"Rrrow!" she screeched. Her claws were sharp. She was telling him,
"This is my home! GO AWAY!"
Rags ran. "Yip-yip-yip-yip-yip," he cried. He ran and ran. The houses were smaller now, and not so close together. He saw some boxes on a vacant lot. He went over, crawled into one, and went to sleep.
The boxes belonged to a little boy named Gary. He was building a playhouse with them. And as soon as he had carried in the wood and swept the walks, he would call, "Grandma, everything's done! May I play in my box house now?"
"Yes, dear," said Grandma.
So Gary hurried to the vacant lot. He was proud of his box house. For days he had worked, dragging the boxes to this grassy spot and nailing them together. Carefully, he crawled inside.
There in the corner lay Rags … fast asleep!
"Why you poor little dog!" cried Gary
Rags woke up.
He said, "Woof. Woof!"
Gary understood him.