Underdog by Marilyn Sachs

your new brother,” said Mrs. Firestone. “Clark, Norma, Errol, Theda, Eleanor, Franklin ... make him welcome.” Poor little Gus began trembling again and Mrs. Firestone said, “He’ll get used to them but let’s go inside for now. I’ll give him some sardines and maybe that will make him feel better.”
    “But suppose he doesn’t like sardines?”
    “We’ll find something for him to eat, don’t worry. I had a cat once who only ate blue cheese.”
    “I can go shopping, Mrs. Firestone. I have plenty of money to buy him some dog food and maybe I should get him a bed.”
    “No bed,” said Mrs. Firestone. “I’ll fix up something for him, don’t you worry.”
    We went into the kitchen and old Spencer stood up unsteadily and started barking.
    “Now you stop it, Spencer,” said Mrs. Firestone. “I expect you to behave like a gentleman. And you too, Rudolph,” she said to the large brown dog who had followed us in. I sat down with Gus in my lap and Rudolph came over to sniff. He didn’t seem to find anything wrong because he rested his head, just for a second, in my lap, next to Gus’s, let me pat his head, and then moved off, following Mrs. Firestone to the refrigerator.
    She put a plate of sardines down on the floor in front of Spencer and a plate of bologna pieces in front of Rudolph. She watched them proudly as they ate. “They’re just like people,” she said. “Some things they like and some things they don’t. You have to respect their tastes.”
    When I tried to set Gus down on the floor he just collapsed. So I picked him up again and Mrs. Firestone brought a dish of sardines over to him. She held it up to his nose and crooned, “There now, Gus. Try some of these delicious sardines. Build up your strength, dear.” A little of the sardine juice spilled on my lap but Gus turned away his face and refused to eat.
    “Just be patient, Izzy,” said Mrs. Firestone. “You’ll see, he’ll get used to us.”
    For a while, it seemed as if she was going to be right. At first, Gus sat in my lap,, watching. Then he began stirring. I could feel it and I even was able to set him down on the floor. The other two dogs inched their way over toward him and the sniffing introductions began. Spencer suddenly began wagging his old tail.
    “See,” said Mrs. Firestone, “he remembers Gus. See how smart he is.”
    Gus stood still as the other dogs checked him over and then, as they moved off, he seemed almost ready to follow them and to survey his new surroundings.
    It was not to be. Through the open door at the back a large, furious cat came charging into the room. She flew over to Gus, arching her back, and screaming at him. Gus turned and leaped into my lap. I could feel his little body trembling and then, from out of his throat came the saddest sound I had ever heard in my whole life —a despairing, defeated howl of terror.
    “Oh dear,” said Mrs. Firestone. “I forgot all about Loretta.”
    But Gus had not and there was no way to make him forget. Mrs. Firestone locked Loretta out of the house. She tried to coax Gus out of my lap with tidbits of bologna and pieces of doughnuts. Gus refused to budge. He stayed trembling in my lap, his head buried against me.
    “He’ll be all right,” Mrs. Firestone said. “This time I’ll really give Loretta a good talking to. You just leave him here, Izzy, and I’m sure it will work out.”
    But I knew I could not leave him, not ever again.
    Nobody was home when I returned at four o’clock. Gina had already left for her class and the house looked even whiter and cleaner than usual.
    I carried Gus into the guest room and held him in my lap and I told him what had happened to me in the past seven years since they had separated us.
    My aunt found us there. I heard her as she came through the front door. “Izzy,” she called, “Izzy, are you home?”
    “Yes,” I said, “I’m home.”
    I could hear the sound of her steps coming closer and I held on to Gus and