Cat Found Read online

  “Blasted cats,” he swore. “I should have thrown a can of beans.” He retrieved one of his boots from under the lilac bush. There was no sign of the other. It was probably over the fence in the supermarket parking lot.

  Reddick strung out a clothesline of cuss words. All the backyards in the street had the same high fences. He’d have to go out to Main Street and hike down the alley behind the Lebanese restaurant where the fence had a board missing. What a waste of time!

  Reddick plowed down the apartment alley. He was so mad he almost ran into the ponytailed kid, who was rooting through the trash cans. He didn’t give the boy a second glance. One of those street kids, he thought. Didn’t look but five years older than his own Billy, and already a drain on society.

  Reddick pulled his coat collar around his ears and kicked an empty lemonade bottle. Behind the Lebanese restaurant, he pushed through the space in the fence and came out on Haven Street. He turned back toward the supermarket. The parking lot was empty. His boot lay among the weeds at the far end of it, close up to the boards. Reddick retrieved it angrily.

  He hoped it had walloped the cats.

  He looked over the fence at his apartment. His wife was watching him from their third-story window. Reddick ignored her. He retraced his steps down the street and through the alley between the shops so fast that he almost ran into the tom skimming alongside the brick. The cat gave him a frosty stare before squeezing under the fence.

  That icy glance really got Reddick going. By the time he reached the front door of the apartment building, his temper was bigger than he was. He lumbered up the stairs and shoved open the door to the apartment.

  Billy was at the kitchen table eating cereal. His mother was making coffee.

  “It’s Billy’s birthday,” Mae said, looking at her husband carefully. There was a present on the table. It was a book.

  “As if I don’t know it’s my own kid’s birthday,” he griped. He tossed his boots in the corner and slung his jacket after them. “Time you stopped filling his head with fairy tales. I’ve got him a real birthday present.” He fetched a long parcel from the bedroom and slammed it over the book. “Now look here, Billy. You’re underage. But the law don’t need to know about that. We’ll just get in a bit of practice ahead of time. Won’t be long after that till you’re hunting with your old man.”

  Billy’s mom came over to the table. She eyed the package warily. “He’s only eleven, Walter. I don’t want him to have that now.”

  “Quit your fretting, Mae. The boy’s practically grown. That thing will keep down the vermin. Now you go on, Billy, and open the package.”

  Billy tore off the paper and looked at the gun.

  His dad crossed his arms. “You know what that is, boy. I showed you before. That’s an air rifle, and it’s a good one — high velocity. I paid top dollar for it. Shoots real silver pellets. It’ll take out a crow if you aim it right. We’ll go out for a drive someday, you and me. Give you a chance to practice. I didn’t put a bullet in that deer’s heart with no practice.”

  Reddick thumbed the air.

  Billy followed his dad’s gesture to the stag head mounted on the wall. The eyes seemed to stare back at Billy as if the whole thing was his fault.

  Reddick paused. He was thinking about the gray tom. Once the idea caught up to his mouth, he grinned. “Come to think of it, I know a critter that’s volunteering to be a target. We’ll wait till the time’s right.” He put up his arms and pretended to shoot.

  Billy picked up the rifle. It looked like the real thing: long, heavy, the dark barrel gleaming with fresh oil. His mom was staring at it. His dad was staring at him. Billy didn’t know what to say. But he had to say something.

  Finally he got it out. “Thanks, Dad. It’s a great present. But I’d better get ready for school now.”

  It was lame and he knew it, but it was the best he could muster. He ran to the bathroom and turned on the tap. The fighting started as soon as he got the door closed.

  What else was new? His mom and dad were always at each other. Only this time they were fighting over his birthday present. Even with the door shut, Billy could hear the shouting. His dad’s voice made the lock rattle. “I’m doing Billy a favor, you hear me. He’d be a sissy-boy if you had your way. A wimp! Once he’s learned how to hunt, he’ll grow up — be a man.”

  Billy wondered how long the argument would last. He turned up the tap so he could think. Maybe his dad was right. A gun like that — he bet none of his friends had a gun like that.

  He came out of the bathroom. “I forgot,” he said. “I need to buy a scrapbook for school. The five-and-ten store will be open. Mom, where are all the markers?”

  That put a stop to the shouting for a bit. His mom rummaged in the kitchen drawers. His dad slugged back his coffee. “Sure, kid. Stick that gun in the back of your closet. Keep your mouth shut for now. And don’t go touching it until I teach you the ropes. We wouldn’t want to scare your mother.”

  The kitchen drawer crashed into the counter.

  Billy fled to his room.

  Reddick grabbed his toolbox and slammed out of the kitchen door. Blasted cats. He’d like to throttle every last one of ’em.

  SEVEN

  Conga was getting bigger. It wasn’t just the food. Her tummy was swelling up like a bag of chestnuts. The first day of summer vacation, Billy figured it out.

  She was going to have babies.

  Billy flung himself onto the bed. It was all too much. He’d never be able to keep that a secret. Besides, he didn’t know anything about how to take care of a cat full of kittens.

  Sometimes, it seemed like nothing ever went right.

  Conga jumped up on the bed and stole between his arms. She kneaded his neck and purred in his ear. Her rough tongue scraped his nose. “Okay, okay,” Billy said, rolling over. “I’m here.” He traced one of her leopard spots. “But if you’re growing little ones, I’ve got to make some money. You’ll need to eat right.”

  Billy took a sorry look in his money jar. He wasn’t much of a saver. Most of the time the jar emptied out as fast as the coins hit the bottom. It took some thinking before he decided to collect bottles and return them for the deposit. Corky’s, the five-and-ten store, had started recycling them. He decided to start, too, right away.

  The thinking turned out to be easier than the doing. For a few days, Billy searched up and down Main Street, and along the side roads. Someone always got to the trash cans before he did. And worse luck, one of the girls from school saw him swiping a soda bottle from an alley.

  His face burned. He could hear her now, calling across the street for the whole town to hear. “Hey, Billeeee, are you a garbage picker or somethin’?”

  After that, Billy got up early so he didn’t have to duck his friends when he checked out the garbage. Most of them slept late. And the pickings in the alley bins were better anyway. The only other competition out at that time of day was the older kid with the ponytail.

  One morning Billy and the bigger boy both ended up pawing in the same trash can. Billy hurried to grab all the loose bottles. The other guy picked out some broken glass.

  What did that guy want with a piece of pink plate?

  As Billy was turning to leave, the kid spoke up. “Hey,” he said to Billy. “There’s a whole case of beer bottles at the bottom. You missed ’em.”

  Billy was surprised. He smiled at the bigger boy. “Thanks,” he said.

  His money jar began to gain weight. Billy took the beer bottles and the fizzy drink bottles back to Corky’s. When his dad gave him money for drinks, he pocketed the change and drank water. A boy at school gave him five bucks for his old soccer shoes, and he got ten dollars for helping a family catch their parakeet. After a week he had a stash of cash.

  “I need some good food,” he said to the lady at the pet supply store. “My cat’s going to have babies.”

  “When’s the big day?” the lady asked.

  Billy thought about it. “I don’t kn
ow. Maybe she’s been growing her kittens for a month or more.”

  “You’ve got about five weeks to wait then, give or take,” the lady said.

  Billy was looking at cat toys when the ponytailed kid walked into the store.

  “How’s it going, Luke?” the pet store lady asked.

  The boy slung his backpack onto the counter. “I need another bag of kibble, Joxie,” he said. “Make it a big one. And a couple of cans of fish for the cat that’s sick.”

  The boy was wearing his City Hall shirt. Billy moved a little closer.

  “Think I’ll give the chapel yard a good sweep tonight,” Luke went on.

  “Spring cleaning for cats,” Joxie snorted. She handed him a can of food. “You should get yourself a girlfriend, Luke. How old are you? Maybe seventeen, and that’s a stretch. Now that you make a living from City Hall, it’s time you stopped spending every last dollar on those cats.”

  Luke waved good-bye. “You should talk,” he said as he went out the door.

  As soon as he was gone, the pet store lady called down the aisle to her assistant, the girl that made Billy nervous, the one with the glittery eyes. “Salome, that Luke is a nice young man. How come you get scarce every time he’s in the store? You two ought to strike up an acquaintance. It would give you something else to do besides wander where you’re not wanted.”

  “I’ve got no time for boyfriends,” Salome growled. When she caught Billy looking, she gave him a stare that could torch stone.

  Billy paid for the food and hurried out of the shop. The boy named Luke was heading down Main Street away from the chapel. That suited Billy. Luke had talked about cats in the churchyard. Now Billy was going to see for himself.

  Maybe one of those chapel cats already knew Conga. Maybe one of them was going to be a daddy.

  EIGHT

  The narrow alley made Billy nervous. But behind the chapel was a surprise, a lovely yard, hot and sunny and quiet. A ramshackle castle of crates and boards and wooden barrels leaned up against the fence. At the back there was an old stable with a collapsed roof, and he could just make out two stalls where someone had once kept a pair of horses. Leaning against the partition was a piece of wagon wheel, and there was an old manger nailed to the back wall.

  Billy couldn’t see any cats, but he knew enough to keep looking. Cats were good at camouflage. Why, his Conga was so quiet, she could hide in plain sight. At last he spotted a gray button nose poking out from an old planter. He spied a lick of ear between some planks. And there was a powder-puff cheek twitching inside a tub.

  “Hey! What are you doing here?”

  Billy whipped around. Luke stood in the chapel yard. He had ditched his City Hall work shirt. His backpack weighed down his shoulder.

  “My name’s Billy Reddick,” Billy said. “I’m looking at the cats.”

  The older boy gave him a close look. “You like cats?” he grunted. He sounded suspicious.

  “I like ’em fine,” Billy said. “I’ve got one of my own. She’s going to have babies.”

  “There are enough babies already,” the boy retorted. But he looked relieved. He put down his backpack and took out the bag of kibble. “I saw you in the pet supply store,” he went on. “So you already know my name is Luke — Luke Malone. And if you want to see cats, you came to the right place. The show’s about to start.”

  They stood waiting together in the sunshine.

  The cats roused themselves little by little.

  Little by little, they poked out their brown noses, their pink ones, their black ears and orange ears and vanilla-dipped ears, their wire whiskers. Things began to work, eyes opening, muscles stretching, tongues lapping, paws scrubbing. And tails — the tails lifted. They swayed like silk ropes in the lazy air.

  Little by little, the cats came out of their rickety hidey-holes. They yawned. They stretched. They greeted one another, butting heads, kissing cheeks, rubbing up against the rough boards. The gray tom lifted his wide head lazily from the highest crate, his eyes half closed. One paw stuck through a knothole, testing the weather. When Luke opened the bag, the cat sprang to a fence post and fixed his cold gaze on it.

  “That gray one is the king of the castle,” Luke said. “And those three mackerels over there, those are the copycats.”

  Billy followed Luke’s gaze. Three cats, each exactly like the next, paraded into the center of the yard. They had stripes of black and silver, and whitewashed feet. Their tails swished back and forth as steady as clockwork. Billy watched them circle in toward the food. When the first one stopped, the others did the same. They sat in a neat line and “row-rowed” for dinner.

  “One can’t even pee without the other two doing the same,” Luke muttered.

  A bit of dirty scruff stuck its head out of a box. Feed me, it yawrled. Hurry! It scratched at the stable wall.

  “That cat is the beggar of the group,” Luke said. “Answers to the name of Scat. Eats like a pig and never gets any bigger. It’s so prickly, all the other cats keep their distance.”

  More cats appeared. Two gingery toms eased from a stable rafter as smoothly as thick drips of oil. They had heavy fur and big paws. A white cat crawled out from a turned-over clay planter, and another one, a patchwork of red, white, and cream, dropped from a tree limb. The last cat to show up was all black. It slunk into the middle of the yard with its eyes shut.

  “What’s wrong with that one?” Billy asked.

  “Blind,” Luke said. “It’s been that way ever since I took over the care of the colony. Probably scuffled with another cat. Or maybe a raccoon got at it. Its roaming days are over.”

  Luke put dry food in the cups and plates scattered over the yard. The water pan was almost dry. He topped it with cool water from his thermos. “Come and get it!” he called.

  All the cats reacted. Invisible magnets yanked Scat’s fur every which way as the little cat sprang for a chipped cup of kibble. The gray tom stepped up next, taking his time. He crouched and began to eat, chewing a pellet, intent on the pleasure of the crack against his teeth. The other cats gathered around the last pile. All their heads dipped into the same pool.

  A weak cry came from inside the stable ruins. Billy went over and peered in the manger. The thing buried in some blanket scraps hardly looked like a cat. Half the hair was gone. One leg didn’t sit right. And it was missing an ear.

  “That cat’s on the way out,” Luke said. “Food is about the only thing left for it to enjoy.” He emptied a can of fish onto a piece of broken plate inside the manger, and added water to a can clipped to the side.

  The cat struggled to its feet. When Billy reached out to move the dish closer, Luke knocked his arm away. “Are you crazy?” he said. “These cats are wild. That feral stray could still take a chunk of your hand. Just hang on. It’ll eat when it finds the time.”

  “It looks pretty bad,” Billy said. “Why don’t you take it to a vet?” He watched as the sick cat squatted next to the food.

  Luke snorted. “Who’s got that kind of money? Might as well buy a piece of the moon.”

  “How come you’re feeding the cats?” Billy asked. “Where are all the owners?”

  “Some of ’em never had one,” grunted Luke. “Others weren’t so lucky. I found the three mackerel tabbies tossed in a trash can. They were all of six weeks old. And the white one … someone ditched her in that big snow last winter. Scat came in with a burnt-out firecracker tied to its tail. I don’t know about the rest. They were already here. The guy who used to take care of them has gone now.”

  Billy watched the cat in the manger. The first time he had seen Conga on the street, she was half dead, too. Now she was so full of life, she was making more of the stuff.

  Suddenly Billy needed to make sure his cat was okay. “I’ve gotta go,” he said.

  Luke grabbed Billy’s arm as he made for the alley. “Just keep this place to yourself, okay? The town’s not friendly. A lot of folks bear the cats a grudge. No need to stoke the fire.”


  Billy nodded.

  He knew all about keeping his mouth shut.

  NINE

  In a cat-hating town, the strays do their business after the sun sets.

  The three silver-striped tabbies jumped from the crates to the back fence. One after the other, they left the chapel yard and pawed into new land. They scouted the freshly planted backyards until they found one to their liking. The first cat sprayed scent over the porch and the new lawn chair. The second scratched at the willow sapling. The last tabby rubbed against the planter and squatted on the tender buds.

  Then they lined up on the fence in a pretty row and crooned to the moon.

  Mr. Thomas turned over in bed. “Those cats need a tune-up,” he complained to his wife.

  The blind cat ventured down the chapel alley. It tasted the wet night air and felt the tap of a grasshopper. It smelled the bitter dandelion. Still in the shelter of the close walls, it listened to the soft swoosh of a late-night car rolling down Main Street.

  A couple out for a midnight stroll walked along the sidewalk with their big dog. “Take the leash off the dog for a bit,” the girl sweet-talked her boyfriend. “It’s late. No one will see. The dog wants to run.”

  The blind cat didn’t expect a silly dog to scramble into the alley. When the dog started to bark, the noise echoed off the trash cans. The vibrations confounded the cat and sent it scrabbling the wrong way into the street. It careened across the road straight into a brick wall.

  The girl laughed. “Come here, boy!” she called out to the dog. “Did you scare that cat? What a brave doggy!”

  Across the street, the blind cat huddled close to a strange wall.

  Which way was home?