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At the top, the constabulary corporal was sitting on a rock, clutching two Fuzzies, one under each arm. They stopped struggling and yeeked piteously when they saw their companion also a captive. "Your partner's down below, chasing the other one," the corporal said. "You better take these too; you know them and I don't." "Hang onto them; they don't know me any better than they do you."
"You people want dinner?" he asked. Little Fuzzy yeeked emphatically; that was a word he recognized. He took them all into the kitchen and tried them on cold roast veldbeest and yummiyams and fried pool-ball fruit; while they were eating from a couple of big pans, he went back to the living room to examine the things they had brought with them.
He touched it gently. It started to draw back, then reached out a little hand and felt the material of his shirt-sleeve. He stroked it, and told it that it had the softest, silkiest fur ever. Then he took it on his lap. It yeeked in pleasure, and stretched an arm up around his neck. "Why, sure; we're going to be good friends, aren't we? Would you like something to eat?
"They seem to be traveling this way; they ought to be about here, and with Baby at the speaker, we ought to attract their attention." They didn't see anything, though they kept at it till dusk. Baby had a wonderful time with the loud-speaker; when he yeeked into it, he produced an ear-splitting noise, until the three humans in the car flinched every time he opened his mouth.
Then, holding it where Little Fuzzy could watch, he unscrewed the cap and then screwed it on again. "There, now. You try it." Little Fuzzy looked up inquiringly, then took the bottle, sitting down and holding it between his knees. Unfortunately, he tried twisting it the wrong way and only screwed the cap on tighter. He yeeked plaintively. "No, go ahead. You can do it."
"Don't you know Pappy any more? Poor scared little thing!" The Fuzzy in his arms yeeked angrily. Then he looked, and it was no Fuzzy he had ever seen before not Little Fuzzy, nor funny, pompous Ko-Ko, nor mischievous Mike. It was a stranger Fuzzy. "Well, no wonder; of course you didn't know Pappy Jack. You aren't one of Pappy Jack's Fuzzies at all!"
After a while, Little Fuzzy woke, found that the lap he had gone to sleep on had vanished, and yeeked disconsolately. A folded blanket in one corner of the bedroom made a satisfactory bed, once Little Fuzzy had assured himself that there were no bugs in it. He brought in his bottle and his plastic box and put them on the floor beside it.
Then he ran to the front door in the living room and yeeked to be let out. Going about twenty feet from the house, he used the chisel to dig a small hole, and after it had served its purpose he filled it in carefully and came running back. Well, maybe Fuzzies were naturally gregarious, and were homemakers den-holes, or nests, or something like that.
"Instinctive. The technique is either self-learned or copied. When Baby begins killing his own prawns, see if he doesn't do it the way Mamma does!" "Hey, look!" Jimenez cried. "He's making a lobster pick for himself!" Through lunch, they talked exclusively about Fuzzies. The subjects of the discussion nibbled things that were given to them, and yeeked among themselves.
The inside of the lid was mirror-shiny, and it took him a little thought to discover that what he saw in it was only himself. He yeeked about that, and looked into the can. This, he decided, belonged to the class of things-that-can-be-dumped, like wastebaskets, so he dumped it on the floor. Then he began examining the stones and sorting them by color.
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