Logan and I continued. When we reached an intersection, he turned left and I turned right. I was on my own. I walked quickly, so quickly that after a couple of blocks, my legs ached. But it was worth it for Tigger.

Oh, Tiggy, where are you? I thought. That question had been worrying me since Friday. Where are you? But there was another question that was even worse. It had been worrying me since Friday, too. It was so bad, I could hardly bear to think of it. The question was, Tigger, are you alive? What if Tigger had wandered away? What if he'd been hit by a car? The driver wouldn't know whom Tigger belonged to. So he'd take my kitten to a vet and explain what had happened, and the vet would say, "I'm sorry, there's nothing we can do," and then they'd get rid of Tigger. They'd have to. He doesn't wear a collar with tags.

Dead, I said to myself as I walked along. Dead, dead, dead.

I stuck a poster in a mailbox.

Dead, dead, dead.

I came to a phone pole. Time for the thumbtacks. I pulled the box from my pocket and stuck a poster to the street side of the pole. I was putting one on the opposite side when a voice said, "Who's Tigger?" I jumped a mile. When I turned around, I found a boy who looked as if he were about ten years old. He was peering around me at the poster.

"Tigger's my kitten," I told him, trying to calm down.

The boy nodded seriously.

"Have you seen him?" I asked.

"Maybe. I guess you want him back pretty badly, don't you?" "Oh, yes," I said.

"Is there really a reward?" "Yup." "Well then, okay. Yester- um, no, let's see. The day before yesterday 1 saw a - a gray kitten with tiger stripes." "That's just like Tigger!" I cried.

"And he had short hair - I'm sure it was a he, not a she - and he was, oh, about fifteen inches long - I mean, including his tail. And, um, he answered to the name of Tigger." I looked suspiciously at the poster I'd just put up. "How did you know to call him Tigger?" I asked the boy.