Katt vs. Dogg: Chapters 33–47

Molly was doing her best to act like she wasn’t afraid. She was channeling every heroine from every movie she’d ever seen. She shot the weaselboars a bold and angry look of defiance. Of course, she was being dragged along a bumpy trail on her butt so she wasn’t sure she was totally selling the whole “you don’t scare me” thing.

Two weaselboars slashed open the rope net with their tusks. Two others nudged Molly and Oscar into a burrow beneath the shallow roots of a tree.
“It’s nice and cool down in the hole,” chortled the leader. “Just like a refrigerator. It’ll keep you chilled and fresh until the king arrives.”

“You ran back to rescue me,” said Molly. “It was like something a brother would do. If, you know, my brother wasn’t so easily distracted by bright, shiny objects. So, do you have any sibs?”
“Just one. A sister. Her name is Fifi. She’s kind of a pampered pooch. I wonder if she even misses me. She probably already stole all the toys out of my room...”

“And...weeds! More specifically, dandelions. Judging by the lag time between the dirt scent and the first hint of something wet, mustardy, and green, this wall is only six inches thick! I can dig through that in a heartbeat! Stand back, katt. The mud clods are about to fly.”

“Hee-yah!” shouted Molly, shooting out of the tunnel like a furry cannonball. She used Oscar’s head like a gymnast would a pommel horse, did a flip, a midair sideways twist, landed on his back, and, saddled behind his shoulders, was ready to ride Oscar to freedom.

“The weaselboar is in hot pursuit. He stumbled over our exit hole. That’s good. Uh-oh. He looks really, really mad. That’s bad...”
The trees thinned out. Oscar saw a cliff up ahead. A rocky precipice. And there was nothing on the other side but sky and clouds.

Molly held her breath and dared to peek down into the ravine.

Molly heard something sharp slice across Oscar’s fur.
But he didn’t wince in pain. Instead, he wagged his tail. Because he was happily watching the weaselboar’s momentum carry it over the cliff.

Molly heard something sharp slice across Oscar’s fur.
But he didn’t wince in pain. Instead, he wagged his tail. Because he was happily watching the weaselboar’s momentum carry it over the cliff.

There was a throbbing pain in the side of his chest—right where the weaselboar had nicked him with its tusk. The bloody line had turned into a scabby scar coated with little flakes of leaves. Not exactly a sterile dressing but rolling over and letting Mother Nature cake the wound had actually stopped the bleeding.

He heard something approaching. He knew he was a goner. An easy target, sprawled out in the clearing, spotlighted by the moon. Who was sneaking up to eat him? The dead weaselboar’s angry cousins or that mountain lion?

There was an ominous dun-dun-dun sound effect as the image on the screen cut to Molly’s father, Boomer Hissleton the Third, Esquire, at home in his stuffy study.

“Things aren’t quite as rambunctious back at the katt house,” the ferret told her audience.

“You sure you want to keep on hiking?” Molly asked him.
“Yeah. No problem. I’m fine.”
Maybe if Oscar hadn’t winced with excruciating pain every time he said one of those words, Molly might’ve believed him.

“You’re definitely tough, dogg.”
“Thank you.”
“And brave.”
“You, too. I used to think all katts were scaredy katts. My father says you guys are so skittish you jump at the slightest noise. You hear something—boom!—you screech, your fur shoots up, you go flying.”

“Stick out your paw, Molly, and poke up a claw!” said Oscar. “Here comes our ride!”
Molly, who was shorter than Oscar, stepped in front of him and stuck out her paw. Smiling, glad that his ordeal was almost over, Oscar stuck out his paw, too.

The dogg’s dumb idea was actually working. They were on their way home! They just had to sit back, relax, and leave the driving to the weaselboar who, hopefully, was on his way to Great Western Park campsite to steal food scraps out of garbage cans or something. They rambled along for ten full minutes.

Oscar looked up. There were birds of prey circling overhead. He figured they were biding their time, waiting to clean up any carcass scraps the weaselboar left behind after it demolished Oscar and Molly.

This time Oscar leapt up, a split second before the monster could head-butt him. Once again, the weaselboar slammed into the wooden wall of the cargo bed. It staggered and swayed and lurched and tottered.

This time Oscar leapt up, a split second before the monster could head-butt him. Once again, the weaselboar slammed into the wooden wall of the cargo bed. It staggered and swayed and lurched and tottered.

It made itself the perfect target.
Not for Oscar, but for the big eagles swooping around overhead. A pair dive-bombed the truck, snagged the weaselboar by the scruff of its neck with their sharp talons, and together hauled it up, up and away!

In fact, by the sixth hour of their grueling hike up the mountain road, they were hungry and confused enough to eat the bark off the trees.

She tried to pounce. But her legs felt like they were made out of bricks. She’d lost all her slyness, all her stealth, all her springiness.

The Great Western Frontier Park really was magical, just like everybody said. Even katts and doggs, sworn enemies for life, could get along out here if they tried. Either that, or this was all one giant coincidence with an order of purple berry mush on the side.

Molly ran and Oscar hobbled across the peak of Crooked Nose Mountain to a switchback trail on the other side.

That same morning, in Faunae City, where the United Federation of Animals kept its capitol, the head magistrate, a hippopotamus in black robes, was listening to complaints from his constituents.

That same morning, in Faunae City, where the United Federation of Animals kept its capitol, the head magistrate, a hippopotamus in black robes, was listening to complaints from his constituents.

The paparazzi—the news crews and freelance photographers who followed the katt and dogg families everywhere they went—snapped pictures and filmed video clips.

The paparazzi—the news crews and freelance photographers who followed the katt and dogg families everywhere they went—snapped pictures and filmed video clips.

Five burly guards—four big gorillas aided by an elephant—came in and broke up the dogg and katt fight.