"Fans of Charlotte's Web and other gentle animal stories will enjoy this charming tale." —School Library Journal    When Burdock the barn cat sneaks into the Baxters’ farmhouse kitchen to hide behind a warm stove, he overhears a sinister plot that endangers all the animals on the farm. It’s up to him and his cohorts to figure out how to bust out of the barn before it's too late. Readers will fall in love with the solitary cat, the self-effacing cow, the unstoppable pig, even a wayward she-owl—all brought to life with clever dialogue, poetic descriptions, and expressive black-and-white illustrations. "This sweet story with a serendipitous ending has a comforting, classic feel...Fans of Charlotte's Web and other gentle animal stories will enjoy this charming tale." —School Library Journal "The book offers an opportunity for young readers to increase their vocabulary, especially if read with parents or older siblings...The story is filled with clear lessons about the danger of jumping to conclusions, the joys of teamwork, and the importance of accepting one another's differences." —Booklist "In the tradition of Garth Williams's pen-and-ink barnyard images, Bond's energetically sketched b&w illustrations illuminate the animals' distinct dispositions as well as their communal courage and devotion." —Publishers Weekly   Rebecca Bond is the author-illustrator of many books, including  Out of the Woods: A True Story of an Unforgettable Event and Escape from Baxter's Barn, a Junior Library Guild Selection and Amazon Editor's Favorite Pick .  She grew up in the tiny village of Peacham in northeastern Vermont. 1 Ominous News   If Burdock had been obedient, the Baxter farmers’ secret would have remained a secret.   Though it was only late September, the first cold crisp of autumn had slunk in overnight. It drifted down through the northern forests, tiptoed across the farm fields, and settled soundlessly into the old house and barn and disheveled outbuildings that made up the Baxter farm.   Burdock was having none of this cold.   In the barn, the gray tiger cat with large, moplike mitts and just one eye had awoken stiff and crabby from sleeping in a tight knot. He decided to investigate the house for warmth.   This was his disobedience. For Burdock knew perfectly well he was strictly a barn cat. A barn cat, not a house cat, not even a sometimes-allowed-in-the-house barn cat. But Burdock loved warmth more than just about anything, and besides, he had no intention of getting caught.   Getting inside was easy enough to do.   Burdock slipped past the sleeping animals, steaming like teakettles, out the small hole in the barn doors into the early daylight. Cold! Quickly Burdock picked his way down the grassy path to the woodshed.   The woodshed, for winter convenience, was attached to the house and Burdock knew the shed’s loft had a broken windowpane that let out onto the roof. In the dimness of morning, the cat silently climbed the stairs to the loft and maneuvered through the gap onto the patchwork of grayed roof shingles.   From here, he surveyed the farm for a moment.   The house was a faded yellow affair with a pitched roof and a covered porch on two sides. The old windows sat loosely and slightly askew in their casings, and the house’s paint, especially on the west side, curled up in patches like birch bark. Behind the house was a small fenced-in vegetable garden. In front of the house, up a slight hill, were the barn and garage. And spreading out from that on three sides were pasturelands and hay fields, corn, and sunflowers.   Burdock looked beyond the open land, and it seemed like only trees. All the way to the horizon a dense forest grew, mainly pine and fir, but stippled too with swaths of hardwood.   Ah, there! As Burdock turned his head he saw just what he had hoped to see—a ribbon of smoke coming up from the chimney. And now in his eagerness he wanted to run but he didn’t dare; the roof was still slick with morning dew.   Burdock picked up his big paws and set them down carefully. One paw in front of the other, tail out for balance, like an apparition in the thin fog he crossed the ridgepole and reached the open upstairs bathroom window of the main house.   Quickly he hopped up to the sill, paused for a moment to listen, and dropped down onto the faded linoleum. He was in.   Oh warm! Inside, Burdock could smell the warmth before he felt it. He closed his one good eye, lifted his whiskered head, and sniffed: drying wool, bacon grease, and onions. And even on the landing at the top of the stairs, he could hear the gentle tick of the large cast-iron cookstove coming to life as it began to heat up. He crept down to the kitchen and curled into the toastiest spot.   As far back as he could remember, Burdock had never liked the cold. Born behind a post office to a stray mother cat, he was, unusually, the only kitten in the litter. Each night when his mother left to