Cages (10 page)

“I’ll get them,” Kit said. She had no idea where she would come up with either of the desired items but she suddenly wanted to volunteer, to have more of a part in making the play a success.

From then on, Kit went to play practice on the days when she didn’t go to The Humane Society. She borrowed an old fan from an antique shop. She looked up Piano Tuners in the Yellow Pages, called the first name on the list, and explained what she needed. The tuner graciously agreed to help.

It was fun tracking down the needed props and when she brought them to rehearsal, Miss Fenton got as excited as if they were valuable works of art.

Tracy became Harriet Headline. “
PROP GIRL FIRST FEMALE TO BE KNIGHTED BY QUEEN
,” she said. “
ARMOR ORDERED
.”

Sharon Shocker responded, “
PRODUCER IN AUDIENCE SMITTEN WITH ‘DORIS.’ ACTRESS OFFERED BROADWAY CONTRACT
.”

“Oh, sure,” Tracy said. “He’ll be smitten by all four of my lines.”

As Kit joked with Tracy, she felt the tension between them dissolve. Her secret problem wasn’t going to cost her Tracy’s friendship, after all.

The next day in speech class, someone gave a talk on astrology, which led to a discussion of birth dates. When Miss Fenton said her birthday was the following Thursday, Kit decided to organize a surprise party. She talked to all of the cast and crew and everyone chipped in money for pizza, to be delivered immediately after rehearsal.

The two boys who were running lights volunteered to bring soft drinks and Kit decided to bake a chocolate birthday cake. Tracy spent the night with her, to help decorate it. With yellow frosting, they drew klieg lights and stars. Then they wrote, “Happy Birthday, Miss Fenton. Break a Leg!!”

“Fit for a king,” Tracy declared, as they admired their masterpiece.

“
TEENS OPEN BAKERY
,” Kit said. “
BUCKINGHAM PALACE PLACES DAILY DESSERT ORDER
.”

On party day, rehearsal seemed to drag. Backstage, Kit and Tracy set out birthday napkins and paper cups.

“What if she’s in a hurry to leave?” Tracy said. “Maybe she’s going out to dinner with her boyfriend.”

The stage manager looked startled. “She has a boyfriend?” he said. From his tone, Tracy might have suggested that Miss Fenton was dining with a giraffe.

“I don’t know if she has a boyfriend or not,” Tracy said, “but she probably does have plans for her birthday. Maybe her parents are having a family dinner.”

“We should have fixed up a fake appointment with one of the other teachers,” Kit said, “to be sure she can stay for the party.” Why did she always realize what she should have done after it was too late?

The rest of the kids thought the cake was wonderful. Still,
Kit got more and more nervous. By the time the pizza arrived, she was sure that Miss Fenton would not have time to eat it and would rush off without ever laying eyes on the masterpiece cake.

As soon as Act Three ended, everyone crowded into the green room, whispering excitedly. When Miss Fenton came to see what they were doing, they all shouted, “Surprise! Surprise!”

They sang, “Happy birthday to you,” and Kit could tell that Miss Fenton was genuinely touched. When the song ended, Miss Fenton said, “Thank you, all of you.”

“It was Kit’s idea,” Tracy said.

Kit quickly said, “Everyone helped.” Then she added, “We hope you don’t already have plans for dinner.”

“None. And I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than eat pizza with my favorite students.”

Later, as they ate, Miss Fenton told Kit, “It takes time and effort to organize a party. I’m grateful.”

“It was fun,” Kit said. It
had
been fun but it was true that it took a lot of time.

Kit thought of all the birthday parties she had when she was small. Never anything unusual, like Tracy’s parties, but Kit and her friends used to play drop-the-clothespin-in-the-bottle and musical chairs. Once a year, Dorothy even put aside her feelings about sweets and served birthday cake and ice cream.

Kit felt a rush of gratitude. Despite the gifts of hand lotion and underwear, Dorothy had always made Kit’s birthdays special.

K
IT stared at the chart. She hadn’t noticed it on her other visits but this time she saw it right away, hanging on the wall, just inside The Humane Society entrance. It listed each month of the current year and told how many dogs were taken in, how many were adopted and how many were euthanized. Then it gave the same statistics for cats.

It did not take a mental giant to figure out that in most months, only about half of the animals found homes. Some months, less than 50 percent of the dogs that were brought to The Humane Society were ever adopted, and the cats fared even worse.

She felt sick to her stomach.

“Sad, isn’t it?” a voice behind her said.

Turning, Kit saw Mr. Morrison.

“It isn’t right,” she said. “Most of those animals are young and healthy. It isn’t right to kill them.”

“Heavens, girl, of course it isn’t right. But what choice is there? They’re kept here as long as there’s room; eventually, they have to give up their space to incoming animals.”

Kit looked again at the chart. March: 78 dogs euthanized. April: 61 dogs euthanized. In her mind, she saw a large furry heap of dead bodies. She shuddered.

She felt Mr. Morrison’s hand on her shoulder. “When they die here, it is a peaceful and painless death,” he said. “It’s better than being hit by a car. It’s better than starving or freezing. And it’s better than being ravaged by wild animals or abused by humans. The animals here are treated kindly and their lives end with love, not fear.”

Kit did not trust herself to speak.

Mr. Morrison handed her a leash. “I didn’t come here to stand about and lecture,” he said. “Come, girl. Let’s take a couple of cage-mates out for some exercise. We can’t control their future but we can make them happy today.”

A few minutes later, they sat together on the picnic bench in the exercise yard while two dogs chased each other around.

“How long have you been a volunteer?” Kit asked.

“I’ve come twice a week for fifteen years. It’s as good a place as any to practice the harmonica.”

“Have you ever wanted to adopt one of the animals?”

“Heavens, girl, do you think I have no heart? Of course I want to adopt them. Right now, I wish I could take Sammy, the little gray schnauzer. Last month, it was a white and brown pointer named Maxine.”

“Why don’t you do it?”

“I can’t. My wife’s allergic to all animal fur. When I get home from here, I have to wash my clothes and take a shower right away.”

“I wish I could adopt Lady,” Kit said.

“The little terrier in the last cage?”

Kit nodded. “But my parents won’t let me have a dog.” Bitterness put a harsh edge on her voice.

“Then you’re wise to help here. It’s the next best thing.” He glanced sideways at Kit. “And it beats sitting home feeling sorry for yourself. If you can’t save the forest, plant a tree.” He took the harmonica out of his pocket and began to play, “Summertime.”

Kit threw two tennis balls and the dogs galloped after them. She didn’t tell Mr. Morrison that she wasn’t wise at all. She was at The Humane Society because she had to be.

When he finished his song he said, “Some day you’ll be on your own, girl. You can have a dog then. You can have as many dogs as you want.” He grinned at her. “Just don’t marry someone who’s allergic.”

That day, she and Mr. Morrison worked together, exercising all the dogs that shared a cage. Once, after Kit coaxed a frightened poodle to play, Mr. Morrison said, “You have a way with animals, Kit. A gentleness that they respond to.”

She smiled, pleased at the praise.

“They can tell, you know,” he said. “Animals can tell whether a person is kind or not. They know if you like them or if you’re pretending. They sense the truth about us humans, no matter how we might try to hide it.”

“I do like the animals,” Kit said. “They’re so . . . straightforward.”

He laughed. “A good description,” he said. “I’ve yet to meet a deceitful dog. The truth is, I like most animals better than I like most people. Present company excepted, of course.”

“Of course.”

She had never met anyone like Mr. Morrison. He looked at least seventy, yet he treated Kit like an equal, as if the difference in their ages didn’t matter to him.

As they leashed the last set of cage-mates and started back to the kennel, Mr. Morrison said, “It’s time for these old bones to sit. I wouldn’t want to disappoint any dogs who have been waiting for their concert.” He took his campstool to the kennel and positioned it in the center of the walkway.

“I’m going to play with Lady for awhile before I leave,” Kit said.

Mr. Morrison began a rousing chorus of “Beer Barrel Polka,” while Kit got Lady. As she walked toward the door, with Lady trotting at her side, Mr. Morrison stopped in the middle of his tune.

“Ah, Kit. Look there, girl,” he said, pointing at Lady. “You’ve earned the love light.”

Puzzled, Kit looked at Lady. “What light?” she said.

“In her eyes, girl. In her eyes. See how her expression changes when she looks at you? It’s the love light shining from within.” He played a few random notes on the harmonica. “Lucky we are when we’re seen through the light of love,” he said, “be it shining in the eyes of human or beast. Some folks go all their days without ever seeing it directed at them. It’s a splendid, special look. Cherish it.”

He began playing, “Sweet Sixteen,” and Kit hummed along as she led Lady out to the exercise yard.

As Kit played with Lady, she paid careful attention to the way Lady looked at her. Mr. Morrison was right. Lady’s whole face seemed to glow from within whenever Kit spoke to her. The love light was indeed a splendid, special look.

That night, she told Tracy about Lady and about what Mr. Morrison had said. Tracy had come over to do homework together, but as usual, they spent most of the time talking about other things.

When Kit tried to explain the love light, Tracy nodded. “I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “I never heard it called that before, but I’ve seen it.”

“You have? Where? Who?”

“When my cousin got married. I got chills up my arms when I saw how he and his bride looked at each other. It was so—so adoring. Like they’d love each other always, no matter what happened.”

“You sound like Frankie,” Kit said.

“You’re right. I didn’t think of it until now but at my cousin’s wedding, I saw what Frankie sees in the play. Love light.”

“It’s beautiful,” Kit said. “And it’s exactly the way Lady looks at me.”

“Personally, I’d rather see some love light in the eyes of a tall, dark and handsome young man,” Tracy said, “but if you can’t have that, a dog will do.”

“Lady is such a sweet dog,” Kit said. “It just breaks my heart to see how she looks at me when I leave.”

“I’m really proud of you for volunteering there,” Tracy said. “It must be awful to see all the unwanted dogs and cats in cages. I don’t think I could do it. No wonder they love you.”

Before Kit could respond, Tracy jumped up and cried, “Oh, I can’t stand it! I have to tell you!”

“Tell me what?”

“I am so proud of you for volunteering that I did something about it.” She assumed her Harriet Headline voice. “
HONORS HEAPED ON UNSELFISH GIRL
,” she cried. “
POPE GRANTS SAINTHOOD
.”

Apprehension flitted on the edges of Kit’s mind. “What do you mean?” she said. “What did you do?”

Tracy’s eyes danced and she spoke slowly, as if she wanted to drag out the suspense.

“You know the Good Citizen Award at school? The one they give at Awards Night on the last day of school, when they give the Ninth Grade Scholarship and the sports letters and all?”

Kit nodded warily while her insides rollercoastered.

“You might get it.” Tracy beamed, looking as if she would explode at any minute if she didn’t get to tell more.

“Me? Why would I get it?”

“Because I nominated you.” Tracy plunked down on the edge of Kit’s bed. “I saw the nomination blanks in the school office. It was the same day you told me you were going to do volunteer work with homeless animals and I thought, if anybody deserves a Good Citizen Award, it’s Kit. So I put down why I was nominating you and today in the mail, there was a letter saying that you are one of the finalists.”

Triumphantly, Tracy whisked the letter from her purse and thrust it at Kit.

Kit opened it and began to read.
We are happy to inform you that your nominee, Kit Hathaway, has been chosen as a
finalist for the Good Citizen of the Year Award. We agree that her volunteer work at The Humane Society is worthy of recognition. The winner will be announced
 . . .

Kit quit reading and looked at Tracy. She was serving a sentence for shoplifting; she couldn’t possibly accept any kind of award for volunteer work.

“Even if you don’t win, you’ll get an Honorable Mention certificate, for being a finalist. Isn’t that great?”

Slowly, Kit handed the letter back to Tracy. “I can’t accept any award,” Kit said. “You’ll have to withdraw my nomination.”