The Wild Ones (15 page)

WILD LIFE

THE
turn and tumult of life returned to Ankle Snap Alley. Ansel and Otis cleaned up their bakery, repaired the counter, and brought in new trash-can lids for tabletops. They reopened once more to serve hungry creatures who had a few extra seeds in their pockets to spend on candied corn husks and jelly-stuffed banana peels. They did add one new item to the menu, in honor of the great Siege of Ankle Snap Alley: sweet-'n'-spicy cat paw stew.

Blue Neck Ned's eyes bulged when he saw it on the menu. In the kitchen, Otis laughed.

“Relax, Ned,” Ansel told the pigeon. “There's no real
cat paw in there. It's just leftover cat food the Rabid Rascals sell from the Dumpster.”

“I knew that,” Blue Neck Ned grumbled, before digging into a piping-hot bowl of the stuff.

The air was turning crisp, hinting at winter, and all the creatures were doing their best to pack on extra fat before the lean months to come. They'd sometimes glance at the lighted windows of the People's homes and wonder who had the better deal, the free and wild vermin of the alley or the cruel and coddled Flealess, who'd be warm and well fed for winter.

Shane and Flynn Blacktail set up their game again, this time near the Scavengers' Market, where the Rabid Rascals hung out, figuring they'd have protection if they needed it. Ever since Kit had rallied the animals to fight together, the Blacktail brothers had been nervous they'd turn on them next. They weren't about to play honest, so they needed to play near some muscle.

“An aco
rn here, a peanut th
ere. If you pick you
r nose, you'll pick
nose
-hair,”
Flynn sang, although the ballyhoo wasn't his best and he had no takers that evening. The moles went to work, the chickens gossiped, and Enrique Gallo ran his barbershop.

Among it all, Kit felt at home.

“Good to see you, Kit, my lad,” the skunk greeted him
on his way into Larkanon's. The skunk's name, it turned out, was Brevort. Rocks, the dog outside Larkanon's, never exactly said a kind word, but he'd lift his head and snort once if Kit walked by, which was for Rocks a great show of magnanimity.

“Mag-na-nimity?” Kit asked Eeni when she used the word.

“It's like generosity,” Eeni explained.

“Why not just say ‘generosity' then?” Kit wondered.

“Because where's the fun in that?” Eeni shook her head. “If everyone just said what they meant, talking wouldn't be any kind of trick at all.”

“Talking shouldn't be any kind of trick at all!”

“Says you.” Eeni laughed, and the two friends walked together paw in paw to find the trash can Uncle Rik had discovered to pilfer “historical artifacts.”

“Scholarship doesn't cease,” Uncle Rik called out from above, his rear end sticking straight up to the sky, with his voice muffled inside the can. “It offers new mysteries to the curious raccoon who seeks them! Wonderful mysteries!”

“What'd you find?” Kit asked him.

“It's the score of the season! We'll be wintering like walruses!” Uncle Rik began tossing his loot out of the trash can and over his head, so that Kit and Eeni had to scramble to catch the stuff to put it into the satchel they'd brought.

There were unraveled mittens and half-gnawed apple
cores. There were worn-out shoes that didn't match each other, and a variety of fruits that matched each other too well in moldy green.

“And something special for you, Kit,” Uncle Rik declared, tossing up a strange little item, a strap with a buckle and a flat dial on it, ringed with People's writing.

“They call it a watch,” said Uncle Rik. “They use it to tell the passage of time.”

“They look at
this thing
to tell time?” Kit marveled. “Why don't they just look at the sky?”

Uncle Rik shrugged. “People play their own games, I guess . . . but that's filled with gears and springs and all kinds of parts. I thought you'd like to tinker with it.”

“Thanks, Uncle Rik. I—”

Suddenly, they heard the loud
snap
of a trap in the distance. They all tensed, then relaxed when the sound was followed with the tiny whining voice of a mouse.

“Little help! Hello! I seem to have gotten myself stuck in this trap! Hellooo! Kit?”

It was Martyn, who managed to get himself trapped every other night. Kit had a nice little business springing animals out of the old traps that the People hadn't cleaned up, although they had stopped leaving new ones after they found their beloved Titus howling and shivering in one of them on a cool afternoon.

Kit's uncle insisted he should charge a fee for getting
the trapped animals out, but Kit usually ended up doing it for free. Most of the animals of Ankle Snap Alley couldn't afford to pay him anyway.

“I gotta go help the mouse.” Kit sighed.

“You've a good heart,” said Uncle Rik.

“Too good for this place,” said Eeni.

Kit blushed. Eeni gave him a friendly push.

“I'll sure miss you two this winter,” said Uncle Rik.

“Yeah, you wi— wait. What?” Kit cocked his head, tipped his hat back on his ears. “Why will you miss us? Where are you going?”

It was Eeni's turn to blush. Uncle Rik gazed down at her from the trash can. “You didn't tell him?”

She shook her head.

“But I thought you were going to—oh, chirping chickens, I'll do it.” Uncle Rik cleared his throat. “Kit, you and Eeni are going to school.”

“We are? But . . .”

“Saint Rizzo's Academy,” said Uncle Rik. “A very fine place.”

“It's all right,” Eeni grunted.

“But I want to stay here,” Kit whined.

“Eeni will be going too,” Uncle Rik told him. “You need to be around creatures your own age. And you need an education. Ankle Snap Alley's no substitute for rigorous study.”

“But . . . but . . .” Kit couldn't think of a reasonable objection, so he threw his arms in the air and shouted, “I'm wild!”

Uncle Rik shook his head. “We can talk about it tomorrow. Let's go to Ansel's and get some dinner. It's late and the sun will be coming up soon.”

As they walked toward the bakery, Kit couldn't get over it. “School?” he said again. “Really?”

“Trust me, Kit.” His uncle put a hand across his nephew's back. “It's a big world beyond the alley, and even the wildest of creatures still has a lot left to
learn.”

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