Catboy (12 page)

“It's not goodbye,” I said. “But thanks for offering.”

“No problem.”

They started off. Hunter and I locked eyes. He nodded his head ever so slightly, as if to say “See you later,” and I did the same.

Nineteen

“Excellent work, Taylor!” Mr. Spence said as he handed back my story.

“Thanks.” I looked at the mark. It was a level four, an A! “I really enjoyed writing it.”

“It shows. And I learned so much about feral cats I didn't know,” he said.

“You said, ‘Write what you know,' and I know about them.”

“You certainly do,” he agreed. “But just as impressive was the imagination you put into the story. Writing from the perspective of a cat was a great idea.”

“I'm not really a talking-animal sort of guy, but I wanted to try it. Besides, Hunter is more than a cat,” I explained.

“He's the leader of the colony, right?”

“He's sort of the
co
-leader of the colony,” I said. “Although cats don't really think like that. That would be anthropomo-lo-sizing or something like that.”

Mr. Spence smiled. “I think you're aiming for the word
anthropomorphize
.”

“Yeah, that's it!”

“That's the wonderful thing about writing. You can give animals, or things, human qualities. Just think, if authors didn't do that we'd have no
Peter Rabbit
,
Charlotte's Web
,
Silverwing
,
Watership Down
or
The Lion,
the Witch and the Wardrobe
.”

“Not to mention Bugs Bunny or Mickey Mouse,” Simon added.

“Or Franklin the Turtle, or the Berenstain Bears,” I said. “They were my favorites—you know, when I was a kid.”

Mr. Spence laughed. “As opposed to the senior citizen you've become!”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. Besides, you got inside the character of the cat. You saw the world the way a cat who lives in a junkyard, wakes up in a cage in an apartment and is finally being released back into—”

“Excuse me,” said a voice over the pa. It was the school secretary.

“Yes,” Mr. Spence replied.

“I'm sorry to disturb you,” said the secretary. “I have a gentleman in the office who wants to speak to a student in your class. He says it's very important. His name is Mr. Singh.”

I smiled when I heard the name Singh.

“Who would he like to speak with?” asked Mr. Spence.

“Taylor,” said the secretary.

My stomach did a flip as every eye in the class turned to me. It was
my
Mr. Singh! I had no idea why he would come to school and ask to see me, but it couldn't be good.

Mr. Spence looked at me. “Is he a family member?” he asked.

“He's my friend,” I said.

Then the recess bell rang, and Mr. Spence dismissed the class.

“It's okay,” Simon said as he passed by. “Whatever it is, it's okay.”

I didn't know what to say. Mr. Singh could only be here for one reason—Hunter. He must have taken a turn for the worse, or maybe he'd been hurt by King, or those dogs had come back, or he'd been run over by a car or…There were so many things that could happen to a wild cat. If only I'd kept him in my apartment, he'd be alive and safe and—

“Come, I'll walk you down to the office now,” Mr. Spence said.

“Sure, yeah. I'm just a little…a little…”

“Nervous?” said Mr. Spence.

I nodded my head.

“I can understand that, but I am going to come down there with you.”

Whatever the problem was, I knew Mr. Spence would help me figure it out. I just hoped I wouldn't cry in front of him if Mr. Singh had bad news for me.

“I don't know why he'd be here to see me,” I said. “It has to be important.”

We walked into the office, and Mr. Singh stood up and introduced himself to Mr. Spence.

“Taylor, I am most sorry to disturb you at school,” Mr. Singh said, “but I wanted to tell you immediately that—”

“Has something happened to Hunter?” I interrupted.

“Hunter is fine,” he said. “I saw him this morning. But really, he is not fine.
None
of the cats are fine.”

I gasped. “What do you mean?”

“The junkyard…it has been sold.”

“Sold?”

“Yes. They are going to turn it into condominiums.” He paused. “And they started this morning.”

Twenty

We skidded to a stop outside the fence. “Whoa, somebody stole our hole,” Simon said.

Where there should have been a hole in the fence there was none. In fact the whole fence was gone. It had been replaced. Instead of the rusty chain-link fence, a high solid wooden fence had been erected. At regular intervals along the fence, big color posters of the condominium tower that was going to be built were displayed. The condo on the poster was tall and sleek with tinted windows and enclosed balconies.

It had been only a week since Mr. Singh first told me what was happening. Already things had changed, and changed quickly. The only thing that hadn't changed was me not coming up with an idea to save the cats. I'd spent time in class and when I couldn't get to sleep at night trying to come up with a plan. It wasn't like a grade-six kid could successfully stop a condo development.

“It's going to be a pretty fancy-looking place,” Simon said.

“A pretty expensive-looking place.”

“It looks a lot nicer than where we live. I wouldn't mind moving there myself,” he said.

I shot him an evil look.

“You know, if it didn't mean taking away the cats' home, no offence,” Simon said.

“Sorry,” I apologized. “It isn't your fault. If I didn't hate it, I would think it would be a nice place to live too.”

“So what do we do now that they've sealed off our entrance?” Simon asked.

“We go to the front entrance.”

We circled around the yard. The new fence was solid, and so high we couldn't even see the junk on the other side. The posters listed all the condo's features. It would have an indoor pool, a full exercise facility, underground parking, penthouse terraces, marble and hardwood floors, modern kitchens and concierge services. I didn't know what
concierge
meant, but I didn't like it. It was so slick and beautiful I was sure everybody in the neighborhood would rather have condos here than a junkyard. Well, everybody except me, my friends and the cats.

“Wow, look at that,” Simon said.

There were so many images and photos, I didn't know where to look first. “Where?”

“Right here,” he said, tapping his hand against the wall where it said
Occupancy
. “People are going to be moving in by next fall.”

“Is that even possible?” I asked. “Can they build it that quickly?”

“I guess if there are enough workers, machines and money they can. Besides, it isn't like the owners have to tear anything down before they start building.”

He was right. All they had to do was remove the car parts and wrecks. They didn't care about the cats that called the junkyard home. They probably didn't even know about the cats, but telling them wouldn't change anything. To the owners, the cats were even less valuable than the wrecks that littered the lot. At least the scrap metal could be sold for something.

We rounded the corner in time to see a big flatbed truck rumble away from the entrance. On its back were three squashed wrecks.

The truck pulled away, and we ran toward the entrance. Mr. Singh was standing at the gate.

“Hello!” I yelled.

Mr. Singh didn't answer. He gave me a strange look.

“How are you—?” I stopped mid-sentence as a man in a suit stepped out of the guardhouse. He walked over to a large, fancy black car and climbed in.

“Keep moving,” I said to Simon.

“What?” he asked.

I grabbed him by the arm. “Just keep moving, don't look at Mr. Singh and don't say anything to him.”

The car started up and passed through the gates as we walked by, missing us by only a foot or two.

“Watch it, buddy!” Simon yelled. “Learn how to drive, you jerk!”

The windows were up, so the driver didn't hear Simon any more than he noticed us. I pulled Simon ahead a few more feet until the car drove off, disappearing into traffic, and then we spun back around.

“Thank you for doing that,” Mr. Singh said. “That is the boss.”

“The guy who owns this place?” I asked.

“Yes, the guy who now owns the land and is building the condos,” Mr. Singh explained. “He would not be happy if he knew I was letting you into the yard.”

“I don't want to get you in trouble. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. You need to get into the yard to feed your cats. It is a risk I am willing to take.”

“And if he caught you?” I asked.

Mr. Singh shrugged. “He would fire me, I think. He is not such a nice man.”

“Or such a great driver,” Simon added.

“I have spoken to him. I believe that he would run over any
body
or any
thing
that got in the way of this project,” Mr. Singh said.

“Even the cats,” I said.

“He does not know anything about the colony of cats.”

“And if he did know?” I asked.

“It would make no difference. It might even be worse for the cats.”

“How could it be worse?” I asked.

“He might do something to them. He is only caring about the money. All I can do is buy a little more time. They are moving the wrecks. It is my decision which cars and which parts of the yard are cleared first. I will keep them away from the colony.” He paused. “At least for a week or two.”

“That's better than nothing,” Simon said. “It gives us time to do something.”

“You have a plan?” Mr. Singh asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing. Do you?” I asked.

“Nothing. I just hope if we allow the cats enough time, perhaps they will find another place to live for themselves.”

“With that big fence around the place, can they even get out?” Simon asked.

I hadn't even thought of that.

“It is too high for them to climb, but there are places where there is a space at the bottom where they could escape,” Mr. Singh said.

“If they knew they
had
to escape. I wish I could tell them what was happening. I wish they understood how much danger they are in,” I said.

“And it is big danger. They will be injured, crushed, killed when the cars are moved. I wish…” Mr. Singh's voice trailed off. “But we must not give up hope. Where there is life, there is hope.”

“You're right,” I agreed. Only I didn't know how long there was going to be any life in the junkyard.

Twenty-One

I looked at my watch. It was still early. Early enough for me to avoid “the boss,” who didn't show up in the mornings. Early enough for Mr. Singh to let me into the yard so I could feed the cats and still get to school on time.

I strolled along the outside of the fence. The advertisements for the condos were still bright and fresh. I wished somebody had taken a can of spray paint and covered them up. Wait, if I got a can, I could do it. Nobody would know about the condos, so nobody would buy them. But it wouldn't stop the condos from going up, and it might get me in big trouble. Besides, I'd promised my mother I wouldn't do anything stupid. Spray-painting a fence was stupid, and useless, which made for a bad combination. If it was stupid but could lead to something positive, that would be different.

I looked up and jumped. Hunter was standing on the top of the fence, looking down at me.

“It's good to know the fence isn't too high for you,” I said.

He crouched down and continued to look at me.

“Your foot must be almost perfect now,” I said.

He lifted his front paw to show me it was…no, it was the other foot, the one that wasn't hurt, that he raised. He wasn't showing me his foot was better after all. That was just wishful thinking on my part.

But, wait, he
was
holding up the good one, so that meant the foot he had hurt was supporting his weight. Maybe he
was
showing me it was better. Dr. Reynolds would think I was nuts if I told him that, but still.

“I'm glad it's better,” I said. “I bet that fence is too high for King to climb. He'd be like Humpty Dumpty if he fell.”

I walked over until I was right beneath him. He stayed seated.

“I've got some food,” I said. “I just wish I had a solution. I'm trying to come up with an answer. I just don't have it yet. But I do have something you'll like.”

I opened up the bag I was carrying and pulled out a piece of sweet-and-sour pork, left over from Simon's dinner the night before. I reached up, and Hunter bent down and gently took the piece of meat from my fingers.

“I've got some more of this,” I said. “Plus, I have some other stuff. How about if I meet you inside?”

He swallowed the tidbit I'd given him and jumped off the top of the fence, disappearing inside, as if he'd understood what I'd said.

I came around the corner cautiously. The gate was just ahead, and Mr. Singh was standing out front. I didn't yell or wave. I had to make sure he was alone. When he saw me, he waved me over.

“Good morning, Taylor,” he said. “This is a good time to go inside. There is nobody here yet.”

“Do you think the boss will be here soon?” I asked.

“Not him. Not until noon. But soon the trucks will start arriving, probably within the hour. Come, please.”

He led me in through the gate and locked it behind us.

The whole front area had already been cleared out completely. Where there once had been old parts, machinery pieces and car skeletons, all that remained was the crushed- and chipped-brick-covered ground.