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kitten loose on the floor and Matthew and I

proceeded to chase it around the kitchen and

living room area. Suddenly the door burst open,

and Bobby walked into the apartment.

His rage was instantaneous. Upon setting eyes on

the kitten, he began to unleash his anger upon

Debbie who was caught off-guard by his sudden

appearance.

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“What you doin bringin’ some filthy animal in

my house? What da hell you think you doin’?” he

screamed.

“I - didn’t - do - baby,” she sputtered through her

sobs as Bobby pounded down on her, “it’s -

Greg’s - kitten.”

His fists stopped in mid-air and he sprang back. I

was scurrying around the floor trying to catch

and protect the kitten. Bobby lunged forward into

the living room where I was huddled on the floor

with the kitten safely in my arms. At his approach

I pressed my face down into my folded arms

covering the kitten. Bobby grabbed my exposed

neck into his fist and pulled me from the floor. I

held the crying kitten more tightly against my

chest.

He dragged me to the window on the far wall

next to the television. With his free hand he

opened the window and jerked my head up to

face him, still holding my neck with the other.

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He plucked the kitten from my hands. Holding

my beautiful kitten by the neck with his thumb

and forefinger, he dangled it before my face.

“Don’t you ever bring no shit like dis in my house

again, ya hear me?” Before I could answer, he

effortlessly flipped my kitten out the window like a

Frisbee. He held my body up to the window and

made me watch my kitten fall through the air and

hit the ground.

He threw me away from the window and

slammed it shut and pulled the shade down. In

one step he was standing at my feet. He took

another step forward and put a crushing foot onto

my chest. I gasped for air and grabbed his foot.

“Don’t touch me wit’ yo filthy hands,” he hissed

as he shook his leg loose from my grasp, kicking

me in the face in the process.

“What da fuck you gon’ do wit a damn cat in dis

house? We got too many moufs ta feed already. I

don’t want no dirty animal in here with my baby

girl.” Bobby and Debbie had recently had a child

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together, her name was Ruby, and she was asleep

in the next room. She was just under a year old,

and she was the most important person in the

apartment as far as Bobby was concerned, even

more important than Matthew.

He bent down, putting his face where my kitten

had been just moments before, “I don’t want no

filthy animal near my baby girl.” He slapped me

hard across the face.

“Do. You. Understand?” His emphatic speech

was littered with spit.

I managed a whimpered, “Yes” before he slapped

me again.

“I’ma make sure you understand boy!” He pulled

me from the floor by my shirt and threw me

against the wall. I shrank to the floor at impact.

“Get up. Get up. GET. UP!” He raged.

The force of the impact had made rising from the

floor impossible. Bobby stormed across the small

room and lifted me up again.

“You sonuvabitch, I said GET UP BOY!”

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Raised to a standing position he held my limp

body against the wall and slapped my face forcing

my head into the wall with each backhanded

blow. The smell of tobacco on his hands replaced

the sweet smell of the kitten I had cherished.

Debbie appeared behind Bobby and grabbed his

waist, pulling him toward her.

“Please baby, please let him go. He didn’t know,

he’s sorry,” she pleaded.

Though my ears rang, I heard her words, and

grew furious with her for letting Bobby believe I

had brought the kitten into the house, for letting

Bobby hurl my kitten out the window, for letting

Bobby beat me. I was angry but helpless, pinned

against the wall. Debbie’s tugging on Bobby’s

waist was a fruitless effort. My beating continued

and in a single motion he slapped me then

Debbie, knocking her to the floor. Matthew as

usual was nowhere in sight.

The beating continued until Bobby wore himself

out. His heavy breathing was hot on my face. I

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saw blood on his hands that was surely mine. He

pulled his hand from my chest and let me fall to

the floor. He walked away casually to the kitchen

table. Through my swollen eyes I watched as he

unloaded his pockets. Pulling a miniature manila

envelope from his pocket, he flipped the top and

pressed it open. He dumped its contents onto the

table. Debbie’s formerly lifeless body was

suddenly revived as she crawled to the table.

“Baby, let me get a bump, baby, please,” she

begged.

“Fuck you. You let your bastard kid bring that rat

into my house an’ now ya wanna bump off my

shit?” he didn’t take his eyes off of the powder

that he smoothed out into a series of lines with the

bottom edge of the miniature envelope.

There was more faint pleading and then shouting

but the sounds became steadily more distant.

Slumping further down the wall I drifted into

unconsciousness.

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I was kept home from school the next day since

my face was swollen, and there was no excuse to

give to the school for such a sight. I heard Debbie

and Bobby arguing about it before Bobby angrily

left the apartment. After he was gone Debbie

crept into my room, lifted me from the bed, and

brought me to the couch. First fastening the chain

on the door, she turned on the television and

found some cartoons. I couldn’t see very well

through my swollen eyes, but the sounds of the

outside world were comforting. Debbie brought

ice wrapped in a wet towel and gently set it across

my face. The sudden bitter cold stung for only an

instant before the pain began to subside. I fell into

a deep sleep, listening to the television and

Debbie’s sobs.

A knock on the door scared me awake. I sat up

painfully and the wet towel fell to my lap, my eyes

barely able to make out the door in front of me.

The knock sounded again. Standing up slowly I

saw the chain hanging from the wall. I was home

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alone. I walked to the door and asked, “Who’s

there.”

“It’s me, from downstairs,” said a kind, sweet

voice I recognized from sitting for weeks at her

side.

I opened the door, and in her shabby dress she

held out a kitten, not my kitten, but another that I

recognized from all the days sitting by the box full

of them. She spoke quietly and evenly when she

said, "You lost something."

My appearance did not seem to shock or surprise

her. She, like most of the occupants of the

building, understood what was going on in our

apartment but made no mention. Aside from the

constant noise, there was a lot of traffic in and out

of the place. She must have somehow seen or

become aware of the dead kitten behind the

building. After some mumbled protestation on

my part, she insisted I take the new kitten.

After she left I did my best to nuzzle the kitten as

carefully as possible so it didn’t run off or bite my

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swollen face. But my face was too sore and I was

too weak to control the young animal that was

unaccustomed to being held. The kitten leapt

from my hands to the couch to the floor and

scurried throughout the apartment. Stumbling

around, I chased it without success. The

frightened kitten ran into the kitchen and

between the refrigerator and the stove. There it

stayed, singing its sorrowful kitten cry for the

world to hear. Panicking, I grabbed the broom

from the other side of the refrigerator and tried

blindly to find the kitten.

The kitten stopped crying and this made it more

difficult to locate. As I fumbled around, trying to

get the new kitten free, Bobby walked through the

door. I turned to face him, but my expression of

guilt and fear were masked by the swelling.

Finding me digging behind the oven with the

broom he half smiled, “Glad someone ‘round

here’s cleaning this shithole.”

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At the sound of the voice, the kitten started its

song again. Bobby was on me before I knew it.

He grabbed the broom from my hands and

swung it sideways, connecting with the back of

my head.

“That bitch mother a’ yours aint here to protect

you this time boy. You tryin to hide that fuckin

cat from me? Dat what you doin’? Think you can

hide that fuckin’ cat in my house and I aint gonna

know it?” His words spewed out in a flurry of

contempt as he swung the broom at my already

battered body. The kitten continued crying.

“This where it is boy? You gonna hide behind the

stove like I aint gonna know? Dis my fuckin’ stove

mufucka,” with those words he grabbed the oven

with both hands and ripped it from the wall,

exposing the balled up kitten. I stood in front of

the refrigerator, having narrowly escaped being

crushed by the toppled oven.

He stepped over the oven to grab the kitten. This

time he wrenched the kitten up with his fist tightly

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around its neck. The kitten stopped crying, then

stopped breathing in Bobby’s large, leathered

hand. Stepping back over the oven, he grabbed

my throat with his free hand and again dragged

me over to the window. The kitten and I dangling

helplessly from our flimsy necks, we made it to

the window under a flurry of threats and insults.

My head was ringing from the pain. I couldn't

hear much of what was said, but I tried to pay

close attention. Again he made me watch as he

sent the dead kitten soaring through the

afternoon sky.

Heaving me up by the neck with both hands he

held my head out of the open window. He put his

face against my ear and snarled, “If I see one

more gotdamn animal in dis house YOU will be

goin’ out dis window wit’ it.”

He pulled me back into the apartment, slammed

the window closed, and threw me to floor. As I

lay in a pile of tenderized flesh, I told myself that I

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would get a cat as soon as I was able. I would

always have a cat, and I'd treat it well.

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“Have I got a gift for you!” my principal said, as

she approached me in the hall.

It was 7 AM, and I was waiting for my students to

arrive. “Great, you know I always enjoy a new

challenge. What’s his name?”

A devious smile crept across her face. “Kendra!”

“A girl?” my displeasure was apparent in my

tone.

“Yup, she’s been in our system for less than a

week and was terrorizing the school from day

one. Yesterday she attacked a girl in gym class

and hurt her pretty badly.” She passed me a

photocopied registration form. “Her mom’s in

prison. She just moved here to live with her

auntie. According to her transfer sheet, she’s been

moving around a lot, going from relative to

relative.”

I took in this new development for a moment.

“When’s she coming?”

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“She’s on the bus right now. She starts today.

The Director of Schools wants her with you.” She

spoke as if offering a compliment.

I took a deep breath. “Yes ma’am. I’ll take care of

her.”

“I know you will.” She turned to walk away. With

her back to me, she waved and chimed, “Good

luck.”

Females in a behavior program had historically

been an issue for me because the classes are

usually full of pubescent boys, as my class was at

the time. I stood by the door with a new

trepidation. The first bus pulled up, and I walked

out the double glass doors, positioning a doorstop

to hold one door open, so I wouldn’t be locked

out. The bus stopped, and the door opened as I

approached.

“Good morning, Mr. Love, got a new one for

ya,” said the affable bus driver.

“I heard,” I replied, doing my best to sound

cheerful.

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“She’s a pistol. She’s already started in with the

boys. Be careful,” she warned.

“Yes ma’am. Thank you ma’am.” I said, biting

my tongue.

The boys filed off, and I greeted each one with a

friendly “Good morning Sir,” and I got the same

in return. Finally a hesitant young woman

appeared at the front of the bus. She took one

slow step down, then another. She stopped, and

we were eye to eye as she stood on the last step of

the bus. We were sizing each other up. I

immediately noticed the cross hanging from her

neck. This particular cross was a craft commonly

made by prison inmates.

Pointing to the cross braided from thin white

string I asked softly, “Did your mother make that

for you?”