Catboy - Eric Walters [20]
“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