Page 46 of Sky Song
“No, I haven’t seen anything moving along Rosemary Street.”
His shoulders slumped. “Well, I’ll keep looking. Will you let me know if you notice something you think might belong to me?”
“Of course.” Poor Hipper! He must be so scared, being out in the open. As far as she knew, Mr. Sulys had had him for a long time, since the critter was a pup. Or kitten, or whatever you called a baby cattoon. Cattitten? Catoonkit?
Paloma burst out of her door. “Over there! In the back! I just saw it in the Zen garden.”
Mr. Sulys took off in the direction of Paloma’s door, with Cricket following without a pause. They ran through Paloma’s house, with Cricket paying only cursory attention to one of her several projecting screens that, for a change, wasn’t sporting a game but some code, and emerged out of the back door to catch a glimpse of the brown fur disappearing behind a large boulder, one of several arranged into a serene pattern interspersed with splotches of moss that comprised their neighborhood rock garden for the residents to meditate upon from their windows. The fine gravel that used to be meticulously racked into gentle wave patterns was walked on, swept around, and mounted in one place suspiciously like litter after a thorough session of a shit cover-up.
“For your situational awareness, somebody already called the homeowners administration with a complaint. The Citizens Brigade is on their way and will be here shortly,” Paloma informed them.
Cricket was incredulous. “At this hour? About disturbed sand in the garden?”
“Yes. Somebody from a house across the yard thought it was important.”
“What should we do?” Mr. Sulys wrung his hands, completely undone by the urgency of the situation, unable and unprepared to deal with this crisis.
“Food! What does he like? Quick!”
“Ah… ah…”
Cricket was ready to shake him. “You’ve had him for years! What does he eat?”
“He likes bezod meat!”
As Paloma rolled her eyes, Cricket snapped. “Don’t be an imbecile. Other than that?”
“Cheese!” Mr. Sulys coughed up under pressure.
Cricket rounded on Paloma who raised her hands up. “No cheese.”
“What do you have?”
“Meatless ham,” she said confidently, which told Cricket she’d had it fora long time.
Together, they turned on Mr. Sulys who took a fumbling step back. “Ham should work.”
A minute later, Cricket found herself slithering on her belly across the fine white sand, further destroying the serenity of the community’s Zen garden, aiming toward the mossy boulder that concealed tufted brown fur. Her body moved like that of a beached whale, flattening the sand and leaving behind a deep groove. In her hand, she clutched a slice of funny smelling deli meat, and her nose objected to the smell emanating from it and from the mound of poorly-covered fresh animal poop next to which she crawled.
“To the left! Go faster,” Mr. Sulys implored in a loud voice.
“Shut up,” Paloma hissed at him. “You’re gonna spook it.”
Cricket kept slithering, intent on making a non-threatening progress toward the critter.
So far, Hipper stayed put, and their main worry was to get to him fast, before a helpful administrator fromtheir homeowners association responded to a situation with a disturbed Zen garden in block number eight.
Crooning softly, Cricket slowly stretched her arm toward the boulder and waved the unappetizing meat in front of it.
“Come on, Hipper, come on. Be a good little cattoon and come home. You won’t like it in the woods, trust me.”
Behind, Paloma and Mr. Sulys fell quiet, presumably holding their breath to see if Cricket’s efforts worked.
Hipper wasn’t in a hurry to reveal himself, but neither did he bolt. The funny and pitiful tuft of brown hair visible from behind the rock was wobbling. Cricket spoke to and cajoled the animal, inching closer in tiny increments.
Sounds of human activity reached her, coming from behind the row of houses across from hers, where the busybody lived.
“Come now, Hipper,” she whispered, panicking, and waved the meat more vigorously to release more of the sour smell. “Look! Yummy.”
