked against the ceramic tile. He slipped and he slid. He made it to the doggy door leading to the backyard and plunged headlong through it.
But before the flap closed behind him, he heard Olivia crooning, “You poor, poor kitties. Did that mean old doggy try to hurt you?”
Smarting with the sting of being tricked, Paco hopped down the back porch stairs. His head hanging in shame, he walked along the flagstone path into the yard. He felt like a total failure. How could he be a convincing werewolf if two cats could outwit him?
He sat down, putting his little furry behind on the cool stones. He gazed up at the sky. A white half moon sailed across the star-strewn heavens.
Sadness gripped Paco's soul. He leaned back his head and howled. “Ahhhhhoooouuuu!”
A moment passed, heavy with silence. Then, from far, far away came a howl much deeper and more menacing that his own. “AHHHHHOOOOOOOUUUUU.”
Paco jumped up on his four miniature paws. His hair stood on end. He trembled from the tip of his black nose to the tip of his black tail. He stared into the gloom. He saw nothing. But he knew without a doubt that out there in the dark, dark night, something very big, dangerous, and scary roamed.