Catboy - Eric Walters [15]
“There’s a night shift here?” I asked.
“Always a guard, but not necessarily a good guard. Some just listen to the radio or read the paper or go to sleep. That is not how to do your job. You must take pride in whatever you do, whether it is being a doctor or a lawyer or a humble security guard.”
“But now you don’t work nights, do you?”
“I am senior. I only work days, no nights or weekends,” he said.
“So maybe it’s better if I don’t come here in the evenings or on the weekends in case the other guards get angry or chase me away,” I said.
“No one will be angry. I will tell them that you are my friend, and they will leave you alone. I am the senior soldier, and they listen to me.”
“Thanks. I was just wondering, why doesn’t somebody just fix the holes in the fence so people can’t come in?”
“We used to fix them. By the next day they’d be cut open again, so there was no point. Better to just leave them alone,” he said. “But now, let us feed the cats.”
This was what I’d been waiting for.
“Move slowly, so they do not run away,” he instructed.
Very slowly we approached the cats. Those that were sleeping woke up and quickly got to their feet, ready to flee. A couple of the smaller cats retreated, and some disappeared beneath the wrecks.
But not the big tabby, the king cat. He remained motionless but looked at us suspiciously. He looked like he had nothing to fear from us, and judging from his size, maybe he was right.
“Throw your food to the king first,” Mr. Singh said.
I undid the zipper of my bag to get the sandwich. The cats reacted to the sound of the zipper, becoming more alert, more aware and more wary.
The big cat came forward a few feet. He was still a safe distance away but closer than the others. He stood directly between us and the other cats. His stare became a hard glare, and his tail swished back and forth. With a dog, that’s a good sign. With a cat, it isn’t.
“It looks like he’s guarding them,” I said. “Protecting them from us.”
“I think he just wishes to be first in line for dinner. I am sure he can smell the food in your hand, even if he cannot see it clearly.”
I tore off a little piece of the sandwich—bread and baloney. I hadn’t eaten any of it. I wasn’t a big fan of baloney. I tossed it toward him. He bounded forward and with one paw batted it out of the air and onto the ground. He pounced on it like it was alive!
“Now that he is occupied, we can feed the others,” Mr. Singh said.
He dug into his bag and removed a piece of bread. He ripped it into small pieces and tossed it at the cats. They scrambled, either after pieces or to run away. I quickly divided my sandwich and did the same, causing another little stampede.
As if a dinner bell was ringing, other cats came out. There were more than twenty of them feeding and fighting over the bits of food. The black cat, the hunter, didn’t come out, because he didn’t need my leftover tidbits. He had taken care of himself.
“Have you given any of them names?” I asked.
“No names. There are too many, and they come and go. Many look the same,” Mr. Singh explained.
“Would it be all right if I named some of them?”
“You can name them all if you wish. Just do not expect them to come when you call them.”
The big tabby walked toward three cats scrapping over a couple of remaining tidbits. Two of them saw him coming and scrambled away. The third didn’t and received a swat to the head. The cat tumbled over and scurried away.
“He’s not very nice,” I said.
“He does not need to be nice. He is the king.”
“Like Scar from The Lion King.” I tried to explain, “It’s a movie, a Disney movie. It’s really good. Do you know The Lion King?”
Mr. Singh started singing “The Circle of Life” from The Lion King. He was off-key but knew the words. I