Snakes Don't Miss Their Mothers (10 page)

“It will be the Great Wall of China,” said Jimmie. “It took ten years and one million people to build it.”

“Okay. That's good.”

“I'm going to write about it as soon as New Year's is over.”

“Okay. But in Florida I'm going to get a regular job. You can't be all by yourself every day.”

“I'll have Placido.”

“I told you that we have to talk about that cat.”

“He likes me, Dad. At night he curls up on my bed and purrs.”

“Honey, I think he should probably go back where he came from.”

“I was just getting used to him.”

“That's why I think he should go back right away. It'll be harder the longer you wait.”

“I've gotten to like him.”

“He's all right for a cat, but we have to be realistic.”

“Whenever you said that to Mama, remember what she always said? She always said, ‘Why?'”

Sam Twilight smiled. “Yes. That was what she always said. But I don't have her to help me make decisions anymore. I just remember that she always spoke of how hard it was to be from the circus around civilians.”

“She always called them lot lice, Daddy! She hated the way they looked down on her because she didn't have a good education.”

“Right you are. She didn't want
you
to go through that.”

“But why do I have to give up Placido?”

“What will we do with him when you go to boarding school?”

“Who said I was going to boarding school? That's not definite! Why are you telling me these bad things right before I have an audition?”

“Honey, face facts. Your last audition was for the part of a cookie crumb, and now Fiona wants you to try out for face in the crowd. You're not going
up
hill.”

“I don't want Placido to go back to Critters!”

“When I got him for you, I was remembering how much Mom liked Siamese. And I was sure you'd land BrainPower and we'd stay up north. But now I have to rethink everything.”

Placido decided to jump down to the sun spot and roll over in an adorable pose, paws out, whiskers brisk, tail still, eye rolled back.

“Look, Dad.”

“I see him. But every time I put Dancer's picture back, he swats it down the crack where your frog landed, minus its tongue. Placido doesn't come when he's called. He doesn't eat until he feels like it. He's never around to greet us when we come back here. For Christmas I paid six ninety-eight for the CatnipJumper at Pets Galore and he didn't even look at it. What about the catnip mouse you bought him? He smelled it once. Period.”

It had no smell was why. The catnip in those toys was probably put there way back in the year I was with my first owner (whom I never discuss), thought Placido.

“Daddy? There's the limo. Just promise you haven't made up your mind yet about any of this.”

“We'll see,” said Sam Twilight.

Placido jumped to his feet and headed under the table. He was despondent as he thought, We all know what “we'll see” means. We all know what a sneaky reply “we'll see” is.

W
OOF! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF
!
How could one endure the endless barking coming from the pig-faced Posh?

Marshall slithered over to his water bowl and wound himself around it into a neat little coil of king snake. Walter had brought him another live rat, sat with him while he got it down, and told him that soon he would be going to New York City to live with his father. It would be dreadful to lose Walter, for not only was he a dear friend, but also Walter knew more about snakes than anyone at Critters did. He knew, for instance, that Marshall was a very good swimmer and that even water snakes feared him, for if he was hungry, he went right in after one.

Despite the fact that Marshall was a pragmatic realist, very occasionally he allowed himself to daydream. It was the same dream over and over, delightful and impossible, a dream of a young, knowledgeable boy coming to Critters to adopt him. As the new year was about to begin, Marshall added a flourish or two. The boy would be Walter. Walter had prepared a vivarium where he lived with his father at Ritzy Riverview Apartments. He was at Critters to collect Marshall and take him to live there, in the company of exotic plants and soft green moss, with a real stream winding through it.

Of course it would never happen. That's why it was an impossible dream.

That New Year's Eve afternoon, many of the dogs at Critters had impossible dreams. The rumor had spread that Flo Tintree was on her way. One of them would spend the holiday at the Star-Tintrees', along with Catherine, whose stay had been extended. Mrs. Tintree would select one animal, which she would write a skit about, or a song, or something to amuse and teach the children. It was a tradition.

Who didn't dare hope that he would be the chosen one?

Marshall, for one. An impossible dream was different from hope, for it was understood that it was just a dream…. But hope was the worst of all evils, for it only prolonged misery.

Everyone was edgy anyway. Holidays did that. Volunteers were busy with their families and sometimes did not show up to walk the dogs.

Visitors were few.

Outside, the winter wind howled.

The critters slept too much and waited, as they always waited, for their fates to change.

Marshall felt the only thing that could change in his life was the lightbulb directly over his cage. It was changed when it went out. Marshall was the only critter to have one, for it was necessary to keep him warm. A cold snake became sluggish and refused to eat.

If Catherine had still been there, Marshall would have bet her that Mrs. Tintree was coming for Posh. As much as Catherine liked to bet, she probably wouldn't have taken him up on that one.

Not only was Posh the most valuable and rare dog in residence, Posh never stopped barking. Wasn't there an old saying about the squeaky wheel getting the grease?

C
ATHERINE'S TREATMENT IN THE
Star-Tintree house had undergone a radical change ever since she had rescued Peke from the scowling chauffeur of the long white limousine.

“Come and play with me, Catherine,” said Peke, who could not get enough of Catherine now. After all, she was his savior.

“I am played out, Peke. I am not used to running around anymore. My hind legs give.”

Catherine was stretched out on the old thick carpet by the fireplace while Peke stood over her with a chew stick in his mouth.

Flo Tintree was testing the floorboards of the small stage she had built. She said, “When our mystery guest comes tomorrow night, you'll have to give up your place by the fire, Catherine. I know you're never warm enough, but the mystery guest does not even have hair.” She was fixing the stage for her performance.

Peke dropped the chew stick so he could ask Catherine, “Do
you
know who's coming here?”

“I overheard Ginny tell Nell there's a new kind of Mexican hairless dog at Critters now. It's called a fancy long name, xoloitzcuintle. Xolo for short.”

“Bolo, solo, polo—yes, there are words to rhymexolo with. Mrs. Tintree will compose a good song.”

“Why does she bring an animal here just for the New Year's party?” Catherine asked.

“Because,” said Peke, “she's a retired schoolteacher. It's her nature to teach. She likes Sun Lily's school friends to learn about animals. I don't know why she can't invite a more presentable critter. Why do we have to have one with no hair? Why not a soft little bunny?”

“Even if Critters did have bunnies, which they don't, I would have to chase a soft little bunny,” said Catherine. “That is my nature, just as teaching is Mrs. Tintree's.”

“Then I would help you,” said Peke, who would do almost anything for the greyhound now.

He had already shown Catherine his hiding place, and even though Catherine had lost the bet that she could find it on her own, Peke had given her his red rubber hot dog.

Catherine had to pretend that she was overwhelmed by the gift of the red rubber hot dog, but the truth was she was underwhelmed by anything she had not won in a bet.

Mrs. Tintree said, “Maybe before I start dinner, I should try out my new song on you. Would you like that?”

Peke barked, and so did Catherine.

She took a slip of paper from the pocket of her sweater and began to sing in a shaky soprano voice.

“I'm partial to Marshall, the one of whom I sing.

Black with yellow crossbands, he is a real king!

See him on his tree branch, looped around and round,

See him flick his tongue, silently, no sound!

Mice are nice for Marshall's feasts,

He will eat all sorts of beasts.

He can even happily make

Dinner of another snake.

Marshall, I am partial to you.

Marshall, we all say ‘howdy do'!”

Peke's little eyes were wide with astonishment.

“A snake!” he cried out. “The most loathsome of all beasts!”

“Marshall?” Catherine could still not believe it.
Marshall?

S
AM (“WE'LL SEE”) TWILIGHT
was careless with his tools. There they were, out on the aft deck where he had left them in the middle of repairing the rotting wood.

And there, too, was Snack!

His pink legs were perched on the man's saw. He had a clam in his yellow bill, which he was throwing to the deck. Once, twice, until he finally broke the shell. Then he gobbled down the insides.

Placido's jaws trembled with excitement. His whole body quivered. His ruff was up.

If wishes could break glass, that gull would be a goner in a nanosecond.

Placido watched him take off, swoop, and sail as he flapped his gray wings. And then … and then … what did Placido see?

He crouched down and fixed his eye on a dog heading toward a boat on the next dock.

Placido knew that dog!

He was on a leash, heeling, while a lady shuffled along toward the big fishing boat called
We All Make Mistakes.

“Goldie!” Placido stood up on his hind legs with his paws against the glass.

Then he tried “Rex!”

But there was no way the dog could see Placido, much less hear him.

Had Goldie found his owner? Could that be Bob's mother?

“
HOW ARE YOU, SEREFINA?
” the fisherman said. “Come on in. Who's this? Why, he looks just like Elio.” The woman led Goldie inside. “He's not Elio, though,” she said. “He'll never be Elio either. I call him Elio, but that's where the similarity ends.”

The fisherman patted Goldie's head. “He's a nice dog, though.”

Goldie wagged his tail and tried to smile.

He could smell coffee. Then he sniffed the man's pant leg, and it smelled of the sea, the way the beaches he had run along with Bob smelled.

“Where'd you get him, Serefina?”

“He's just a stray.”

“The good Lord provides. Elio died and now you have another almost like him.”

“He's not at all like him.” The woman took her coat off. She said, “He can't sing.”

The fisherman chuckled. “Well, Elio was unusual.”

“I'll say he was. This dog has no fun in him!”

“Give him time.”

“I will, but it's hard. Elio understood everything I said, even when I said it in Spanish. I loved that dog like I'd love a son. He was almost human.”

Goldie sat down and sighed. He knew how the woman felt, because Bob felt that way about him. He could only imagine what Bob must be going through now. He couldn't stop thinking about Bob, remembering his smile, his voice saying, “Rex? Want to go for a walk?”

“Is that Elio's collar and tags he's wearing?” the fisherman asked.

“Yes. I don't want him to run away.”

The fisherman was pouring coffee. He said, “Maybe it would be a good idea to call this dog by another name. You can't replace Elio. Give this guy a different identity.”

“What shall I call him?” she asked.

“Name him after me, Serefina. Call him Bob!”

Goldie began to bark at Bob's name.

“He seems to like the idea,” said Serefina.

“Do you want to be called Bob?” the fisherman asked Goldie.

Goldie barked and barked.

“Bob it is!” said Serefina. “Okay. Bob! You're named Bob!”

Goldie got up on his hind legs, barking and barking, his paws on the counter, the coffee cup tipping over.

Serefina jumped back.

The fisherman took away the cup and mopped up the coffee.

“He couldn't help that,” said the fisherman.

“Remember how graceful Elio was? He didn't have a wrong move in him,” said Serefina.

Goldie crouched down, his tail between his legs.

“I may have an answer to this, Serefina,” said the fisherman. “There is a rather shabby, somewhat ailing woman who is looking for a dog. I didn't pay much attention to what she said, but she left a phone number. Shall I see if this fellow here is hers?”

“Even if he isn't hers,” Serefina said, “see if she wants him.”

T
HE TALENT, OF COURSE
, does not mingle with the audience before the performance. That was always the rule. “But not tonight,” Sam Twilight said. “One of the reasons I took this job was so you could meet some kids your own age. I'll give you plenty of time to change before our act.”

“Okay,” said Jimmie. She actually felt good. She had slept aboard
Summer Salt II
with Placido curled up beside her. She had told him her woes, and he had licked away her tears with his sandpaper tongue.

She had told him about being too dumb for the BrainPower commercial, too wide-eyed for the part of crumb, and then the lowest blow of all, too ordinary for face in the crowd.