Socks by Beverly Cleary Page B

reached for a clean diaper.
    â€œSocks should learn to roll over on hisback and kick with his hind feet when he gets in a fight,” said Mr. Bricker, who was interested in all sports. “His strength is in his hind legs. He should hang on with his front paws and give Old Taylor everything he’s got with his hind legs.”
    â€œBill, you can’t coach a cat.” Mrs. Bricker laughed affectionately as she held another diaper under the kitchen faucet.
    Charles William increased the volume of his fussing and began to rock his crib.
    â€œSocks needs us,” his mother called to him. “You’ll have to wait.” Then she said to her husband, “Bill, can’t we let Socks live in the house again? I know he didn’t mean to bite so hard that time, and I always watch him when he’s in the room with Charles William.”
    â€œI don’t see why not,” said Mr. Bricker, scrubbing the matted fur with a clean diaper. “He’s older and wiser now, but we’llstill have to keep an eye on him.”
    Charles William began to bump his crib against the wall.
    â€œI’m coming, I’m coming.” Mrs. Bricker rinsed her hands in the kitchen and, without bothering to change him, carried Charles William to his high chair, which she turned so that he could watch from the kitchen. She handed him a spoon to bang and went back to swabbing Socks.
    Charles William enthusiastically whacked the spoon on the tray of his high chair until Socks caught his interest. He stopped whacking to stare. He had never seen a mud-covered cat before, and he had to give the matter some thought. “Ticky?” he said at last. “Ticky?”
    Socks understood that Charles Williams was talking to him, and beneath his misery he felt the beginning of a new interest in the baby.
    Both parents stopped scrubbing the cat to look at their son and then at one another. “Did you hear that?” cried the mother. “He’s talking! He’s trying to say kitty !”

    â€œSmart boy!” said the proud father.
    Socks was forgotten. Charles William had spoken a word—well, almost. Ticky! Imagine that. Charles William had called Socks Ticky. His mother would write his first word in his baby book. His father would write the news to Nana, maybe even phone collect. Charles William, overwhelmed with his own cleverness, heaved the spoon across the kitchen.
    Then the Brickers noticed the clock. If they did not hurry, Mr. Bricker would be late for class. He rushed off to dress while Mrs. Bricker dashed about the kitchen, trying to prepare one breakfast for the parents and another for the baby.
    â€œTicky?” said Charles William, pleased with himself and eager to rekindle the excitement that he had caused.
    â€œThat’s right,” answered his proud mother. “We can’t forget Ticky.” Shereturned to the laundry, where Socks was licking his wound, and offered him a piece of meat with her fingers. He was sorry that he had no appetite.
    Mrs. Bricker turned on the clothes dryer to warm the laundry and closed the door. This time Socks did not object to being shut in. He crouched on aching joints and, allowing for the weight of mud on his fur, leaped to the top of the dryer, where he settled himself to lick his bleeding leg in the tangle of clean diapers waiting to be folded.
    In the kitchen Charles William demanded admiration. “Ticky?” he said, slapping his palms on the tray of his high chair. “Ticky?”
    â€œKit-tee,” said Mrs. Bricker.
    â€œTicky,” said Charles William, and laughed. He had invented a game.
    Socks was soothed by the hum of thedryer and by the heat rising through the diapers. His throat began to vibrate with a hoarse and rusty-sounding purr, as if he had not purred for a long, long time. “Kit-tee.” “Ticky.” Mrs. Bricker and the baby were talking about him.

7
Socks and Charles William
    S ocks soon