Catboy (2 page)

A large black cat ran across our path and disappeared among the wrecks.

Simon laughed. “You're afraid of cats?”

“I'm not. It just startled me. I like cats. I
had
a cat.”

“At your old place?”

“Yeah, we had to put him to sleep a year ago.”

“Put to sleep? What does that mean? Did you sing him a lullaby and put little Hello Kitty jammies on him?”

“Don't be stupid.”

“Stupid? Me? I wasn't the one who jumped when he saw a cat. What does
putting it to sleep
mean?”

“My cat Blinky—”

“Now that's a
stupid
name for a cat.”

“I named him when I was two,” I said. “What do you expect?”

“Something better than Blinky.”

“Anyway, Blinky was getting old and he was sick and in pain, so we had to bring him to the veterinarian. The vet gave him a needle so he could…you know.”

“So you had him killed.”

“We had no choice!” I said. “He was in a lot of pain.”

It had been almost a year, but I still felt bad about it. I could feel tears starting to form. Being scared by a cat wasn't nearly as bad as having Simon see me cry over one. I turned and started to walk away. Simon quickly caught up.

“I don't like cats,” he said. “They're dirty.”

“They're not dirty,” I said, defending Blinky and all of catkind. “They wash themselves all the time.”

“They wash themselves with their
tongue
,” he said and made a face like he was grossed out. “But if you love cats, then this is the place to be. There are dozens and dozens of them here. I'll show you.”

My desire to get out of the junkyard wasn't as strong as my curiosity. Why would there be dozens of cats here? Simon changed directions, and I trailed behind him as he wove through the rows of wrecks. Were we headed toward the front of the yard?

“There are some,” he said.

Sitting among the wrecks were four cats. One was on the hood of a car, sleeping in the sun. The others were on the ground, just sitting there. The ones that were awake turned toward us. They had seen us, but they didn't move. They knew we weren't close enough or fast enough to be a threat.

“The guy who owns this place must love cats,” I said.

“I don't know if he cares about them one way or another. It isn't like they're pets.”

“Then what are they,
guard
cats?” I asked.

Simon laughed. “You are one funny guy. They live here. They're wild cats. It isn't like he owns them or anything.”

“They live here by themselves? What do they eat?”

“I guess they catch things. You know, mice, birds, rats.”

“There are rats here?”

“We're in the middle of the city. There are rats everywhere,” he said. “They make their homes in abandoned cars too.”

I pictured them nesting in the cushions and padding of a car. It would actually be a pretty comfortable place to live—if you were a rat.

“There are skunks and raccoons here as well,” Simon said.

“Are you putting me on?”

“The city is full of animals,” he said. “Go out late at night. My parents see raccoons all the time when they come home late from cleaning. Wild animals live in the parks and ravines. I've heard squirrels and raccoons get into people's attics and live there sometimes. There are animals everywhere.”

“It's hard to believe.”

“Why not? There are lots of things for animals to eat in the city. I've seen cats eating garbage off the streets. Sometimes kids even throw them food from their lunches.”

If I hadn't eaten all of my lunch, I would have done that now.

“What about the winter?” I asked. “How do the cats survive?”

“They survive like all the other animals do. They have fur coats and they stay in their nests, or whatever you call a place where a cat goes.”

“I think it's called a den or a lair,” I said.

Simon slumped down, resting his back against a car. I did the same. It got us out of the sun, but, more importantly, it made us less visible if a security guard walked by. I looked around anxiously. There was nobody here but us.

A couple more cats appeared. They ambled out of the wreckage like they didn't have a care in the world. And then a fluffy white cat appeared. All four of her paws were black, so it looked as if she was wearing boots or socks. Four kittens trailed behind her. One of the other cats came over, and the kittens rubbed against it as it started to lick them. Then, out of nowhere, a piece of brick bounced in front of the cats and almost hit them before smashing against a car. The cats scattered, disappearing into the junk.

Two

I jumped to my feet and spun around. There were three guys—older, high-school aged—standing there. Judging from their expressions, they were as surprised that we were there as we were by their sudden appearance.

“What are you doing?” I demanded before I thought through what I was saying.

There was a slight delay before the first one spoke. “What do you think we're doing?” he snapped.

“You could have hit one of the cats!”

“That was the idea!” snarled the biggest of the three boys.

The other two boys were holding rocks, but he wasn't. That meant he was the one who had tossed the brick.

“You could have hurt them, or even killed one,” I said.

“I didn't, but maybe our next shot will be better,” he said.

Suddenly one of the other boys pulled back his arm and threw a rock. I ducked, but it soared over our heads, narrowly missed a cat and hit the trunk of a car with a thud.

“Stop it!” I screamed. “You shouldn't be throwing rocks at the cats!”

“Who should we be throwing rocks at?” the big kid asked, but it wasn't really a question. It was a threat.

“Leave the cats alone,” I said, my voice cracking over the last word.

The three of them laughed. Not the response I was hoping for.

“Maybe we should be throwing the rocks at something that's easier to hit,” the big guy said.

I looked around for someone to help us, but we were alone.

“Come on,” Simon hissed. “Let's get out of here.”

I ignored him. “Just leave the cats alone,” I said again. It was more a plea than an order.

“What's it to you?” the big guy asked. Obviously he was their leader and spokesperson.

“They didn't do anything to you. They're just cats,” I said.

“Shut up,” Simon said out of the side of his mouth.

“Are you two going to stop us?” the big guy asked.

“Us?” Simon asked, shuffling forward. “We're just passing through. I don't even
like
cats.”

I stepped forward. “I do!” I exclaimed. “And you should just leave them alone.”

They started laughing again. At least I was amusing them.

“So, Catboy, what are you going to do if we don't leave them alone?” asked the big guy.

“Nothing,” Simon said. “We're going to do nothing except leave.”

“I wasn't talking to you!” he snapped. “I was talking to Catboy.” He pointed at me.

I felt my whole body flush. What was I going to do? We were outnumbered and outsized. It wasn't as if anybody was here to take control. There were no teachers, parents, refs or adults of any kind. If they wanted to beat the heck out of us or hit
us
with rocks, there was nobody here to stop them.

“What's wrong, Catboy? Cat got your tongue?” the big guy asked, and they all burst out laughing.

I had to admit, that
was
clever. Maybe if it wasn't meant as an insult and I wasn't so scared, I would have found it funny.

Then they did something that wasn't funny at all. Two of them reached down and picked up more rocks.

“It's cruel to pick on helpless animals,” I said.

“You convinced us,” the big guy said.

I was shocked. Were they going to stop?

“We won't throw anything at the cats…just stupid kids,” said the big guy.

I started to laugh, unexpectedly. Judging from their expressions and the look Simon gave me, everyone was confused by my laughter. I had to admit, I was confused as well. But now I was going to confuse them even more. I bent down and grabbed two rocks.

“Are you crazy?” Simon said.

“Not crazy. You need to pick up some rocks.”

He didn't move.

“Now!” I ordered.

He bent down and picked up a rock.

The three of them stared at us. At least we had stunned them into silence for a few seconds. I tried to decide if it was better to fire the first rock or wait. Yes, it was better to wait.

“If we run, I think we can get back to the hole in the fence,” Simon whispered. “We can still get away.”

“If we run, they'll chase us or throw the rocks. Just stay here. Don't move. Don't talk.”

“Good idea. If we don't move, maybe they'll forget we're here and leave,” he whispered. “Maybe if we close our eyes, they won't be able to see us.”

Great. Sarcasm—just what I needed. They weren't leaving, but at least nobody was throwing rocks. I glanced over my shoulder, hoping the cats had left. They were still there. In fact,
more
cats were there. I guess even cats like a good show.

“On my count, we all throw our rocks,” the big guy said.

I tightened my grip on the rock in my right hand. It was a good size, a good weight. I could try to make it count.

“And we all throw at Catboy,” the big guy said.

I was surprised to see Simon take a small step sideways, away from me, opening up a little space between us.

“You, Asian kid, you can leave if you want,” the big guy yelled. “We only want Catboy!”

I looked at Simon. He wasn't looking at me. Was he going to take this chance to get away?

“Hurry up,” the guy yelled. “Get out of here. Hop on your rickshaw and run away!”

Finally Simon moved. He bent down and grabbed another rock.

“First off, I'm Canadian, and second, they don't have rickshaws in Korea,” Simon said. “What are you, some kind of idiot?”

I could almost see the guy's nostrils flair in anger. “You two aim at Catboy. The Korean kid is mine. And he's going to need a rickshaw to take him to the hospital. Throw on the count of three.”

The other two boys nodded in agreement.

“One,” he said.

“We throw on two,” Simon said.

“Two!”

I pulled my arm back to throw, and all three of them turned and ran away, disappearing behind a pile of cars.

My mouth dropped open in shock, and I started to laugh. Simon laughed too.

“What just happened?” I asked.

“They were probably afraid because I am Korean. They might have thought I would use tae kwon do on them.”

“Tae kwon what?”

“That's Korean karate,” he said.

“You know tae kwon do?”

“No, but they don't know that. They see an Asian kid, and they think maybe he knows stuff like that.”

I shook my head. “It has to be something else.”

“What else would scare them?” Simon asked.

“Maybe they were afraid of me,” a deep voice said.

I turned around. Standing right behind us, towering over us, was a security guard!

Three

I staggered backward a couple of steps, as did Simon. The guard was tall and wore a uniform, black pants and a white shirt. He had a thick beard and a bright red turban around his head. He also held a nightstick.

“We were just cutting through on our way home from school,” Simon sputtered.

I was so glad he spoke, because I didn't think I could mumble out a word.

“We weren't going to take anything!” Simon exclaimed.

“Were you planning on stealing rocks?” the guard asked with a heavy accent.

We opened our hands and the rocks fell to the ground.

“Tell me your names,” the guard ordered.

“I'm Simon.”

“And I'm…I'm Taylor. But we weren't doing anything,” I said.

“Yes, you were,” he said. “You were protecting the cats.”

“What?”

“I saw what happened. Those boys—those
bad
boys—were tossing rocks at the cats, and you two stopped them. You are very brave boys.”

“Um…thanks,” I said.

“I am Singh. Mr. Singh.” He smiled, stepped forward and extended his hand in greeting.

I hesitated. Was this a trick to grab us?

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Simon said as they shook hands.

“Me too,” I offered, taking his hand once I'd seen him safely release Simon's. “And thanks for saving us like that.”

“You looked like you were doing well without me,” Mr. Singh said.

Either he hadn't seen what was going to happen or he was being kind.

“Do you own this place?” Simon asked.

“Not me. I am only the security guard, the soldier responsible for all that is here, including the cats.”

“I guess the guy who owns the place wouldn't want anybody hurting his cats,” I said.

“I do not think he even knows about the cats,” said Mr. Singh.

“Then they're your cats?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nobody ever owns a cat. Ever.”

“I owned a cat,” I said.

He shook his head again. “No, you did not.”

“Yes, I did,” I protested. “His name was Blinky, and he lived in our house for eight years.”

“He may have lived with you, but you did not own him. You can own a dog, but not a cat. Not any more than you can own a person or an eagle…or a tiger.”

“I've heard about people owning tigers,” I said. “You know, tame, trained tigers.”

He smiled. “I am from India, and I know tigers. They can be in a circus, but the best a tiger will ever be is
less
wild, not really tame, only pretending to be trained until the right moment arrives when it will become a tiger once more.”