Anton and Cecil, Book 2 by Lisa Martin

the narrow opening of the carriage door. It was still and silent as the light stole across the floor. First from a distance, but gradually closer, the sound of human activity drifted in. Cecil heard men talking and shouting, clanging metal, wheels turning, laughter, and something heavy being dragged this way and that.
    Anton woke up and climbed off the hay bale to look out the door. “The owl was right,” he said. “There are a lot of folks out there.”
    Cecil followed and peeked out in the opposite direction. A rolling cart piled with boxes was lumbering toward their car at a fast clip. As the cats ducked back inside, there was a shout, then an answering shout, and the cart came to a halt right in front of the sliding door to their carriage. Immediately a dog began barking in a high-pitched voice, “Back off, back off, stay away, back off this instant!”
    Cecil smiled at his brother. “I bet that’s one of those dogs no bigger than a shrimp.”
    Before Anton could reply, the door began to slide open, and two men looked inside. The cats backed up to the hay bales, making themselves as small as possible. Anton closed his eyes, since he believed humans couldn’t see him when he did. But Cecil looked on as the men began unloading boxes and canvas bags and all manner of luggage from the cart, bumping, shoving, and pulling them into the carriage.
    As he was sliding one crate next to another, one of the men, who wore a cap with a bill like a duck’s, looked right at Cecil and winked. “I see you,” he said. Cecil didn’t know what he meant, but the man appeared undisturbed, so Cecil stayed put.
    When the carriage was about half-full of luggage, the duck-billed man jumped back in carrying a small crate from which the high-pitched barking of the dog continued the incessant and useless commands. “Back off. Don’t do that. Back off. No. NO, NO, NO, NO!”
    The man seemed amused by the racket and spoke softly when he set the crate down near the back of the carriage. Cecil observed that it had a door with a grate at the front. The slats all around the sides were a few inches apart and he could see the creature inside—a runty tan fury shouting at the top of his little lungs. “No, no, not again, no. I don’t want to be in here. Back off, now. NO, NO, NO.”
    â€œYou can open your eyes now,” Cecil said to Anton. “They know we’re here.”
    Anton sat up cautiously. “They do?”
    â€œThat man looked right at me,” Cecil informed him.
    That man was speaking softly to the dog, whose barking had faded to a low whine. The man retrieved two metal bowls, then filled one with water and poured some little tidbits that smelled like salt and dust into the other. He opened the grate carefully, and the dog, who seemed to know what was going on, backed up to the farthest reaches of the crate.
    â€œOh, all right. All right,” he said in his high snuffly voice. “Just make sure the water bowl is full, pul-ease.”
    When the man had finished with the dog and closed the grate, he turned and stared openly at the two cats, who sat side by side, their tails wrapped around their legs, alert and ready to bolt.
    â€œSo how far are you going?” he asked pleasantly, but the brothers didn’t understand a word. The man didn’t appear alarmed in the least by their presence. He turned and went out to the cart and then came back with two more bowls and another bottle of water.
    â€œThere’s not much to eat, where you’re going,” he said. “This’ll give you a start.”
    And to Cecil’s amazement, he filled the bowls with the tidbits and water and set them along the wall of the carriage, not far from the door. His coworker looked in and they exchanged some amused remarks, then the kind, duck-billed man climbed down and they slid the door closed. But the man didn’t close it all the way. Cecil noted