It Happened One Night by Sharon Sala Page A

it had climbed higher, rather than coming down to meet her.
    When she looked up to gauge her position and saw the cat still several branches above her, she frowned, thinking that the cat must have been higher up than she’d imagined. Bracing herself by holding on to the closest branches, she swung a leg out around the ladder and put a foot on the branch. Within moments she was off the ladder and in the tree.
    â€œHere, kitty, kitty,” she called. “Come on, kitty.”
    â€œMaaarrroooww.”
    She hefted herself to another branch, automatically elevating her position higher up into the tree, at which point the cat began to hiss.
    Harley frowned.
    â€œLook, kitty, don’t you want to come down and get some nice warm milk? Come on, kitty, kitty. Here, kitty.”
    Harley stretched out her hand. The cat extended its neck, sniffing in the direction of her fingers.
    â€œThat’s a good kitty. Come on, kitty.”
    All she needed was another six inches and she’d have the cat by the nape of the neck. Confident that this could be done, Harley moved just a little bit higher, only slightly aware of the sound of a truck engine coming to a stop beneath the curb.
    The door opened—the driver emerging to the tune of country music blasting from the interior of the cab at earsplitting decibels. Harley looked down, saw the top of a baseball cap on a fat man’s head and then to her horror, watched her ladder being dragged away from the tree and loaded onto the top of the truck.
    â€œHey!” she shouted. “That’s my ladder! You can’t take my ladder!”
    The man gave no sign of having heard her above the din of music as he proceeded to tie the ladder down. To Harley’s horror, he got into the truck and drove away.
    â€œStop! Thief!” Harley shouted.
    The driver didn’t stop and the cat moved up another two branches, this time completely out of sight.
    â€œOh fine,” Harley moaned, got a sudden burst of vertigo and grabbed on to the branches as the ground beneath began to waver and roll.
    For several minutes she clung to the tree without moving or speaking while the cat, having tired of something else occupying what had once been its private domain, climbed down on the opposite side of the tree from Harley and proceeded to eat the bread and drink the milk that she’d brought before ambling off down the street in search of quieter quarters.
    Harley stared in disbelief, and was then forced to close her eyes again as, once more, vertigo threatened to unseat her.
    â€œIngrate,” she muttered, and then sniffed as a few errant tears blurred her vision.
    Sam wouldn’t be home until sometime tomorrow and it was too far to the ground to just climb down to the lowest branches and let go. The last thing she wanted was to break a leg or an ankle. Added to that, not knowing anyone in the neighborhood but Edna Matthews pretty much limited the people who wouldeven know she was missing. The thought of being caught up a tree was only less embarrassing than the fact that she’d torn her shorts. Although she was afraid to check the damage, she suspected it was severe because she could feel breeze on her backside where her shorts pocket was supposed to be.
    Time passed.
    Enough that her legs were beginning to cramp and her fingers were getting numb. Added to that, she needed to pee. It was, except for that morning when she’d come to in Las Vegas and found herself married, the worst day of her life. The way she figured, she had two choices. She could pee her pants and hope they dried before someone actually found her, or she could forget her embarrassment and start yelling for help.
    She opted for the latter.
    â€œHelp! Help! Somebody help.”
    On the seventh call, she heard the blessed sound of someone calling back.
    â€œWho’s calling for help?”
    â€œMe,” Harley answered, and ventured a look down. Edna Matthews was standing on