Catboy (8 page)

“Then I'm reading every morning at breakfast,” Simon said. “Do you think Mr. Spence would let me do a reading journal entry on Cheerios?”

“Give it a try,” I said.

King leaped forward and chased away a couple of the smaller cats, grabbing their food.

“That big cat is such a bully,” Devon said. “If Mr. Spence was here, he'd have a talk with him.”

“I call that cat King, because he runs the place.”

“He's still a big bully,” Devon said, “and I don't like him.”

“Me neither,” I admitted.

“Is your favorite cat here?” Simon asked me.

“No, I don't see Hunter. I call him that because he's the best hunter,” I explained to the others. “When I do see him, he often has something that he's caught. Even if he was here, he probably wouldn't take our food. He's too proud.”

“Probably too well fed,” Simon said.

“He
is
a very good hunter,” I said.

We leaned against an old car and watched the cats finish their meal.

“Can we do this again another time?” Rupinder asked.

“Yeah, can we?” Mohammad asked.

I turned to Mr. Singh, as did everybody else.

“If you are friends of Taylor and Simon, then you are good kids and most welcome,” Mr. Singh said.

A cheer rose up and a few cats ran away. King glared at us angrily for disturbing his meal. And then I saw Hunter.

He was sitting off to the side, partially hidden in the shadows. He was watching us. He was watching everything. Our eyes locked. He saw me, and I saw him. His eyes were soft. He wasn't glaring at me.

Twelve

I exited through the hole in the fence quickly. I'd lost track of time, but I knew it was getting late, so I didn't even stop to say goodbye to Mr. Singh at the front gate. Simon was in after-school math classes. I was by myself, and I didn't want to be in the junkyard alone after dark.

I also wanted to get home before my mother arrived. Even though she was working longer hours, I often didn't get home much earlier than she did. If I wasn't there when she arrived, she would worry. She was starting to become concerned about how much time I was spending with the cats. She hadn't exactly told me that, but her comments and expressions gave away what she was really feeling.

The other thing that made me want to hurry was the setting sun. I was still nervous being out alone at night. Not that it was ever completely dark in the city.

The fastest way home was through the back alleys. There was no way I'd go that way after dark, especially alone, but it wasn't dark yet. If I moved fast enough, I'd be home before it got
officially
dark. That made the decision for me. I cut into the alley.

On one side were the back fences of houses. On the other side were the backs of stores and restaurants. I walked down the center of the alley.

I could hear voices coming from both sides, radios and tvs playing, and the sound of machinery operating in small shops. The bakery was really noisy. The Italian Bakery had its doors open, and I could see rows and rows of trays holding goodies. There was a strong smell of curry from the Indian restaurant. The aroma of the French fries from a fast-food restaurant was coming out through the exhaust fan. My mouth almost started to water.

But all of the wonderful smells mixed with the pungent odor of the garbage bins, which weren't as mouthwatering. Some of the bins were open, but most of them were sealed up. As I walked, I alternated between my mouth watering and my stomach feeling like it might want to heave.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark shape moving in the shadows at the side of a building. It was large—some sort of animal. It leaped up onto a garbage can. It was Hunter! His back was to me, and the noise from the store's big exhaust fan blocked out any chance he'd hear me.

I stopped and backed into the bushes and weeds on the far side of the alley. I wanted to see what he was up to. Maybe I would even see his hunting skills in action.

It was cool to be the one doing the observing for a change. I wondered how long it would take for him to notice me.

I knew cats have better eyesight than people, but they don't see details as much as they see movement. If I didn't move, there was a good chance I would be invisible to Hunter. My new superpowers were coming in handy after all!

Hunter walked along a row of sealed garbage cans. Was he looking for a rodent or a missing lid? He spun around, and his eyes glowed like two little green laser beams straight at me. I thought he heard me, but his head kept turning to the left, and a dog came out of the shadows. No, not a dog—its movements were different, more waddling than walking. It was a raccoon! All I could see was its big backside as it moved toward Hunter.

Hunter leaped up onto a ledge above the garbage cans. There was no way the big fat raccoon could get up there. Hunter sat on his perch. His tail swished back and forth, and his eyes burned. He didn't look happy.

The raccoon approached the garbage can where Hunter had been. It stretched up, standing on its back legs. It was gigantic, as tall as the can and nearly as wide!

It pushed against the can, gripping the top with its hands and wobbling the can back and forth until it finally tumbled over, hitting the pavement with a tremendous crash.

I'd thought the lid would pop open, but it didn't. The raccoon fumbled with the lid, and the can rocked and rolled back and forth on the pavement. It looked like it was sealed too tightly for the raccoon's small hands to open, but then it popped off. A pile of garbage poured onto the pavement. The raccoon sat on its haunches and began to pick through the garbage.

Hunter stood up. He walked along the ledge, looking down at the raccoon. Was he going to pounce on it? It wasn't a mouse or a rat. It was an animal almost as large as a small bear.

I tried to remember what I knew about raccoons. They were clever and had hands like monkeys. They liked to wash their food before they ate it. But unless there was a bottle of water in the garbage can, that wasn't going to happen. What I couldn't remember was if they ate plants or meat or both. And if they ate meat, was
cat
part of their regular diet?

Hunter jumped down from the ledge onto one of the cans. If he'd made any sound, I couldn't hear it over the exhaust fan. Could the raccoon hear him? It seemed too busy with its dinner to notice anything.

Hunter moved stealthily, low, ears back, tail flat. He was stalking the raccoon. He was going to attack it, even though the raccoon was three times as big as him!

The raccoon looked up, and the two animals locked eyes. The raccoon opened its mouth and let out a cry. For a second I saw a set of shiny, sharp teeth.

Hunter jumped to the ground and crept forward until the two animals were no more than a few feet apart. He crouched down and looked like he was about to pounce. They were now so close, Hunter was partially hidden from my view by the bulk of the raccoon. This was crazy. He could be hurt or even killed!

The raccoon leaned into the garbage can, pulled something out and tossed it to Hunter. Hunter smelled it, sat down and started to eat. I was stunned. What had just happened?

The raccoon began eating again. The two of them weren't going to fight. They were having
dinner
together!

I chuckled and the two of them turned in my direction. I felt as if I'd been caught doing something wrong. I expected them to run away, but they just sat there, staring. They looked at each other, then at me, and then back at each other. I got the feeling they were having a conversation about what to do about me. I wouldn't have been surprised if the raccoon reached into the garbage and threw a tidbit my way.

“It's okay,” I said. “I'm just going to leave now.”

The raccoon tilted its head to one side as if it understood what I was saying but was trying to figure out why I would leave. Then the two of them turned back to their meal.

I wanted to watch, but it was getting late. I took off, hoping to get home before both the darkness and my mother.

Thirteen

“I feel like I'm doing something I shouldn't,” my mother said.

“It does have that feeling,” I agreed as I pulled the chain-link fence back to widen the hole.

“I thought you usually went in through the front gate.”

“I do when Mr. Singh is working,” I said.

“So he's not working today?”

“It's Sunday. No weekends, no evenings.”

My mother stepped through and chuckled.

“What's so funny?”

“I was just thinking of the headlines. ‘Newly promoted assistant bank manager and son arrested for break and entry at junkyard. Film at eleven.'”

“Just remember the camera adds ten pounds,” I said.

“Great, I'll be a felon who looks like she needs to go on a diet.”

We walked through the yard.

“I've never been in a junkyard before,” she said. Her head swiveled from side to side. “It's a bit spooky.”

“It's not spooky. Well, not
that
spooky.”

“It's just the sort of place you'd see on one of those
CSI
episodes where they find a body or there's a killer or—”

“I used to think the same thing.”

“But not now?” she asked.

“Not until you brought it up. You're creeping me out.”

“Sorry,” she said.

Of course it didn't feel creepy to me anymore. The junkyard was like a second home, a second home that could be a scene from
CSI Toronto
.

“I'm just a little nervous. I really do want to see the cats, and I guess there's no other way,” she said.

“It's not like I can bring them around to the apartment.”

“You talk so much about them, I think I'll even be able to pick them out, especially the ones like Miss Mittens and King and Hunter.”

“Hunter is the least likely to be here,” I said.

“That's strange. You talk about him the most.”

“I do?”

“Definitely. I get the feeling he's your favorite.”

“I guess he is,” I said.

“Oh my goodness!” My mother shrieked and skidded to a stop.

Right in front of us, directly in our path, was a raccoon. It was the same raccoon I'd first seen with Hunter in the alley. I had seen it in the junkyard a couple of times since then. He heard us, stopped, spun around and sat down, staring at us.

“Don't worry, it's just Rocky,” I said.

“Rocky?”

“I named him,” I said. “You know that song you listen to by that group, what is it called, the Beatles?”

“Oh, ‘Rocky Raccoon'!” she said and sang a couple of bars from the song. “I can't believe how big it is.”

“He is big, but he never bothers me. I think he lives around here too,” I said. “But from what Mr. Singh has told me, he doesn't live in the yard.”

“Raccoons can be dangerous,” she said. “Especially one that big. They have very sharp claws and can be vicious. I read somewhere they get rabies and—”

“Rocky doesn't have rabies,” I said. “And he isn't vicious. He's pretty relaxed.”

It looked like Rocky had a smile on his face, like he had a secret or had just been told a joke.

“Actually,” my mother said and chuckled, “his expression—this is going to sound strange—it looks a bit like Mona Lisa's smile. Well, if she was furry and wearing a black mask.”

“I can see that,” I said, “but he reminds me of somebody else. With that big belly, the way he's sitting and that thoughtful look, I was thinking that he looked like a furry Buddha.”

“I can see that too!” she exclaimed. “He does look wise, like he's sitting there contemplating life.”

“Thinking that wouldn't offend anybody, would it?” I asked. “You know, comparing a raccoon to Buddha. That wouldn't make people who believe in Buddha mad, would it?”

“I think Buddhists are a pretty understanding people,” she said. “Besides, they believe in reincarnation. For all we know, coming back as a raccoon may be a higher life form than a person.”

I laughed.

“Either way, he's such a chubby guy, he seems to be doing fairly well for himself,” she said. “Maybe he just got a promotion too.”

Rocky tilted his head to the side as if he was trying to figure us out. He shook a paw at us, like he was waving goodbye, turned around and slowly waddled away.

“Any more surprise animals I should know about?” she asked.

“There is a family of skunks, a mother and a couple of kittens,” I said. “But I don't think we'll see them this early in the morning. They sleep during the day, so I've only seen them in the evenings. Mr. Singh thinks they live under an abandoned warehouse in the alley.”

“Good to know.”

I almost mentioned the rats but thought better of it. We weren't going near where most of them lived.

“It's not much farther. It's just around this—”

There were three people standing there—a man and two women, one young and one older. They were tossing food to the cats. I'd never seen anybody else here except the mean bully boys from before. It was a little unnerving, but it was good to know my friends and I weren't the only ones who cared about the cats.

Then I noticed the traps.

Fourteen

“Leave those cats alone!” I screamed and ran toward them.

“Taylor!” my mother yelled.

The three people looked shocked, stunned, as I raced forward.

“Get away from those cats,
now
!” I ordered them.

They stumbled backward, staring at me like I was insane. “It's all right,” the man said.

“It's not all right!” I yelled back. I ran past them toward the cats. “Shoo! Get away!”

Most of the cats scattered, dropping bits of food and disappearing into the cars. A couple of the cats hissed at me, and King just stood there, standing his ground, glaring. His fur bristled and made him look even bigger. He wasn't giving up his food.