Rags looked up and said, "Woof!" which meant in dog language, "I need
a home."
Rags didn't see the cat on the arm of the man's chair. He didn't know
she was there until, arching her back, she sprang forward and landed
on his face.
"Rrrow!" she screeched. Her claws were sharp. She was telling him,
"This is my home! GO AWAY!"
Rags ran. "Yip-yip-yip-yip-yip," he cried. He ran and ran. The houses
were smaller now, and not so close together. He saw some boxes on a
vacant lot. He went over, crawled into one, and went to sleep.
The boxes belonged to a little boy named Gary. He was building a
playhouse with them. And as soon as he had carried in the wood and
swept the walks, he would call, "Grandma, everything's done! May I
play in my box house now?"
"Yes, dear," said Grandma.
So Gary hurried to the vacant lot. He was proud of his box house. For
days he had worked, dragging the boxes to this grassy spot and
nailing them together. Carefully, he crawled inside.
There in the corner lay Rags ... fast asleep!
"Why you poor little dog!" cried Gary
Rags woke up.