Except for a big black spot like a saddle on its back, it was all white—white fur as silky as angel hair. “Her name shall be Rapunzel,” Lou announced, since she’d just read that story. They carried her home, into the house and down to the t? room, where—a surprising sight—their father was lounging on the couch with his arm around their mother. “What have you got there?” he asked, grinning. Their mother said,“A little kitty cat.” “Let’s see him,” their father said. Sandy said,“She’s a girl.” When they handed Rapunzel to their father, she struggled, but he held her tightly in his big hands, turning her around and lifting up her tail. “She’s a girl, all right,” he said. “See here?” he said to their mother, pointing under Rapunzel’s tail. “This here’s a pencil sharpener.” He made a whirring noise and pretended he was going to sharpen his finger. It turned out that the girls didn’t need the sales pitch they’d worked out on the way home. “You better tear up some newspapers and make a litter box,”
