Socks
One of the books that I read several times over when I was nine is Socks by Beverly Cleary. I think I owned a copy in hardcover once upon a time, but I'm fairly certain it was DBP (destroyed by puppy) in later years.
Here's what I recall about the book, really: the main character is a cat, who does not talk. Nor does he tell the story, if memory serves; he's just the main character and it's told in close third p.o.v. Anyhoo, what I remember is that the story opens with a little girl trying to give away (or sell?) a box full of kittens, of which Socks is her favorite. A nice young couple takes Socks home, where they dote on him, although eventually the lady's lap starts shrinking. When the couple brings home a baby, poor, sweet Socks gets underfoot (and bites an old lady, I think?) and the couple gets annoyed and locks him outside. (Oh the horror! I think he even gets rained on! And maybe cold!) Then one day, Socks manages to get inside with the baby while the mother is locked outside, and the baby pulls batting out of something which Socks bats around. I still recall the words as being "thith, puth, putt!" as Socks bats at the stuffing, which came, I am nearly certain, from something that the woman worked very hard on. Or it was wallpaper. Whatever. Then Socks and the baby curl up inside the crib together and sleep, and the couple relent, and there is a happy ending.
Now, I have to confess that just after writing that last bit, I scooted over to a site that lets me look at the flap/back copy on the book, and it ends with this line, "What will it take to make Socks realize just how much the Brickers care about him?" And I have to admit to being SHOCKED. Because to my way of remembering it, that line should be "What will it take to make THE BRICKERS realize just how much the Brickers care about him?" Because really, although I remember Socks "acting out" after the baby comes, he was, after all, a cat. And it only just now occurs to me that maybe I was supposed to anthropomorphize him and make him be an older kid with a new baby. Only I didn't, because that's not how the book read to me. Grrrr to the copy writer for that flap/back copy! But I digress.
The things about this book that I really liked:
1. Rooting for the underdog. Or, in this case, the underkitty.
2. Kitty! (I must confess that now, having read Laura Ruby's The Wall and the Wing, I hear this in the same voice that I hear the Rat Man calling, "Kitty!") Who doesn't love kitties? (Rhetorical. If you don't love kitties, I don't really want to know about it.) For purposes of future discussion, I will label this "a love of animals," since, um, I just remembered a book that I really really loved and read and read and read and still have my copy of that I will talk about tomorrow. (Hint: there are animals involved. And no, it isn't Misty of Chincoteague, although I did read that book at least twice. But I don't remember much about it, even though I read it and several others like it.)
3. Looking back, I can see that what kept me going was suspense. Would Socks be adopted? Would things change when the baby came? Would Socks manage to get back into the people's good graces?
What this has in common with the other six books I've discussed thus far, all of which I read before LotR, Jane-Emily the other day, and The Borrowers, Little Men, Swiss Family Robinson, Charlotte's Web, and Lord of the Rings:
1. Rooting for the underdog (underkitty), in common with Lord of the Rings, The Borrowers, Charlotte's Web, and Little Men.
2. A love of small things. (Kitty!) Granted, a kitten/cat isn't small in the way of hobbits (Lord of the Rings) or The Borrowers or Daisy's cookware (Little Men), but still, kittens are small. And even though Socks technically aged in the book, I think I always saw him as kitten-sized, and never Morris-the-Cat sized.
3. As I said, I guess what kept me reading it was suspense. Although child me just loved that it was a book about a cat. A cat who was never anything other than a real cat, too: no talking, no boots, no uncatlike behavior. Again I say fie on the copy writer who wrote that sentence about Socks needing to realize the people still liked him. Fie!