Chapter Five

It was very, very dark in the bag. In fact, it was pitch black.
The bear and the tiger had opted for silence now, both thinking of where they would rather be.
The tiger Stripey knew he would rather be with the master, his owner, the little boy called Cody. He longed for the brightly painted room in which he lived at the house a long, long way away in England.
All the bear wanted to be was outside in the light, sitting by his dumpster and reflecting on the game he had witnessed, another win for the mighty Red Sox.
Finally the Tiger, realising he might be stuck with his new companion for rather a long time, decided he would at least try to talk to him.
"Soooooo," he said, in his rather slow voice. "How did you end up under that seat?"
The bear shuffled to find some room and looked the tiger in his glassy eyes.
"That's kind of a long story," he replied.
"Well, we could be here a long time, so you might as well make a start," said Stripey.
So he did. The little bear told the Tiger all about the factory where he was born, the bumpy ride with 20 other bears, the arrival at the baseball park and falling off the trolley and ending up by the dumpster.
"Okaaay," said Stripey. "But how on earth did you move? You can't walk can you?"
"Umm, not really, but..."
Just as he was about to tell the little Tiger, there was a scratching noise coming from outside the bag. It was as if something was trying to get in!
The Tiger looked a little bit scared, sitting there in the dark. "Wha.... whaaat is thaaat?" he asked in a shaky voice.
"I... I don't know. I can see as much as you can!" the grumpy bear answered.
Then a speck of light shone in from the roof of the bag and both the toys peered up, wondering, on a day of nasty surprises, what was going to happen next.
Then suddenly a big, furry nose pushed its way into the bag and the Tiger, forgetting that he was supposed to be a brave, fierce jungle animal, let out a little high-pitched "yelp!"
But the bear was no longer scared. "Aaah, at last!" he said, "it looks like I am going to be rescued."

"Oh my giddy aunt!" exclaimed Stripey, using a rather strange expression. The bear wondered where Stripey's giddy aunt lived and why she was so giddy. Perhaps she chased her tail a lot.
"No, it's not your giddy aunt," he cried. "It's Ridsdale!"
"It's a dirty, black rat - that's what it is!" replied Stripey, trying to burrow his way deeper into the bottom of the bag to hide away from the new visitor under Cody's colouring books.
"Oi, less of the dirty!" came a gruff voice. "Y'all should know I 'ad a good bath in the puddle under the washroom sink before I came out tonight. Hey, bear my man, how's it 'anging? What ya doin' cooped up in this old bag?"
"Hi Ridsdale, I'm sure the tiger didn't mean to be insulting," said the bear, leaping to the defence of his fellow prisoner. "He's just a bit worried that he won't be able to get home."
"And you? I left ya under ya favourite seat, goes back to get ya, and ya in't even there. Been all over the place looking for yous, I 'ave, and so 'ave the rest of the rat pack."
Tiger was now quivering under his temporary hiding place. There were more rats? What kind of filthy, rotten place had he ended up in.
The bear sensed his unease. "Don't worry, Stripey, this is my pal Ridsdale."
"Your pal? He's... he's a dirty rat!" Stripey feared that before long the visitor would be sinking his sharp teeth into his soft, foam filled belly.
"I told yous..!" snarled the rat, angrily.
"No, no... look, please don't make him angry, Stripey, he is a very kind rat, and has helped me so much."
Stripey was a bit confused. "Helped you? But don't rats just chew on everything."
"Give me a break, pyjama pants!" growled the rat, "I'll 'ave ya know I'm quite fussy about what I eat. And in this place I get what I want, without gettin' me teeth all jammed up with fur. Bet you taste rotten compared to a nice bit of pizza, or a hot dog, or, gawd help me, a donut. Mmmm!"
Stripey felt a bit put out. "Who are you calling rotten tasting. When my master was a baby he used to like to nibble on my foot."
"Poor kid," answered the rat. "Don't they know how to look after their young 'uns where you come from?"
"I'll have you know we are very civilisised where I live. Not like you Yanks."
The rat glared at him. "Oi, don't you insult us New Yawkers," he said. "No one does that!"
The tiger looked even more confused. What was a New Yawker?
"Oh, I suppose I had better explain," interrupted the bear. "You see, Ridsdale is from another city in America called New York. He used to sleep in the hold of a coach which transported a baseball team called the Yankees from there to other places across the country. One day, when he came to Boston he had to scarper quickly when the man unloading the bags spotted him and tried to hit him with a baseball bat. He has lived here ever since."
"Yeah, what a pain! Not only can't I see the Yankees play any more, but I ended up living at the home of their worst enemies."
"Enemies?" said the tiger, now getting very interested in the story.
"Oh the Yankees and the Boston Red Sox don't like each other much," explained Ridsdale. "They play each other all the time and people call it 'the biggest rivalry in baseball'. When the Yankees win all the fans in New York get pretty excited and all the Red Sox fans, like our friend the bear here, go around looking mopey all day. When it happens the other way around, and the Red Sox win, it is the New Yawkers like me who are down in the dumps."
"Well, you are a rat. I guess you are used to being down in the dumps."
"Ha, ha," said Ridsdale, though he didn't find the joke very funny, really.
"Well, I don't mean down in the dumps like down in the rubbish dumps. Down in the dumps just means it makes us pretty miserable."
"Oh," said Stripey, understanding now. "But if you are a 'fan' of these Yankees, and the bear likes these Red Sox, why are you friends?"
"Well, life's very short to have enemies," explained Ridsdale. "When I ended up here, the bear was very kind to me. He knows what it is like to be dumped somewhere and left alone. He let me share his spot by the dumpster and we have got on famously ever since."
"Yes," said the bear. "And Ridsdale has been very kind to me too. Before all the fans arrive for games, he grabs hold of my arm and drags me up all the steps and sits me under a seat so that I can watch the game. Then, afterwards, when all the people have gone he will come up and fetch me ... after first having his dinner, of course."
"That reminds me," said the rat, gnashing his big teeth together. He seemed to be smiling. "... I 'ad a lovely bit of hot dog, full of tomato sauce, when I went to collect you today. Ooh," he looked at the little bear's head, "seems like you had a bit, too, and the sauce stuck to your bonce."
"Oh, that!" said the bear. "Unfortunately the man who was eating the hot dogs dropped sauce on my head."
"Aah, looks like you could do with a bit of a clean up. Let me try to gnaw through these straps and we'll have you out of there in no time."
"If you could, Ridsdale, that would be great! I don't want to miss the game tomorrow."

They sat in comfortable silence, bar the sound of teeth trying to shred their way through the straps that fastened the bag shut. Eventually, the tiger spoke.
"Seems like a nice bloke, actually, your rat. I won't call him dirty again."
"To be honest," said the bear, in a whisper. "He is a little bit pongy at times. Comes with scurrying around, picking up all the food people have left out of the dumpsters I guess. But he is very kind and, quite honestly, I don't know what I would do without him."
"It's lovely to have friends," said Stripey, looking a little bit like he might cry. "I don't know when I will see mine again."
"Do you have a lot then?" asked the bear. "Loads!" answered the tiger. "There is a giraffe, and a long caterpillar, and a monkey, and even a cat. We all sit together in my master's room and have a good time lying about telling stories."
"Yeah, friends are nice," admitted the bear. "I don't know what I would do if I didn't see the rat pack again. Friends always help you. They don't care what colour you are, or that you are different from them, or that you might be a bit grubby or smelly or something. They are always there for you... and it makes you want to help them out, too."
They both went quiet again, thinking warm thoughts about their friends as the bear's best pal went about trying to loosen the straps of the bag they found themselves locked inside.

"Aaaargh!"
As they were drifting off to sleep, thinking nice thoughts, a piercing high-pitched scream interrupted their silence.
"What is it, Esmeralda?" asked a man's voice.
"It's a stinking, big black rat... that's what it is. Get rid of it, Trevor, please!"
"I've got a big broom somewhere. Ah, here it is. I'll bonk it on the head."
The two toys inside the bag heard a squeal, then a whispered, "Sorry, boys, yous on your own!"
There was a scurrying sound, then nothing.
Finally they heard the man's voice again. "Damn, think I missed it. They really ought to do something about the rats in this place. Filthy animals!"
Finally, silence fell again and the little bear groaned. It seemed his best chance of escape had gone, leaving him a prisoner in the bag.
Eventually, the tiger spoke again. "I'm sorry, mate," he said, "looks like it's just me and you. Perhaps as we are stuck in this situation, we should be friends."
"Thanks," said the bear. "I'll be your friend if you'll be mine."
And they touched paws to seal the deal.