Searching for Candlestick Park by Peg Kehret Page B

sofa.
    “Cats aren’t meant for traveling around, meeting new situations day after day,” Hank said. “I’d bet anything that Foxey is scared half out of his fur every time he hears a dog bark, or a truck rattle past.”
    I bit my lip and looked away, knowing Hank spoke the truth.
    “Sometimes,” Hank said, “if you really love someone, you have to do what’s best for them, even if it isn’t what you want.”
    “If I take Foxey back to Aunt May’s, I won’t be able to keep him,” I said. “I’d rather have him be scared while we travel than to go home and turn him in to the pound. He’d be terrified there, and if he didn’t get adopted in a few days, he’d be killed.”
    “I’m not suggesting that you give him up. You can leave him here with me while you go on to Candlestick Park and find your dad. When you’re all settled and have a good place for Foxey, you can let me know and we’ll arrange to get him to you.”
    I knew Hank was right. Foxey would be much happier here, rolling on Hank’s kitchen floor and sleeping where it’s warm and dry, than he would be shut in a box all day, sleeping where it’s cold and damp, and getting chased by strange dogs.
    But it was scary to think of going on without Foxey. Even though he couldn’t possibly protect me from any danger, it was comforting to have him with me.
    “The whole reason I left home was so Foxey and I could stay together,” I said. “I know you’d be good to him, but . . .”
    My voice trailed away, and I swallowed hard. I couldn’t leave Foxey behind. Without Foxey, I would be all alone.
    I felt Hank’s hand on my shoulder. “He’ll probably get used to being on the road,” Hank said, “especially if you keep feeding him Big Macs.”
    I fished Foxey out from under the sofa and this time he accepted his fate. He went limp as I put him in the box.
    Hank wrote his address and phone number on a slip of paper. “If you need help,” he said, “call me collect, any time-day or night. Or come back here, if you need a place to bunk.”
    “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”
    “Promise me you’ll call if you need help.”
    “I promise.”
    “Safe journey,” he said.
    Hank held out his hand and I shook it. When I tookmy hand away, there were two twenty dollar bills in my palm.
    “The Greyhound Bus office is in a health food store, just down the street from the appliance store where we watched the ball game,” he said. “The bus stops right in front, and it leaves for San Francisco at noon.”
    I threw my arms around Hank and hugged him.
    “I wish I had more to give you,” he said, “but it’s the end of the month. Money’s always tight then and I don’t like to dip into my savings unless it’s an emergency.”
    “I’ll repay you,” I said, “as soon as I can.”
    “This isn’t a loan; it’s a gift.”
    He went out on the porch and watched me leave. At the corner, I looked back and waved, thinking how odd it was that a man old enough to be my grandfather had become my best friend.
    BUS TICKETS . The sign was inside the health food store, just as Hank had said. I walked to the counter.
    “I’d like a ticket to San Francisco,” I said.
    “One way or round trip?”
    “One way. Can my bike go in with the luggage?”
    “It can if it’s a collapsible bike. You can’t take your cat, though.” She pointed toward the front window.
    I turned and looked. Foxey’s head stuck out between the lid and the bottom of the box, and he was trying to squeeze out. The rubber bands that secured the topof the box to the bottom broke, and Foxey jumped to the ground.
    I dashed for the door, but as soon as I was outside, I stopped. I knew if I moved too fast, Foxey might panic and run.
    “Hey, big guy,” I said softly. “You don’t want to run loose around here. This is no place for a cat.” While I talked, I inched toward him.
    Foxey crouched beside the bike, with his tail flapping nervously from one side to the other.