Snakes Don't Miss Their Mothers Read Online Free Page B

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    â€œGuess what!” Mrs. Splinter said. “The Star-Tintrees had a party today.”
    It was her custom to babble away as she went among the animals. But the Star-Tintrees’ having a party was hardly a guess what, Irving thought. That family was always having parties. When Irving was their Christmas dog, they had a party for fifteen—five kids from the Ross School and their parents.
    Once, for a party, Mrs. Tintree had borrowed Placido. As she began to sing “Soft I Am and Purr I Do,” Placido had jumped from her lap, run behind Ginny and Nell’s expensive printed linen drapes, and tangled himself up in them until he brought them down with a crash.
    He had been returned to Critters in disgrace, marching angrily about the cat room, his tail whipping in the air, his dignity outraged.
    Mrs. Splinter continued talking to the animals waiting for their Christmas stockings. “Guess what! The Star-Tintrees hired Placido’s new owner to play Santa Claus! He might still be there, Catherine. You might meet him and learn how Placido is doing. Ginny Tintree left the party just to come here for you.”
    Never one to lose her gambling spirit, even in blissful moments, Catherine sat on her haunches and said, “Who wants to bet that when I come back from the Star-Tintrees’ in three days, Placido will be here?”
    â€œYou have nothing left to bet,” said Irving.
    â€œJust bet,” said Catherine. “We don’t have to bet anything.”
    â€œNo one wants to bet just to bet,” said Irving. “Relax, Catherine, if you know how.”
    Everyone joined in as Mrs. Splinter came back to take Catherine away on her leash. “Merry Christmas, Catherine! We’ll miss you!”
    â€œMerry Christmas!” Catherine answered, even though she had no idea what it really meant, or what people did on Christmas. She had spent most of her life at a track kennel in a stacked cage. She had been let loose only four times a day in a small turnout pen, to do number one and number two.
    Marshall dangled woefully from a branch of the plastic palm tree a volunteer had contributed to his cage. Then he slumped to the wood chips and curled into a tight, depressed circle. Mrs. Splinter, in her excitement over Catherine’s invitation to the Star-Tintrees’, had forgotten to give Marshall his Christmas mouse.

8
Sun Lily
    C ATHERINE RODE IN THE back of the black Land Rover, her thin tail spanking the tan leather seat with excitement. Since the Star-Tintree farm was a tree farm, out in front there was a string of lights, with some last-minute shoppers buying Christmas trees. Catherine was becoming more and more excited. At the racetrack the greyhounds did not celebrate Christmas, even though there were decorative wreaths on the stall doors.
    The Land Rover went up a long driveway in the snow and stopped in front of a redbrick house.
    A small child began to jump up and down on the sidewalk.
    â€œSun Lily is here to greet you, Catherine,” said Ginny Tintree.
    The little girl with black hair and almond-shaped eyes was grinning. She had on a red sweater, red earmuffs, and black riding pants with black boots.
    Ginny opened the car door and cried out, “Sun Lily, Mummy has brought home your Christmas dog!”
    â€œHe’s a whippet!” Sun Lily said, dancing up and down.
    â€œNo, sweetheart, it’s a she and she’s a greyhound. Catherine is one of the racetrack dogs Mrs. Splinter saved from being put to sleep.”
    â€œOr being taken away by Percival Uttergore. Or being sold to a university hospital for experiments. That’s what Nell said.”
    â€œNell is right, I’m sorry to say.” Ginny Tintree had long blond hair, and she was smiling at Catherine as she waited patiently for the greyhound to step out of the car.
    â€œShe’s so scared, isn’t she, Mummy?” Sun Lily reached out to pet Catherine, who flinched, not meaning