Chapter 4 – Kiki's big surprise

THE HUGE noise terrified Jiji.  She stopped running and tried to make herself small.  Maybe the monster wouldn’t see her.  The van screeched and snarled and stopped—right on top of her.  Shivering in fear, she crawled forward to take a look.
    The mobile monsters were everywhere.  She dashed forward.  Luck was with her and she made it across the street without getting squashed.  She sniffed, peed in gratitude, and raced down an alley.
    Jiji spent the night in a nearby park.  She lay exhausted and hungry under a bush.  A temple bell sounded.  Not far away a couple laughed.  Their footsteps scratched at the dirt path, their whispers reached out to Jiji.
    The puppy opened her eyes.  The lights in the park were dim, leaving everything in unfriendly shadow.  She closed them again.  Her future was cloudy and beyond her ability.  Her past and her present were bad enough.  ”I don’t want to see.  I don’t want to know,” she cried.  The boy and girl strolled away, slipping into darkness.  She listened as a small wind pushed the leaves back in forth in the trees.  She smelled the damp earth beneath her, felt its coldness in her belly.
    Hunger forced her from her hiding place as sunlight turned the park from black to gray.  The puppy crept up to the edge of the playground, sniffing desperately.  Something floated in the air—something like food.  With a leap and an eager growl, Jiji charged across the dirt, swerved around a swing set, and tumbled to a stop in front of a green trashcan.
    Sniff, sniff—she found no puppy chow; she found nothing much at all.  All the best smells were inside the trashcan and impossible to reach.  Jiji circled the trash, her nose brushing the ground with determination.  A crumpled paper container invited closer inspection.  It looked interesting and smelled even better.
    Food, absolutely food!  Her nose twitched, telling her it was safe.  Her tongue told her it was delicious.  In years to come, Jiji would never forget raspberry and vanilla—and even the tiniest bite of ice cream would make her happy.
    Feeling stronger, she spotted a crust of bread a few meters away.  She ran toward it licking her lips.  A shadow passed over her.  Jiji was too young and too hungry to look up.
    Kiki blinked, confused by the darkness.  She grabbed the alarm clock off the table, glanced at its glowing face and groaned.  Five in the morning.  She rolled over and buried her head in her pillow.
    Ten minutes later, wide awake and extremely grumpy, she gave up on sleep and got out of bed.  ”It’s Sunday morning,” she grumbled, trading her Tweetie nightshirt for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a big heart on the front.
    Kiki bought a can of tea from a vending machine and walked to a park near her home.  She had never been in the park this early.  Actually, she couldn’t remember being anywhere this early.  She sat on a bench, yawned and looked around.  There wasn’t much to see.  A park like any other and for the hundredth time she wondered what she was doing up at dawn.
    Something moved across the playground.  Kiki shuddered.  It was a crow—a big, ugly, noisy bird.  ”Craw-craw,” it squawked.  ”Yuck, yuck,” Kiki answered.  Something else moved—something much smaller.
    A rat, she thought.  A nasty rat to go with the disgusting crow.  They fought, the rat and the crow, and Kiki watched.  She didn’t like rats or crows and didn’t care who won.  The conclusion was obvious anyway—the bird was ten times the size of the rodent.
    The rat broke free.  It seemed to look straight at her.  ”Help!  Help!”
    Kiki’s heart thumped and she jumped—running across the playground.  ”Stop!” she screamed.  A crow yes, but not a rat.  Not a rat!  A puppy!  She covered the distance in a few steps but not before the crow grabbed the puppy in its talons and flew into the air.
    Kiki screamed again and fired her half-empty can of tea at the fleeing bird.  Whack!  Good shot!  The can hit the crow like an anti-aircraft missile and it lost its grip.  The puppy fell a few meters and hit the ground with a dangerous sounding thud.
    Kiki knelt next to the puppy.  Its eyes were closed; a turning-blue tongue dangled from its mouth.
    ”Breathe!” Kiki begged, pushing on the dog’s chest.  The puppy’s fur was wet with sweat.  ”Please,” she whispered.  ”Please, don’t die.”
    When the puppy began to shake, Kiki picked it up and covered its nose with her mouth.  Gently, she pushed air into the dying dog.