Gabriel had already left for the season.  Poetry the Calico Cat and Gabriel the Snowman normally had another month together and Poetry’s droopy tail expressed how she was feeling.

“Poetry, what’s the matter?” the Mrs. of the House asked.  “Are you missing Gabriel? Why don’t you come with me to the Cabin?”  The Mrs. was looking after the neighbor’s cabin while they were away.

Poetry’s tail perked right up. When they got outside she held her nose high, taking in the fresh smell of the light breeze.  She found it hard to believe it was still February. Birds she normally didn’t hear until April were singing their announcement-of-Spring songs. 

The Cabin stood not far away behind their house on the other side of their woods.  Poetry had explored her woods many times and had seen the Cabin, but had never ventured beyond the old fence that separated their properties. 

As they made their way over the pine needles that covered the path, Poetry caught a glimpse of the Cabin.  This was truly an adventure!  The Mrs. found a spot where the old barbed wire lay on the ground.  They both carefully stepped over the wire into Sun’s light.  There in a small clearing nestled among some old tall pines sat the Cabin in all its mysteriousness. 

Poetry loved mysteries!  She loved to investigate and explore.  But she was not prepared to discover what—or should I say who—awaited her just inside the Cabin door.  Two large cats! 

Perhaps Poetry wouldn’t have been so startled if the two cats hadn’t been right at the door when it opened.  They were quite eager to hear the turn of the key in the lock.  They weren’t prepared, either, to see Poetry standing there.  Once Poetry was inside the three cats circled each other as though they had just made up a little dance of their own.  Poetry’s thoughts began to form themselves into a poem:

                    Around and around I dance

                    With two cats I do not know

                    But I gladly take the chance

                    To put on a little show.

The sound of the Mrs.’s voice brought Poetry’s attention back to the Cabin.  It was then she realized how rude she’d been.  She felt embarrassed as the Mrs. introduced her to George and Molly who were brothers!  What a strange name for a guy, Poetry thought.  But she didn’t want to be rude again and ask Molly about it. 

Poetry’s attention was once again drawn to the Cabin. Something about it reminded her of Mamaw’s house.  Mamaw’s southern pine walls had never been painted.  The cabin’s chestnut logs, held together by bits of stones and mortar, had never been painted either.  Maybe it was the smell of the old wood that reminded her of Mamaw’s! Or perhaps the ticking of the clock on the wall reminded Poetry of Mamaw’s clock on the mantle above her fireplace. 

Just then Sun came through the window as the clouds parted and suddenly Poetry had thoughts of lying on Mamaw’s kitchen floor enjoying the warmth of Sun as it came through Mamaw’s back door early in the morning. 

By now Poetry was lost so deep in her thoughts she hadn’t realized that George and Molly had followed the Mrs. into the kitchen to be fed.  George was first in line, while Molly waited his turn; that is, until the bowl of food was set on the floor.  Then it was each to his own!

Meanwhile, Poetry had heard a little noise coming from the old stone fireplace.  The opening was large enough for her to stand on her hind legs and still not touch the top of the opening.  This noise interested Poetry.  Was there someone hiding behind the logs?  Another cat maybe?  Slowly Poetry inched closer and closer.  Her ears were very stiff and pointed forward now.  She didn’t want to miss the slightest movement.   She crept closer and closer and thought she was about to find the culprit when the noise stopped.  Just then George and Molly came strolling out of the kitchen. First George, then Molly.  They seemed to have forgotten about Poetry because they each stopped and began licking their paws.  All this distracted Poetry and she lost her concentration. The noise would have to wait for another day to be discovered anyway because the Mrs. was ready to leave. 

As Poetry followed the Mrs. along the pine needle-strewn path she thought about that mysterious noise in the fireplace and couldn’t wait to return to the Cabin the next morning. 

The day began as it always did—a big stretch and yawn, followed by the smell of freshly brewed coffee, which meant food awaited her in the kitchen under the table.  Poetry liked eating under the table because it made her feel a part of the family.  But she did have to watch out for eager little feet that couldn’t hold still sometimes.  The littlest boy always swung his legs back and forth whenever he talked.  It was as though he was pumping an organ to get the sound to come out. 

Soon Poetry was following the Mrs. of the House through the woods to the Cabin.  George and Molly eagerly greeted them at the Cabin’s double door.  Poetry thought how nice it must be in the summer when both doors were left open.  George and Molly, who never ventured out-of-doors, probably spent a great deal of time looking through the screens at the many birds and squirrels that visited their front yard.  Poetry wondered if George and Molly minded not going outside.  Maybe they’d like to hear all of her stories. 

On this visit the Mrs. was busy watering all the houseplants, so Poetry had a chance to visit with George and Molly when they finished eating.  She asked them about being house cats and told them what it was like to be a house cat and an outdoor cat.  She was glad she was both because she didn’t want to give up her naps by the fireplace.  Fireplace!  She suddenly remembered about the noise!  She asked Molly if he’d ever heard the noise.

“What noise?” Molly asked.  “The one in the fireplace,” Poetry said again.  Molly acted as surprised as Poetry had been when she’d first heard it.  “Let’s go see,” Molly quickly announced.  Meanwhile, George, who’d been licking his fur during this conversation, looked up to find Poetry and Molly in the fireplace.

“What are you two doing?” George questioned.  Before they could answer the Mrs. came over to see what was going on.  “Poetry, what are you up to?  We have to be going.”  Oh, this won’t do, thought Poetry.  She was never going to get to the bottom of this.  Reluctantly she followed the Mrs. out the front door, all the while thinking of a plan. 

When Molly hadn’t heard the noise after a few minutes he decided it was all in Poetry’s imagination and jumped up onto the cabinet to take his morning nap in Sun’s light, which always kept its appointment—at least on cloudless days. 

That evening Poetry decided to put her plan into action.  Moon was full so she had plenty of light by which to see her way along the path.  Even though Snow had appeared earlier in the evening (the weather couldn’t seem to make up it’s mind!!) she managed to find the spot where she could safely cross the barbed wire.  Soon she was at the Cabin window; but how would she get in?  It was then she noticed the tree that stood along side the Cabin behind the chimney.  She had an idea.  She’d climb the tree, jump to the roof, and listen down the chimney.  As cats are very good at this, she had no trouble, but what she didn’t count on was the loose stones.           Down she went into the chimney!  When she hit the top of the closed flue she was grateful for the pile of snow that had accumulated earlier in the evening.  Although she was cold, at least she wasn’t hurt. 

All the noise had brought George and Molly to the fireplace opening.  “Do you suppose that’s the noise Poetry was talking about?”  Molly whispered to George.  But then they heard Poetry meow telling them it was she.  George, who was much bigger than Poetry, was able to reach up inside the chimney and pull on the lever that opened the flue.  In tumbled Poetry.  She landed on her feet on top of the logs.  Once she climbed out of the fireplace she immediately began to lick her wet fur. 

“What are you doing?” George exclaimed.  “Why are you here this time of night…and in the chimney??!”  George sounded perturbed.  For one thing he’d been in the middle of a fantastic dream when all the commotion began.  For another thing, he’d been scared out of his wits at first.  Molly was still a little shaken because his imagination tended to make things scarier than they really were.  He was very relieved to see it was Poetry and not something else. 

Poetry dried herself off and began to explain her purpose in coming and apologized for her surprise entrance.   Once everyone had calmed down they began to wonder how Poetry would get home.  She couldn’t climb up the chimney—it was too smooth on the inside.  And all the doors were locked.  She decided to make the best of her situation and not to worry about it—at least not for now.  Everyone settled down in their own spot to sleep the rest of the night—hopefully. 

It wasn’t long, however, before Poetry was awakened by the same sound she’d heard the day before. It couldn’t be coming from the chimney—she knew that for sure.  So where was it coming from? She sniffed around the hearth.  It extended out into the room and was made from the same large stones the chimney was made from.  Since the Cabin backed up to the cliff, Poetry figured that’s where they’d gotten the stones to build the fireplace.  The cliff was another place Poetry wanted to explore.  She knew it was there because each morning Sun would take so long to appear over it in the winter.  Poetry loved the outline of the cliff through the leafless trees.  And it was always fun to see Sun suddenly appear in the morning as though it were playing hide and seek and had just popped out and yelled,  “Here I am!” 

Now, though, she had to stop thinking about Sun and concentrate on the sound.  She stood very still, hardly breathing.  She not only listened with her ears, but with her eyes as well.  Silence…..then she saw it.  One of the smallest stones on the side of the fireplace just inside the opening seemed to be loose.  Poetry sniffed it, and then touched it lightly with her paw.  The noise stopped for a moment.  Poetry backed away to get a better look.  The noise started again and the stone began to move.  This was really getting mysterious now. 

Just then Molly, who’d been quietly creeping up behind Poetry, meowed, “Did you find something?”  This startled Poetry so much that she jumped up, striking her head on the fireplace.  “Oh, no!” Molly cried.  “Are you all right?” Poetry was too busy looking at the stars that danced before her eyes to answer.  By now George had arrived on the scene.  Poetry had recovered and all three cats were standing inside the fireplace—just in time to see the loose stone fall onto the floor. 

There in the dark hole where the stone had been was what looked like two hot coals staring back at them. No one wanted to move.  Finally it was George who managed to find the words, “Who, who’s there?”  A little voice nervously answered back, “Connor Chipmunk.” 

The cats liked Chipmunks (not what you’re thinking, but in a nice way).  They invited him in to get warm.  Connor was delighted to have some new friends.  He explained because it had been so warm he thought he’d store up some more acorns he’d found in case it got cold again.  The surprise Snow that evening made him even more anxious to find a place to hide his food.  He’d seen the hole on the outside of the chimney and wanted to make the storage area even deeper.  So when he found the stone was loose he decided to push it in as far as he could.  He was just as surprised to see three pairs of eyes staring back at him! 

After they’d all chatted for almost an hour Poetry noticed how light it was becoming and began to fret about getting home.  She didn’t want the Mrs. to be worried when she got up and found her missing.  When Poetry didn’t show up for breakfast she’d really be worried!

Connor, like the efficient little Chipmunk that he was, said “No sweat, Poetry.  I can show you a way out.”  Connor had explored every inch of the Cabin on the outside looking for a good place to hide his nuts and berries.  Unfortunately, he forgot that Poetry was much bigger than he was and couldn’t possibly squeeze through the openings he’d found. 

George, who’d been quiet pretty much of the time, had an idea. He knew that there was a key hanging on a hook near the back door.  Maybe Connor could jump from the counter on to the ledge above the key, knock it to the floor, and then Molly could unlock the door and turn the doorknob. 

It took Connor a couple tries, but finally Poetry was on her way home.  George and Molly got the door closed but they wouldn’t be able to put the key back.  Poetry had an idea about that. 

Later that morning when Poetry came back with the Mrs. she made sure the Mrs. noticed the key in the back door.  When the Person discovered it she thought maybe her friend had just forgotten to hang the key back on its hook in her haste to leave.

 

George and Molly and Poetry all giggled at their cleverness as they rolled around on the floor together.  They were a team.  Who knows what they could do together now!