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spent the least possible time housekeeping, now upset the household by a thorough cleaning. Socks had to rewash his paws after he walked across the kitchen floor wet from the mop. The vacuum cleaner drove him from one room to another, and the smell of the ammonia that Mrs. Bricker used to wash the windows drove him out of the house. Theonly good that came from all this housecleaning was the disappearance of dust from under the bed. Socks could now retreat in safety without sneezing.
    Cooking came next. Mrs. Bricker dumped Socks out the back door, so he would not be underfoot. He watched from the windowsill while she made a molded salad, experimented with cake mixes, and tried meat-loaf recipes. Not long afterward, Mr. Bricker, carrying luggage, walked into the house with a thin, brisk woman whom he called Mom but referred to as Nana. Mr. Bricker’s mother had arrived to spend her two weeks’ vacation visiting her son and his family.
    Socks could tell right away that Nana was no Mrs. Risley. He sniffed her luggage for a clue to its contents and then turned his back on all the greetings and washed himself. Exclamations of “Nana’s precious is a bigboy! Yes, he is!” and “He looks just like his father when he was the same age!” bored Socks. Nana, unlike Mrs. Risley, did not understand the importance of a cat.
    After Mr. Bricker’s mother had admired her grandson, given the family presents, and been taken on a tour of the house, she said, “Bill, I didn’t know you kept a cat.” Socks sensed all eyes were on him and looked up from his washing. He saw that Charles William was sitting on his mother’s lap staring at his grandmother’s shining hair, which was the color of iced tea.
    â€œGood old Socks. He’s quite a character,” said Mr. Bricker. Then to change the subject, he remarked, “What have you done to your hair? It looks different.”
    â€œThat is between me and my hairdresser.” Nana smiled and changed the subject back again. “Are you sure it’s a good idea, keeping a cat when there’s a baby in the house?”
    Mrs. Bricker was quick to defend their pet. “Socks is a clean, healthy cat, and we love him. He’s a member of the family.”
    Socks delicately washed the pink pads on his right front paw.
    Nana was not convinced. “Some babies are allergic to cats.”

    â€œNot our boy,” said Mrs. Bricker. “Charles William hasn’t shown any sign of allergy.” She took hold of her son’s big toe, and said, “He’s a big healthy boy. Yes, he is.” Charles William, who was drooling because he was teething, looked pleased.
    â€œThis little piggy went to market,” said Mrs. Bricker, wiggling one rosy toe.
    â€œIg-gig-gig,” said Charles William.
    â€œBut aren’t you afraid the cat might scratch the baby?” persisted Nana, her glance resting on the frayed corner of the loopy chair where Socks sharpened his claws.
    â€œNot really,” said Mrs. Bricker. “I do keep an eye on him when they’re in the same room, but he’s very patient with Tiffy, the little girl next door. When she picks him up around the middle, he doesn’t even struggle. He goes limp until she puts him down, and then he runs away.”
    â€œYou can’t be too careful around a baby.”Nana was not persuaded that Socks should remain a member of her son’s family.
    Socks soon found the grandmother’s visit a trial. Everything he did was wrong. When he tried to jump on her lap, his claw snagged her knit dress and he was scolded. Her nylon stockings dancing over the heat vent as they dried in the bathroom were irresistible to him, and he could not understand why she felt he had misbehaved when he pulled them down and played with them. Couldn’t she understand that a cat needed to play? When Nana settled on the couch to knit a sweater for her grandson, Socks was so