The banditos stopped by. Mo and Joe they say their names are, but I doubt it. They always wear masks and I think they go around stealing things in the neighborhood late at night. It’s 3 a.m. and I just noticed them prowling around our deck.
“Hey, let us in,” they ask. That’s what they always want.
“Too bad,” Mo says. “So how did Bucks get out?”
“I think one of the servants left a window open. Have you seen him?”
“Yeah. We saw him last night trying to catch a mouse under your neighbor’s deck. He wasn’t doing very well at it,” Joe tells me.
“House cat,” Mo adds. “Doesn’t have the killer instinct.”
This is true. I worry for him so. He must be cold and hungry. It’s been days now.
“Please tell him to come home next time you see him.”
“Okay, we’ll do that. Don’t see why he left,” Mo says. “Seems like he had it pretty good here, but I guess the grass is always greener. . . .
“Maybe so.” I watch the bandits shuffle off into the shadows. There's so much going on outside these dark nights, and there's danger . . . the coyote. Where is Bucks I wonder. I feel so alone. I miss him so. It’s been three days now.
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