Old guy climbs tree.
Bad dogs, pups chased him up. I'm as big as them. I chase them away. Then I go upstairs to the front deck. Where she can see me. I yowl. But she ignores me. I pound with my paws. Nothing.
But I keep it up. Old Guy needs saving. She has to help.
Finally she stirs from her novel. Sees me. Wonder why she didn't hear? Anyway, in I come as she opens the sliding door.
"Want food, Frecks?"
Usually I do. And usually I excuse her for the familiarity. She can't understand me when I speak, but now I need her to. I'm telling her about Old Guy.
At last, she notices that I don't want the fresh moist stuff that smells like Beef Wellington. Ask me how I know what that is? She makes it for him, the man. I smell it. I hear him ask, between mouthfuls. "What’s this?" She says, "Beef Wellington." He grunts. Like the dog. Who’s still sleeping on the floor near the sofa. Where she was reading.
“What's the matter, Freckles?”
I take that as my cue. I run over to the basket where the old guys usually sleeps. I paw it. Nothing. I stand up on my hinds, pawing the air, then paw at the basket.
Then, reality dawns. She asks, “Where's the Old Guy?”
I run to the door, not the sliding door, but the side door. It's on the same side as the tall oak tree. Maybe she'll see Old Guy. He's up on a limb, higher than the deck, but it’s easier for her to see it from here.
She follows me, opens the door. "What, Freckles? You want out?"
I run around her ankles. Now I push behind her calves. I'm big. Big as the bad puppies, like I said.
“Oh, you want me to come out? The Old Guy out here?”
Now we're getting somewhere.
I mew and chase my tail. To show her my enthusiasm for her feeble but dawning enlightenment. Really, what would these humans do without us?
The door is still open. The dog stretches on the throw rug by the fireplace and looks out.
I am on the deck, with the lady. I paw the air. I mew. I get up on my hinds again. Paw the air some more. In the direction, up, where the Old Guy is.
She looks up. So does the dog, who joins us on the deck. He barks. He points like he does for him, the hunter. The man she loves. Who lives here with us.
The dog sees Old Guy and barks, the shrill bark. The one I can’t stand. But, hey, if it works why not?
Finally, the woman sees what we mean. "Oh, goodness. Old Guy, what are you doing up there?”
I try to pantomime what happened. How he ran up the tree to escape danger. How I ran the bad boys off. How Old Guy was stuck up a tree. And scared frozen.
But she doesn’t notice. She's already downstairs, out back. Getting the ladder. She's so small. Not like the man who loves her. I worry. "Great. Now I'm going to have two of them stuck up there."
She left her phone on the deck railing. What if she needs it?
She climbs up the tree, soothes Old Guy. But she can't carry him and climb down at the same time. I don’t know how to tell her. Old Guy’s so exhausted from his climb he can't go down on his own.
What to do?
End of Part 1.
How will Freckles help the lady who rescued him?
Stay tuned for Part 2.
