Read Catboy Online

Authors: Eric Walters

Tags: #JUV002050, #book

Catboy (7 page)

BOOK: Catboy
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“Very good. Not only did Alexander answer that question correctly, but he also answered my next two questions, and all without losing his place in the book he's reading.” Mr. Spence paused. “Alexander, have you been peeking at my notes?”

Alexander looked up from his book in surprise. “No, sir, I would never ever look at your—”

“Alexander, I'm just joking. Great answers. Next question. What functions does the United Nations perform?”

A series of short answers were given, including signing treaties, deciding on international laws, settling disputes, dealing with emergencies like earthquakes and floods, planning for the future and taking action on global issues like pollution, the oceans and the Antarctic.

“Those are all great answers. Now my final question. What is the purpose of the United Nations? Why does it exist? And please, I don't want anybody to repeat its function.”

For the first time, there weren't any volunteers to answer the question. Lots of kids liked to answer questions that had a right or wrong answer, especially if they knew they had the right answer. Me, I liked when an answer couldn't be right or wrong. I raised my hand.

“Taylor.”

Now I had to think through my answer.

“I think the world is like this classroom,” I said. “We have people from all over the world, from different countries and cultures, who speak different languages.”

“We do have a world within these walls,” Mr. Spence agreed.

“And the same way we've been learning about our differences and how to say hello in each other's languages, we've also been learning about how we're all the same, and we all have the same rights. We have our classroom rules,” I said, gesturing to the big chart hanging on the wall that we made up that first day of school. “The United Nations is just a big way of helping us all get along together, peacefully and respectfully, and happily solving whatever problems we might have.”

Mr. Spence didn't answer right away. He had a thoughtful look on his face. “And that, class, is
not
a good answer.”

My heart dropped.

“That,” he said, “was a
great
answer.”

He started clapping and the rest of the class joined in. I felt myself start to blush.

“I'm starting to wonder if both you
and
Alexander have been looking at my notes,” he said.

“Mr. Spence,” Simon said, “we all talked about where we're from, but you didn't tell us where your family is from.”

“I was born in England.”

“But you don't talk with an accent,” Simon noted.

“Of course I do. Everybody talks with an accent. I just happen to talk with a Canadian accent because I moved here when I was young.”

“So you're Canadian,” Rupinder said.

“I'm a proud Canadian, born in England, whose parents were from Jamaica, just like Sally and Devon's families are from Jamaica.”

The bell rang, and people started to rustle.

“Please remember to read tonight and do your journal entries,” Mr. Spence said. “Class dismissed!”

Everybody got to their feet. I was anxious to get moving. Not only was I going to be feeding the cats the KFC my mother had gotten, but I wasn't going alone. Simon and I had been talking so much about the cats that a few of the other kids had asked if they could come along. So Mohammad, Alexander, Rupinder, Devon and Jaime were going to come with us. Initially I wondered if Jaime, being the only girl, would be uncomfortable. But then I remembered she played soccer with us at recess and handled herself well around the guys. She didn't take any “guff ” from people, whether they were male or female.

Mr. Spence wandered over to where Simon and I were getting our stuff together at the back.

“I think I'm going a bit crazy,” Mr. Spence said. “I couldn't stop thinking about chicken all day.”

“I guess that's my fault,” I admitted reluctantly. I unzipped my backpack, and before I removed the box, the smell wafted out. I pulled the carton partway out.

“You had KFC for lunch?” he said.

“It wasn't for me, and it's not really a lunch. It's just bits and pieces. It's for the cats.” I quickly explained about the cat colony.

“That's very nice, but are you sure you should be going in the junkyard?” Mr. Spence asked.

“My mother knows about it,” I said. “She was the one who got me the scraps from KFC.”

“And we go in with Mr. Singh,” Simon added. “He runs the place, and he says he likes us there.”

“Well, as long as your parents know,” he said. Mr. Spence took a deep breath. “I'm definitely having KFC tonight.”

“We have KFC every night at my place,” Simon said.

“You do?” Mr. Spence and I said in unison.

“Sure. KFC, Korean food and chow.”

Eleven

“Are you really, really sure we should be doing this?” Mohammad asked.

“It's okay. We're allowed,” I said.

“If I get in trouble, my parents will be really upset with me,” he said.

“Mo, we're going to feed some cats, not rob a bank,” Simon offered.

“Mohammad, we're okay,” I said. “We're going in through the front gate. The security guard, Mr. Singh, will let us in. It's all good, okay, buddy?”

“Well, okay,” said Mohammad.

While it would have been quicker to cut through the hole in the fence, I wanted everybody to meet Mr. Singh, and I wanted him to meet them.

We were a strange little posse. There was Simon from Korea, Mohammad from Somalia, Jaime from China, Rupinder from India, Devon from Jamaica, and Alexander from Russia. And if you wanted to go back far enough, I was from Scotland. Then again, if you went
really
far back, we were all probably from Africa.

We were like a slice of the United Nations. We were from all over the world, and we were all friends.

Mr. Singh was in his booth. He saw us coming, gave us a big wave and a big smile. I'd already talked to him about bringing some people with me, so he was expecting us.

“Good day, my friends!” he called out.

I introduced him to everyone. He greeted them all and said something to Rupinder in one language and something to Mohammad in another language. That made them both smile.

“How many languages do you speak?” I asked.

“Five languages very well, but it is always wise to know how to offer a brief greeting in many languages, such as Arabic.”

That was good advice. Even my awkward attempts to say hello to people based on the class posters made people smile or laugh politely.

It didn't surprise me that Mr. Singh spoke several languages, and I wasn't surprised at the way he greeted everybody. He was friendly and respectful to everyone. Even though he was an adult and we were just kids, he didn't
treat
us like kids.

He reminded me of Mr. Spence. Mr. Singh would have been a good teacher too.

“We brought food for the cats,” Simon said.

“All of us,” Devon said. “I hope they like patties.”

“And samosas,” Rupinder added.

“Who does not like those things?” Mr. Singh asked. “I am thinking the cats are eating better than the security guard. I am going to have to fight them for the scraps!”

He swung the gate open, and we entered the yard. Devon and Jaime had been here before, but it was the first time for the others. I remembered how nervous I'd been the first time I came to the junkyard with Simon. It seemed so long ago, but really it had only been less than two months. I had been visiting the cats so much since then, it seemed longer than that. Mr. Singh had joked that he should either start charging me rent or paying me a wage as a security guard. And in some ways I did feel like a security guard. Not for the yard, but for my cats.
My
cats—they did feel like mine. I didn't own them, but I felt responsible for them.

“Do I smell chicken?” Mr. Singh asked.

“You have a very good nose,” I said.

“Not as good as the cats. I have read that cats can smell twenty times as well as humans, so I am sure they already know you are here.”

Mr. Singh stood back, letting me lead the way. I was sure he was doing it so I could be the leader with my friends.

We approached the cat colony.

“Let Taylor go first,” Simon said.

“Yeah, he should,” Jaime agreed. “You'll see why.”

The others stopped, and I kept walking. It
was
better if it was only me at first. I entered the center of the colony, or as I'd started calling it, the Town Square. There were already more than a dozen cats waiting. I was expecting them to be there, and they were expecting me.

I recognized many of them. Kittens and mothers, teenagers, full-grown tabbies and toms, and, of course, sitting on his throne—a blue Buick—in the very middle was King.

I walked slowly, trying to be graceful like a cat. My feet skimmed slightly above the ground as I tried to keep my footfalls soft and quiet—at least quiet to human ears, but probably loud to them. I looked around without gazing directly at any specific cat. They didn't like to be stared at, especially if they were looking directly at me.

The cats allowed me to enter their kingdom. None of them ran from me. I edged forward even slower, an inch or two at a time.

A rock—a big gray rock that shone against the sea of crushed red brick chips—marked the closest I'd ever been. Each day I'd been able to move it forward another inch or two. I put my toe against it and nudged it forward. I was closer to them than ever before. It was a new world record for Catboy! Perhaps I had developed the superpower to be temporarily invisible. Invisibility
and
a potato peeler would be a great combination!

Then I whistled. It was neither melodic nor loud, but it was enough for them to hear, and it was familiar to the cats. Their ears perked up, and more cats came out of the wrecks and into view. Many of them I recognized. I knew them by their appearance, but I also knew their behaviors and personalities. I scanned the crowd looking for my favorites.

“That's amazing,” I heard Mohammad say behind me.

“It's like they know him,” Devon said.

“They
do
know him,” Simon said. “Can we come closer now?”

“Hang on,” I said.

I slowly removed my pack. The sound of the zipper opening caused the cats to freeze.

I removed the box of chicken pieces and opened it. The smell was strong, even to me.

I tossed the first piece, the biggest piece of meat, to King. He pounced on it. It wasn't that I thought he deserved it, or that I wanted to give it to him, but if I didn't, he would chase away and swat at the cat that got the first piece. He didn't care if it was another tomcat or a mother cat or even a kitten. Getting between him and whatever he wanted wasn't wise. I
really
didn't like him.

I scattered bones, buns and pieces of meat on the ground for the others, and they started eating.

“You can come now,” I said. “Just be slow and quiet.”

Everybody had saved bits of their lunches, and the cats were soon treated to an international feast. It was obvious the cats were enjoying the meal almost as much as we were enjoying feeding them.

“See that one there,” I said, “the white cat with the black feet? I call her Miss Mittens. You can probably tell which of the kittens are hers.”

She had four kittens in her litter, and all of them had at least one black paw.

“Is that a Siamese cat?” Jaime asked, pointing at one.

“I think so, or at least part Siamese,” I said.

“Aren't those really expensive?” she asked.

“I think so, but I guess things happen, cats get lost. There is also a calico cat, a lot of mixes, a Himalayan—”

“That's a part of India, in the mountains!” Rupinder said. “Which one is that?”

“It's the one with the long gray fur. It must get cold in the mountains,” I said.

“He is certainly the most beautiful cat,” Rupinder said.

“I know that type of cat,” Mohammad said, pointing out a sleek, thin cat. “It is at least part Abyssinian. They're from Somalia and the Middle East.”

“I thought he looked like those cats carved onto the walls of the pyramids,” I said. “And if we're going by nationality, then Alexander should pay particular attention to that grayish blue cat right over there. That one is a Russian Blue.”

“Very nice cat,” Alexander said. He tossed a piece of his lunch at the feet of the Blue. “From one Russian to another. I will give him a Russian name—I will call him Kot.”

“What does that mean?” Jaime asked.

“It means cat, because he is a cat,” said Alexander.

“Hold on, if Alexander gets to name a cat, we all should get to name one too,” Rupinder said.

“Yeah!” Jaime added.

Mohammad and Devon nodded in agreement.

“You can all name two if you want,” I said.

They all cheered and the cats startled before settling back in to eat.

“If Alexander names the Russian Blue, then I want to name the Himalayan,” Rupinder said.

“And Siam is sort of close to China, so the Siamese should be mine to name,” Jaime said.

“Sure, of course,” I said.

“And Mohammad gets that other cat, but where does that leave me?” Devon asked. “Are there any special types of cats from Jamaica?”

“I'm not sure, but how about we find out the way I found out about all the other cats,” I said.

“How
did
you get to know so much about cats?” Jaime asked.

“It's like Mr. Spence says, the more you read, the more you know. I've been taking books out of the library. Our teacher-librarian, Miss Hobbs, is super helpful. She really
likes
it when you take out books. She showed me sites on the Internet too. She said reading is reading, whether it's in a book or on the Internet or on the back of a cereal box.”

BOOK: Catboy
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