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an extra ten dollars to the master's Diner's Club card, hails a cab, and pushes her into it. “And I don't care what happens to you, just don't come back here or you'll be sorry."
    "Am. Was.” Isabel shouts back, and then, as the cab pulls out, “Ha, ha, not Pooch,” but the manager, glad to be rid of her, gives her the finger.
    Out of sight of the pound a moment later, Isabel takes off Pooch's collar and throws it out the window. Then she settles back, looking out with an elegant bored expression and picking bits of sawdust from her sleek black coat. “To the Pla ... to the Pla ... to the Pla ... za,” she tells the driver.
    * * * *
    In the nick of time, and just after they had discovered that this lineup was not a lice check, they are informed that a kind gentleman has paid all their fines and, regardless of the nature of their crimes, this day's batch is to be released into his custody later on that very afternoon. Meanwhile, they are to return to their cages and wait quietly until the truck comes back from its daily roundup. Phillip begs to be let go with them, for they are all hoping this means freedom. “I'll give you a wonderful afternoon,” she says to the keepers. It's her only bargaining power. “You will anyway,” they tell her and immediately take her upstairs to the stockroom and visit her one by one, or as the case may be, two by two, or three by three, all afternoon until they are tired and careless, so it happens that just as the creatures to be rescued are lining up behind the truck, they see Phillip come snaking naked down the drainpipe. She joins the line when no one is looking and Pooch lends her the baby's blanket to hide not only her nakedness, but her brilliant black, yellow, and red self. Phillip is clearly exhausted and in pain, but is determined to escape with them. They hide her as best they can, and when the time comes they help her up into the truck.
    Shortly after this, while they are riding along toward the kind gentleman's place, Pooch is delighted, as are they all, with the baby's first clearly distinguishable word: No.
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Chapter 4: A New Home
    ...if that ointment really does turn me into a bird, I'll have to steer clear of the town; owls are such unlucky birds that when one blunders into a house by mistake, everyone does his best to catch it and nail it with outspread wings to the doorpost.
    â€”Robert Graves
    It's quiet and it's clean and, though a basement, what with the sun slanting down through the west windows, the red and white flowered curtains, the freshly painted walls, it's actually quite cheerful and, unlike the pound, it smells good. On the wall in a prominent place there's an old-fashioned sampler with mother in blue on a tan background. And on the couch an embroidered cushion with home is best. There's a large, lumpy, gray lady, plump and plain, who seems to be managing everything and who brings them all fresh water in brand-new bowls. They take showers and then sit down to a simple supper of kibbles and canned cat food (tuna flavored), with orange juice and carrot cake, additions procured by the doctor's wife who is, of course, the lumpy gray lady. When she hears that Pooch is a vegetarian, she brings her a nice salad and some nuts and, for the baby, some milk and later on some clean dishcloths to use as diapers.
    After that she takes all their names, “first names only, please,” (though of course some only have first names anyway) for the name tags to be put over the doors of their cages. Pooch doesn't dare say she's Pooch in case she might get Isabel in trouble or jeopardize her chances with the master in some way, so she says she's Isabel. “My, my,” the doctor's wife says, but mildly and without censure, “you have a very bad reputation. You were almost not allowed to come.” Pooch hangs her head, too ashamed to answer. It's hard enough, she thinks, accepting the name Isabel,