Socks by Beverly Cleary

could sleep at my home if he wanted.” Tiffy looked wistfully at Socks squirming in the dirt. He would have to spend the rest of the afternoon grooming himself, a small price to pay for a good roll that satisfied all the places he wanted scratched and made his skin tingle. He missed the sort of brushing Mrs. Risley had given him, but the sitter never came again. The young couple could not afford her.
    Tiffy squatted beside Socks. “Do you want to come and live at my house?” she asked.
    Socks, who had finished rolling in the dirt, sat up and, after considering Tiffy a moment, allowed her to pet him. Since he had become an outdoor cat, he was gratefulfor attention from anyone, even Tiffy, and the two had formed a cautious friendship.
    â€œSee!” said Tiffy to Mr. Bricker. “Socks likes me. He wants to live at my house.” She made the mistake of patting his head, and Socks moved away. Petting and patting were not the same. He was disappointed in her.
    â€œA cat’s heart is where his dish is,” said Mr. Bricker.
    Mr. Bricker was wrong. Socks’s dish and water bowl had been moved to the back step, and his bed had been moved to the garage, where a window was left open so he could come and go. Still, his heart remained in the house with his family. Loneliness and curiosity drove Socks to spend more and more time sitting on the windowsill watching all that went on inside. He watched Mr. Bricker shadowbox in front of the playpen and listened to Charles William laugh. He watched Charles William grab Brown Bear by one leg and beat him against the playpen pad, and he heard him shout, “Id-did-did!” He was curious for a closer look at the plastic ball filled with water and sloshing plastic fish. He saw Charles William support himself on his hands and knees and crawl across the pen. He watched him grab the bars and pull himself unsteadily to his feet.

    â€œSee the kitty,” said Mrs. Bricker many times a day, as she looked up from her typewriter. “The kitty is looking at you.” Charles William paused in throwing his toys outside his playpen or pounding on a pie tin to stare at Socks. Sometimes he watched Socks without his mother telling him to.
    Loneliness was not the only trouble in Socks’s new life. Jays scattered his dry food and swooped at him whenever they came to steal. He felt threatened on Tuesday mornings when the garbage men came, and he was afraid of the milkman. But his biggestworry was Old Taylor, the black cat with the torn ear and bulging jowls, who lived across the back fence and belonged to a family named Taylor.
    Although the fence was the property of the house rented by the Brickers and should have been part of Socks’s territory, Old Taylor made it his own by sleeping on it whenever the sun was out. This habit annoyed Socks, who sometimes wanted to sit on the fence out of Tiffy’s reach when he grew bored with her attention. However, the two cats had come to an understanding. Old Taylor would beat up Socks if Socks tried to sit on the fence while Old Taylor was using it.
    One morning Socks, who had fallen asleep on the warm hood of the old station wagon, was awakened by the sound of a late spring rain driving against the garage. The car hood had grown cold and hard. After abow, a stretch, and a brief wash, Socks sprang to the windowsill, where he saw that the neighborhood was still dark. There was no hope of breakfast, but he might find dry food left in his dish from the night before. The grass was cold and wet to his paws as he ran through the downpour in the direction of the back step.
    In the dim light Socks saw a sinister black shape crouched at his dish in the dry spot below the eaves. Old Taylor! Through the sound of rainwater gurgling in the drainpipe, Socks heard the crunch of teeth crushing dry cat food. This intrusion would not do at all. Old Taylor had his side of the fence, and Socks had his. Socks would not quibble about the fence