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little while longer, but Pumpkinfacehead isn’t coming out, so eventually the Girl gives up and goes downstairs.
    “What is your problem?” StingRay scolds, as soon as they are alone.
    “Mngew.”
    “You don’t go running around in front of the people. Just stay still and quiet when they’re here!”
    “Mngew.”
    “I think she’s scared,” Lumphy says. “That’s why she ran. Don’t be scared, little kitty. We won’t hurt you.”
    “Mngew. Mngew. Mngew.”
    “Doesn’t it say anything else?” whispers StingRay. “It doesn’t seem very intelligent, frankly.”
    “Do you say anything else?” Lumphy asks Pumpkinfacehead. “It’s okay if you don’t. We’ll still like you. It’s just that we’re curious. And we really enjoy having conversations,” he adds.
    While he is talking, Pumpkinfacehead’s eyes have been focusing on a bagel chip, left over from the farm game. The chip is lying on the carpet, dirty and fuzzy.
    In a movement so quick it makes Lumphy grunt in shock, the kitty shoots out from under the bed and pounces on the bagel chip, then bats it across the floor, bounces it off the toy box, claws it viciously—and eats it.
    “Did you see that?” Lumphy whispers.
    “I’m sitting next to you,” says StingRay. “Of course I saw it.”
    “What does it mean?”
    “She’s very fast. What do you mean, what does it mean?”
    “Pumpkinfacehead ate that bagel chip.”
    “So? No one else wanted it.”
    “No, she
really
ate it,” says Lumphy. “She’s an eating type of kitty.”
    Oh.
    StingRay ponders Pumpkinfacehead, who is now running around the room at top speed, leaping halfway onto bits of furniture and falling down, all for no reason. “She’s like a people kitty. She moves like people. She eats like people. But she doesn’t talk like people. All she says is ‘Mngew.’ ‘Mngew’ and nothing but ‘Mngew.’ ”
    “She’s a cat,” pipes up Sheep. “That’s the reason.”
    “Of course she’s a cat,” says StingRay. “We all know she’s a cat.”
    “A real cat,” says Sheep.
    “What does
that
mean?” StingRay asks.
    “She eats,” explains Sheep. “She doesn’t just chew.”
    “Real is when you eat,” says Lumphy, pondering.
    “Um hm,” says Sheep. “They like tuna.”
    StingRay thinks this idea about real and eating explains some weird things she’s seen on television.
    But Lumphy isn’t sure Sheep is right.
    He
feels real.
    As real as Pumpkinfacehead.
    Just different.
    . . . . .
    It is late at night when the problem begins. StingRay is asleep on the high bed with the little Girl. Sheep doesn’t sleep there anymore, so she and Lumphy are watching the toy mice practice acrobatics on a fancy blue pillow with fringe. Suddenly, from under the bed, a mad orange streak zips toward the mice and attacks them with claws bared. Pumpkinfacehead nabs the smallest mouse, a gray one, and tosses it high, then flips herself around and pounces on it again when it lands.
    The other mice disappear beneath the bookcase, and Sheep rolls remarkably quickly to an out-of-the-way place underneath the rocking horse.
    That poor gray mouse is squeaking in terror. Pumpkin-facehead bats with her paw and the tiny rodent skids out of the bedroom, along the hall, and halfway down the steps. The kitten tumbles after it, tail over ears, then charges back, undaunted, to attack again. This time, she takes the mouse in her teeth and returns to the upstairs hall, where she hits it across the wooden floor.
    Lumphy is scared. He feels sick to his stomach. But he has to help that mouse. He searches the bedroom for something to throw at the kitten. Aha! A sparkly red Mary Jane shoe from the closet. He grips it in his front paws and waddles to the hall on his hind feet.
    Pumpkinfacehead is crouching, ready to spring, tail twitching and eyes darting, as the poor mouse limps across the hallway in search of somewhere to hide.
    “Stop, kitty!” cries Lumphy, so worried for the mouse he doesn’t