The Rolling Fruit Cart

Pip was already on the hunt.

The skinny gray-and-white cat with one crooked ear and a striped tail crouched beside the morning market stalls in Cloverbell Alley, nose twitching at the smell of warm bread, wet cobblestones, and the first sweet fruit of the day. A peach had just been set on a crate, bright and soft as a sunset. Beside it, apples shone red and green in little piles. Pip’s paws kneaded the stones. Fresh food always seemed to arrive too quickly for him to ignore.

Then the cart holding the fruit gave a sharp wobble.

One wheel clipped a stone. The cart tipped. Peaches bounced. Apples rolled. A round pear shot straight toward the gutter, and the whole cart began to skitter downhill through Cloverbell Alley. Pip sprang after it, quick as a flick of a tail, but the alley was crowded with rolling fruit now, and he had to dodge past a peach, then another, then an apple that thumped against his paw.

At the corner, the baker’s delivery wagon was turning in, its big wooden side coming closer and closer. Nora, the small elderly woman with silver hair in a bun and a mustard cardigan, lifted both hands. Milo, the little boy in a red cap and patched blue overalls, took one surprised step backward.

The fruit was spilling everywhere.

Now the alley was a tangle of peaches, apples, and worried feet, and Pip could see the wagon coming straight toward the mess. He had to decide fast: dash ahead for the runaway fruit, call for help from Nora, or rush to warn the baker’s wagon before the whole street got jammed.