Catboy (11 page)

“Of course it's yours,” I said. “Do you see any other cats around here?”

Instantly, I felt bad. Of course there were no other cats. Hunter was by himself because I'd taken him away from his family, his colony.

“You'll be back soon. I bet they really miss you.”

The other cats were probably missing him and wondering where he went. Did they feel abandoned? Were they worried or were they grieving? Had they sent out a cat search party to look for him? And what about the cats who depended on him for food? Were there kittens going to sleep hungry because Hunter hadn't brought anything for them?

I knew King was “the king” of the colony, but I thought Hunter was the glue that held it together. Without him, things wouldn't be the same.

Hunter let out another little cry, louder this time, as if he was chiding me for forgetting who the chicken in my hands was for.

“Sorry,” I said. “I got distracted. Thinking.”

I leaned closer to the bars, and Hunter did the same on his side. I carefully extended my hand, putting the piece of meat up to the bars. Hunter put his mouth up against the cage and gently took the chicken from my fingers. I smiled.

Unbelievable. In three days he had gone from wanting to scratch out my eyes to eating from my fingers.

If he'd come this far in three days what would happen if I kept him with me for a week or two? Could he become more than a cat in a cage? Could he…?

I stopped myself. Of course he couldn't. I knew that. It's just that the apartment wasn't as lonely when he was here.

I lay on my belly with my face pressed against the bars. I pulled out another piece of chicken. This one was filled with the medicine. I always made a point of giving him one “good” piece first, before giving him the piece that might taste bad because of the medicine.

He gently took that second piece from my fingers. I felt his teeth brush against my fingertips. A bite— even an accidental one—wouldn't have been good. It would have been hard to explain to my mother. But at least she'd know it wasn't a health problem. Hunter was fully inoculated from his shots after the surgery. Besides, Dr. Reynolds had explained a cat bite wasn't nearly as bad for germs as a human bite, not that any humans had bitten me recently!

I was grateful when Hunter gobbled down the medicated chicken. I tossed another piece through the bars and he grabbed it midair and swallowed it without chewing.

I took the rest of the pieces and slid them through the slot leading to the food dish. I was deliberately overfeeding him so he'd have a little extra weight when he was released, just in case he wasn't able to hunt as effectively for a while.

“Enjoy your meal, Hunter. It's your last before you go home.”

He stopped eating and looked up at me. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn he understood.

“You're going home today. Well, maybe.”

Dr. Reynolds was coming over to do an exam, and if it went well, Hunter would be set free.

“I know this has been hard. But we had to do it. We had no choice.”

I hoped he understood and could forgive me. I'd only been to the colony briefly in the last few days. Simon, Jaime and the guys, with help from Mr. Singh, had been taking care of feeding them.

Wait, what was that sound? It was like a small motor or…Hunter was purring. He was rubbing his face against the bars and purring!

I slowly moved my hand closer. I put it flat against the bars. He didn't pull away. Instead, he pressed harder, and I felt fur against my hand. This wasn't an accident. He knew my hand was there. He knew I was petting him. His little engine got louder. I was so happy I thought I might start purring myself!

Eighteen

“I'd offer to help, but I think it's better if it's just you,” Dr. Reynolds said.

“I think you're right.”

I pulled the cage out of the back of his vehicle. It was heavy and awkward.

“I could help,” my mother offered.

“No, Dr. Reynolds is right. Hunter is more comfortable with just me.”

“No argument there,” she said.

Hunter crouched down in the cage, trying to maintain his balance as I walked away with him. If anybody else approached, he'd start to hiss and snarl. He might even try to strike at them through the bars. I was wearing the thick work gloves Dr. Reynolds insisted I wear—that my mother
really
insisted I wear. She was wearing a pair too, even though she wasn't planning to get near Hunter.

She and Hunter had coexisted in our apartment, but they hadn't interacted much. They both kept an eye on each other, but their fears were very different. My mother was afraid he wasn't ever going to leave, that somehow he was going to become “our cat.”

She hadn't said it in so many words, I just knew. Really, she had nothing to worry about. Despite my random thoughts about keeping him—thoughts I would
never
say to her—Hunter was a feral cat. He was wild, born and raised. There was no way he could ever become a pet. No way. He tolerated me, but that was a far cry from being a house cat.

Besides, Hunter didn't belong in an apartment. His world was out here. Locking him up in a cage— and really, our apartment was just a big cage—was like putting him in jail. He'd committed no crime and didn't deserve to be imprisoned. Life on the streets was harder and shorter, but it was his life.

And there was one other factor. The other cats. Hunter had lived as part of a large extended family, and in my apartment he was all by himself. It wasn't just prison, it was solitary confinement. Moving to the city, away from everybody I knew, made me more understanding.

Hunter shifted around in the cage. He recognized the junkyard and probably smelled his family.

He let out a loud cry, and I almost lost my grip on the cage.

“He's telling them he's home,” I said. “Do you think they missed him?”

“I'm sure they had an awareness of his absence, of him being gone,” Dr. Reynolds said. “But ‘missed' might be the wrong term.”

“I'm sure they missed him. At least some of them must have,” I said.

“We have to be careful not to anthropomorphize animals,” he said.

“What?”

“
Anthropomorphize
. It means giving animals or inanimate objects human characteristics or qualities.”

“I'm not even sure I can pronounce that, so I don't think I'm doing it. Am I?”

“I think you could be. Sometimes we refer to a rock being stubborn or the wind being angry. That is anthropomorphizing. People are stubborn or angry, not rocks or wind,” he said.

“But I'm not talking about a rock. I'm talking about an animal with feelings and emotions and—”

“It applies to animals as well,” said Dr. Reynolds. “Cats do have feelings and emotions, but they're
cat
feelings and emotions. For example, the concept of jealousy is a human emotion.”

“I think cats feel jealousy,” I argued. “I think King is jealous of Hunter sometimes.”

“I think the two are in competition, but jealousy is a human emotion.” Dr. Reynolds paused. “With animals, especially ones we spend time with regularly, we often ascribe human characteristics to them. But cats don't think or feel the same way we do. So their actions and reasons for doing things aren't the same as ours.”

“But some of the other cats must have missed him,” I said.

“They knew he wasn't there, and they were probably aware they weren't eating as much, but their whole sense of time and interaction is cat-like, not human-like.”

“But they're a family.”

“You're right there,” he agreed. “I'm sure he
is
the father of some of those kittens. But again, they don't have a sense of family the way we do.”

I wasn't going to argue, but I was sure he was wrong. Maybe he was a vet, but even vets didn't know everything. I knew Hunter was missed by some of the other cats, the same way I'd miss my mom if she was gone, or the way I miss my old friends and my grandparents. I was looking forward to seeing them at Christmas.

Hunter let out another cry. It wasn't angry or desperate or scared, or even a warning. It was simply a cry to let the cats know he was back. He was home.

I almost told Dr. Reynolds this, but he wouldn't have believed me.

“We're coming up to the clearing,” Dr. Reynolds said. “It's better if we let Taylor go on alone. The fewer people the better.”

That
at least made sense. Besides, I wanted to have a few seconds alone with Hunter. I had human emotions and feelings, and I was going to miss him.

As soon as I was far enough away that I knew my mother and Dr. Reynolds couldn't hear me, I started to talk to Hunter. “Here we go,” I said softly. “You're almost home. I promised you I'd bring you back.”

He didn't look up at the sound of my voice. He just stared straight ahead.

“It's like I told you. We only did this to get your leg healed and then I'd bring you back, back to your family.”

I entered the clearing and a few cats were already there. A couple of them roused from sleep and another cat got to its feet. It had only been a few days, but they acted like they didn't even remember me.

“They know you're here,” I said to Hunter.

I was glad to see the cats, but I wished there were more of them or at least a few of my favorites around. I would have loved to see Miss Mittens. But King not being here was a plus. I didn't like him. He was a mean, selfish…Maybe Dr. Reynolds was right and I was giving them human qualities.

A few other cats poked their heads out of the wrecks, but they were all cautious of my presence.

I put the cage down carefully. All I had to do was open the cage and let Hunter go.

“Well, Hunter,” I said. “This is it. I'm going to miss you.”

He stared through the bars, ignoring me.

I wanted to say something more, but what was I going to say, and what would he understand even if I said it? He was in the cage and needed to get out. To set him free, I had to open the door, not come up with something “touching” to say. Besides, it wasn't like I wasn't going to see him again.

I fumbled with the latch. My hands were clumsy inside the thick gloves. I pulled off one of the gloves. I flicked the latch and swung the door open, clicking it in place so it wouldn't close on him.

Hunter stayed crouched on his haunches. He didn't move. I'd expected him to bolt as soon as I opened it. But he didn't. The only part of him that moved was the tip of his tail. It twitched back and forth, as if it was a separate being. Slowly he inched forward.

“It's okay to go,” I said. “You're free.”

He finally looked up through the bars at me. His eyes were bright, but they weren't angry. He moved a few more inches and stopped. He pressed his head against the side of the opening and rubbed his head against it. He was purring. I could hear him purring!

I had to fight the urge to give him a scratch behind his ears.

Before I knew what had happened, Hunter jumped, soared through the opening and landed six feet in front of me. A few of the rock chips scattered, and he scampered forward a dozen more steps and skidded to a stop.

He turned around and faced me. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn he was thinking about what he wanted to say to me, as if
he
was looking for the right words.

“No need for thanks,” I said. “Just keeping my word.”

He tilted his head to one side.

“And you don't have to say goodbye,” I added. “I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe I'll even have some chicken.”

His ears perked at the word
chicken
, and I laughed.

“Go on, they're waiting for you,” I said.

He turned and walked toward the other cats. He'd gone only a few steps when a flurry of fur surrounded him—it was Miss Mittens's kittens! The four balls of fur practically bowled him off his feet! And right behind them was Miss Mittens. She came up to Hunter and the two of them touched faces—they kissed!

I wanted to call Dr. Reynolds over, but I didn't. I couldn't take my eyes off the cats. I didn't know about any of the other cats in the colony, but these ones were definitely Hunter's family.

He walked toward one of the wrecks, and more cats came out of cracks and crevices. There were at least a dozen, maybe more, in the clearing.

Then King appeared and charged toward Hunter!

King's fur was all puffed out, and he was hissing and snarling. Hunter dodged out of the way. King spun around with lightning speed, swatting a paw at Hunter. Hunter leaped onto the roof of a car. I waited for King to follow him, but he didn't. The two cats glared at each other. Neither moved. Hunter wasn't going to run away, but King wasn't going to jump up on the car either.

Maybe King
couldn't
jump on the car. Hunter, in his cage, had seemed so big. But compared to King, he wasn't. They were about the same height and length, but King was much bigger. And Hunter was still recovering from his injury. He couldn't fight King. Not now.

“Go away, you…you pig!” I yelled. “If you want another meal from me, you'll leave Hunter alone!”

King glared at me. A chill went up my spine. He really would eat me, if he were big enough to do it.

“I guess not everybody is happy to have him back,” Dr. Reynolds said as he and my mother appeared at my side.

“Happy? Sounds like somebody is giving the cats human-like qualities,” I said.

He laughed. “It does sound like that. I guess it's that he doesn't like having his competition back.” Dr. Reynolds paused. “Don't worry. Hunter is smart enough to stay out of his way.”

“I hope so.”

“So do I. One operation per cat is about all I want to have to do. Let's go so he can settle in.”

“Do you want us to leave you alone for a bit?” my mother asked. “You know, to say goodbye?”