Oscar sat down and tilted his head to the right while the katt dad scampered down out of the SUV.
Their eyes met.
The hair and hackles on Oscar’s back shot up.
The katt dad hissed. “Trust me,” he said to Oscar with disdain. “I don’t want to be here amidst you mangy mutts and mongrels, either!”
Oscar tilted his head an inch more to the right. He didn’t really know what “amidst” meant. Plus, there wasn’t a mist anywhere. No fog, either.
The katt clawed a long gouge into a fence post. When he made a splinter of jagged wood stick out, he used it like a nail to hang a sign.
It was a Missing Katt poster.
Huh, thought Oscar. Why bother looking for a lost katt?
Would anybody in the whole world miss one measly katt?
There seemed to be a billion of them running around scaring birds, tormenting mice, and yowling at the moon. One less wouldn’t matter. Plus, Oscar was on vacation. Doggs didn’t hunt for lost stuff on vacation. Except bacon. If a slab of bacon went missing, then every dogg in the park would form a search party, sniff the ground, and track it down.
The katt dad climbed back into his SUV, muttering, “Waste of a sign. Doggs can’t read. If they could, they’d beware of themselves, just like all the signs say!”
The tires on the big black vehicle shot gravel backward as it sped away.
When it stopped blocking the mess hall entrance, Oscar could, once again, savor the delish aroma of bacon grease mixed with sausage grease. He licked his chops. It was breakfast time.
“Oscar!”
Uh-oh. His tail wagged to the left.
Because his dad was screaming his name, which was still scary, even though his dad basically screamed all the time.
“Come here, boy!” said his dad. “Grab your backpack. Your mother says we need to go on a nature hike this morning.”
Oh, boy, thought Oscar. We’re heading off into the glorious, magical, marvelous park!
He loped over to where his dad, mom, and sister were waiting.
“What about breakfast?” he asked eagerly (like always).
His mother smiled. “I packed meat loaf sandwiches and bacon smoothies.”
Oh, boy, thought Oscar.
Meat loaf sandwiches and bacon smoothies were his favorites!
Chapter 7
Oscar slung his knapsack onto his back.
“Did you hear?” he said to his dad. “One of those katts we met on our first day here is missing!”
“Good,” said his father. “One less for me to chase up a tree.”
“Duke?” said Oscar’s mom. “Honestly. We’re on vacation.”
“Maybe. But a true dogg’s hatred of katts never takes a day off.”
“Totally,” said Fifi. “They’re, like, so prissy. And cheesy. Their butts smell like cheese.”
“Cheese?” said Oscar. “Is there cheese on the meat loaf sandwiches?”
“Yes, dear,” said his mother. “Peanut butter, too.”
“Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!”
Drool slobbered down the front of his shirt. His mother didn’t mind. She was drooling, too. All the doggs were. It’s what doggs do.
They hiked up a trail lined with pine bark mulch.
“This really is a magical place,” said Oscar’s mom, enjoying the scenery.
Birds chirped. Butterflies fluttered. Bees buzzed. A rainbow appeared in the sky even though it hadn’t rained. Water cascaded over a fall, sending up a very refreshing cloud of cool mist. The air was fragrant with the scent of wildflowers.
Everything was in perfect harmony.
Which meant, after about an hour, it was also kind of boring.
Oscar could only take so much perfection and magic. He needed action. Adventure. Speed!
He was also easily distracted.
Especially when a flying squirrel zoomed from one evergreen tree to another.
“Oh, boy!” cried Oscar. “Squirrel! Flying squirrel! They’re my favorite.”
He took off running. Fast!
Chapter 8
Oscar flew through the underbrush as the squirrel flew through the canopy of trees overhead.
“I’m going to get you, you nutty squirrel!” Oscar shouted. “I’m fast! Fastest player on my tennis ball team.”
“You’re not faster than me!” chirped the flying squirrel, drifting effortlessly through the air. He had a very squeaky voice. “I’m just gliding, here, pal! Not even breaking a sweat. This is so easy, I’m nibbling the nuts I’ve had stored in my cheeks since last winter. Nom, nom, nom. Delish.”
Oscar snorted the scent of the flying squirrel deep into his nostrils and stored the smell away in his brain. Now, even if he couldn’t see the squirrel, he could still chase it.
“I’m going to get you!” Oscar gloated with glee.
“You said that already,” chittered the squirrel, twenty feet overhead.
“Well, I’m going to. Oh, yes I am.”
“Oh, no, you’re not!” scoffed the squirrel as it floated between trees like an autumn leaf with a jet pack. “You’re on the ground, pal. I’m in the air.”
“I can jump!”
“Fine, pal. Jump. And while you do that, I think I’ll—oh, I don’t know—fly away!”
Oscar splashed across a shallow creek as the squirrel leapt from one tree to the next, spreading out its arms and legs to stretch its skin into a sail.
Oscar’s shirt was sopping wet. His pants were splattered with mud.
“This is fun!” he huffed.
“Fun?” laughed the squirrel. “Ha! You’re nuttier than the port-a-potty at my last family reunion!”
“So? Chasing squirrels is my favorite thing!”
“You need a new hobby, buddy!”
“My name’s not Buddy. Buddy’s my uncle. I’m Oscar! And I can run twenty-seven miles an hour!”
The squirrel kept soaring.
Oscar kept running.
Two hours later, the sun started setting. Oscar couldn’t see the squirrel against the darkening sky, but he could still smell it. So he kept running. For another hour.
In his head, he did the math.
“I’ve been running twenty-seven miles an hour for three hours. That means I’ve run… uh… really, really far.”
In fact, he’d run so far, he had no idea where he was.
Oscar was totally and completely lost.
Chapter 9
Oopsie, thought Oscar.
He put on the brakes. His tail wagged. Then it sagged between his hind legs. He was scared.
No, terrified. He’d never ever been lost before. Being lost was not one of his favorite things.
“Oh, what’s the matter, pal?” chirped the annoying flying squirrel from a high branch in a tall tree. “Run out of gas? I thought you were doggedly determined to catch me. See what I did there? I made a pun. You want another one? I once knew a dogg who wasn’t fat, he was just a little husky. Get it? Husky?”
“Help,” Oscar yipped.
“Sorry, pal. Couldn’t hear you up here.”
“Help!” Oscar shouted.
Then, he started barking it and baying it and howling it and yowling it!
“Help, help, help, help!”
He wailed for help so hard for so long, his throat started to hurt.
“Whoa!” chirped the chattering squirrel from its perch in the tree. “Give it a rest, why don’t you? Can’t nobody hear you because there ain’t nobody in this part of the park except a few squirrels, a couple birds, and, oh, yeah—a bunch of wild carnivorous beasts. Not for nothin’, but carnivorous means they like to eat meat. Dogg meat, katt meat—they ain’t particular.”
Oscar started to panic. “Help, help, help, help, help!”
“You’re so dumb, dogg,” laughed the squirrel. “You probably sit on the TV to watch the couch.”
Oscar had heard enough.
He was going to catch that darn squirrel.
He jumped as high as h
e could. About twice his length.
Oscar couldn’t jump as well as he could run. In fact, he barely reached the first branch. The squirrel, who was probably part katt, was way up in the twentieth or thirtieth limb. Oscar couldn’t count that high. He still wasn’t very good at math.
He decided to abandon his flying squirrel quest and try to find his way back to the dogg camp.
He trotted about fifty yards and came to a burbling stream trickling across a path of rocks that made excellent stepping stones.
Oscar crossed the creek—one rock at a time—then headed up into the forest. After maybe a quarter of a mile, he took a right turn at a moss-covered boulder, ran maybe another quarter of a mile, scampered down a steep slope, leapt across a narrow waterfall, hurried downstream on the far bank, turned left at a gnarled stump, right at a grass clump, then left, right, left, right until he came to a burbling stream trickling across a path of rocks that made excellent stepping stones.
He was right back where he had started.
And now the sun was completely gone. The sky was black and filled with tiny, twinkling stars. The only sounds were the creak of crickets and the soft hoot of owls.
Oscar had never been this alone before.
He was a city dogg lost in the woods—somewhere on the far edge of civilization.
His ears were back, his head bowed, and his tail was tucked tightly between his haunches.
This was not good. This was the opposite of good.
This was like when he was a puppy and used to pee on the rug in the house.
This was bad, bad, bad.
Chapter 10
But Oscar had one thing going for him. He was a determined and dedicated Dogg Scout.
Plus, he still had his backpack! And he was close enough to the creek that he didn’t have to worry about water. He could lap it straight from the stream. Which he did. For five whole minutes.
Then, paws trembling slightly, he gathered up all the kindling and broken branches he could find circling the bases of the tall trees. Stacking his wood, crisscross style, inside a circle of stones, he found the waterproof tube of wooden matches he always carried (because a Dogg Scout is Always Prepared) and, in no time, he’d made a nice, cozy fire.
Now he had warmth. And light. And the crackling pop of burning wood to drown out all the hoot owls and other spooky forest noises in the night.
“Time for supper!” Oscar said to no one in particular because he was alone.
He rummaged around in his knapsack. He didn’t find any meat loaf sandwiches wrapped in wax paper (Mom always carried those in her picnic hamper) but he did find three cans of dogg food. He popped open the one labeled BEEF AND GRAVY and poured it into his tin camping bowl. It looked delish.
Of course, Oscar was so hungry, anything would look delish. Even mashed dirt.
He stuck his face in the bowl and gobbled down his dinner.
Still hungry, he thought about opening another can.
No, he thought. Save it for breakfast.
But then, he had another thought. Both cans? You don’t need two cans of dogg food for breakfast. So you can have one for dessert and—
He stopped thinking.
Because, suddenly, the woods surrounding him were filled with scary noises and frightening scents.
And eyes. Lots and lots of glowing eyes.
One pair of eyeballs stepped out of the darkness and turned into a huge mountain lion!
Shoulders rolling, it prowled forward on padded feet.
The huge mountain lion wasn’t wearing any clothes! And it was walking on all four paws! That meant it was some kind of wild beast. The first one Oscar had ever seen.
The mountain lion crept closer.
It skulked right past him.
Right. Past. Him.
Then it stopped, turned around, and growled in Oscar’s face.
Whoa. Wild or not, the mountain lion definitely needed to brush its fangs more often. Its breath smelled like a pound of hamburger that’d been stored for a month in an ice chest without any ice.
“Hello, dogg,” the fierce mountain lion whispered in a hiss. “My, my, my. You certainly are a tempting little morsel, aren’t you? Too bad I already ate my supper. But, then again, there’s always breakfast! Not quite certain what might be on the menu tomorrow morning. Dogg, squirrel, porcupine, muskrat. So many choices. Why, it’s a veritable breakfast buffet in this neck of the woods. See you at dawn, lost little boy.”
The wild beast wandered away, licking its chops.
Oscar started frantically digging a hole so he could bury himself and hide.
Breakfast? First thing in the morning?
He’d never been more frightened in his life!
Chapter 11
That same night, in the log lodge that served as the headquarters for the Western Frontier Park, the majestic hawkowl ranger was holding an emergency meeting with the families of the missing dogg, Oscar, and the missing katt, Molly.
The two families stood on opposite sides of the great room, growling and hissing at each other.
“Madam Ranger?” said Molly’s father, Boomer. “Might we open a window or two? The dogg stench in this room is positively overpowering.”
“Is that, so, kitty litter breath?” barked Oscar’s father, Duke. “All I smell is fish. What’d you furballs eat for dinner tonight? Soup made out of the ocean?”
“Silence!” demanded the hawkowl. “Your constant bickering, barking, and caterwauling isn’t going to help us find Oscar and Molly, who, might I remind you, are both lost in the wilderness. And by wilderness I mean a dangerous and dark forest filled with wild beasts. The kind that don’t pick up their meals at the supermarket! The kind that eat whatever smells good or happens to wander across their path.”
Duke and Boomer both swallowed hard when the hawkowl said that. And then they both did something miraculous. They both shut up.
“Now then,” said the hawkowl, ruffling up her chest feathers and pacing back and forth on her perch, “I wanted to let you know that I’ve called up our elite rescue squad. The finest hybrid hunters in the world: the grizzly wolfbears and the lionodiles.”
Four enormous creatures decked out in rescue team gear marched into the meeting hall. The two grizzly wolfbears had the heads of wolves and the bodies of grizzly bears. The pair of lionodiles were half lion (the top) and half crocodile (the bottom).
“These creatures are combinations of nature’s greatest hunters,” said the hawkowl. “The two grizzly wolfbears will patrol the forests. The pair of lionodiles will search the park by swiftly swimming through its many waterways. My fellow hawkowls and I will provide air support and fly reconnaissance missions.”
One of the lionodiles, who seemed to be the leader of the rescue team, stepped forward. “We will not return until we find your children,” he proclaimed, shaking out his magnificent mane. “Even if it means getting my hair wet.”
Boomer and Duke stepped forward to shake the lionodile’s scaly hand.
“Thank you, good sir,” said Boomer.
“Yeah,” said Duke. “Thanks, pal.”
The noble lionodile nodded. “I can only imagine how you two must feel right now. For I am a father, too.”
When the rescue team leader said that, all the two fathers could do was nod.
And sniffle.
And, when they were sure the other one wasn’t watching, they both sobbed.
Chapter 12
Meanwhile, off in the dark wilderness, Oscar heard a rustling in the woods.
And it was scarily close.
Deep in his hidey-hole, Oscar started to shake all over—and not just because he was cold (his campfire had burned out and he was too terrified to search in the darkness for more wood).
It’s the mountain lion, he thought. It’s come back for a midnight snack. Me!
More rustling. Twigs snapping. Leaves softly crunching.
Wait a second. A new thought flitted across Oscar’s brain. Softly crunching? That
mountain lion was HUGE. It couldn’t softly crunch anything if it tried.
Mustering all the courage he could (it wasn’t much; his courage batteries were nearly drained), Oscar poked his head up an inch and peered over the lip of his hastily dug hole.
He did, indeed, see a katt. But it wasn’t the mountain lion, distant cousin to all the katts who lived in the city of Kattsburgh. No, it was a young girl. Maybe his own age. When she stepped into the moonlight, Oscar could see that she had white fur (well, it was kind of off-white because it was seriously matted and full of leaves, dirt, and twigs). Her blue eyes sparkled like the ones in a stuffed toy katt that Oscar chewed through once.
The katt was also missing the tip of her tail and the top of one ear.
What in the name of tug toys happened to her? Oscar wondered.
He stuck his head up a little higher. When he did, his metal Dogg Scout neckerchief clasp dinged against a rock. It pinged like a high-pitched bell. The katt’s ears shot up.
She saw Oscar and hissed.
So Oscar did what any other dogg in his situation would do.
He chased after the katt!
Chapter 13
Molly sighed once and then bolted away from the dumb dogg’s ridiculous excuse for a campsite.
Typical dogg, she thought. Forgets all about the ferocious mountain lion prowling around out here and chases after me, instead! Dad is right: doggs are dumb with a capital D.
“You’re just like my brother!” Molly shouted over her shoulder. “So easily distracted! You have the attention span of a gnat!”
“Yeah,” said the dogg from ten yards back. “I sometimes worry about that. But not for long. I’m going to get you, katt! Oh, yes I am.”
Molly ran with her head level. The dogg’s head, of course, would be bobbing up and down. Easier for the drool to drip off his flopping tongue while he panted.
Katt vs. Dogg Page 2
