Free The Cat at the Wall by Deborah Ellis

blindfold and tossed it to Aaron. Aaron let it fall to the floor.
    “I’m not gagging a seven-year-old,” he said. “Besides, the teacher already knows he’s here.”
    “Speakyourtruthquietly …” shouted Omar.
    “Omar has a kitty!” one of the children said, pointing at me. In the next instant there were sixteen little faces pressed against the window.
    At first it seemed crazy. This whole place was crawling with cats, so what was so special about me? But then I kind of liked it.
    I pretended I was a movie star posing on the red carpet. I rubbed my face against the glass so it looked like I was giving them kisses. They all wanted to get close to me but I wouldn’t let them get too close! I pretended the glass was my army of bodyguards, keeping my many fans at a safe distance.
    “Children, it is not polite to look in someone’s window. Just because we are under occupation, that’s no reason to forget our manners.”
    “Ms. Fahima, come see the kitty!” one of the little kids said.
    “All right, but only to check on Omar, not to be a window-peeper.”
    The teacher left the door and came to the window. She bent down so she was level with me and put her face to the glass.
    She came so close to me so quickly that I was startled. I screeched and arched my back like it was Hallowe’en, then jumped back and scurried under the sofa.
    The children squealed with laughter.
    “You made the kitty jump! Do it again!”
    The teacher laughed along with them. I liked the sound of her laugh. It was not mean.
    I squirmed to the front edge of the sofa and peered out.
    “There’s the kitty,” a kid called out.
    Ms. Fahima held her smile as her eyes darted around the house, looking for Omar. They widened in horror when she saw the boy held by the soldiers.
    Aaron was now holding the rifle. Simcha had his hand over Omar’s mouth. I don’t know why he bothered. Everyone knew now that the kid was in the house.
    “Do you think she’s seen us?” Simcha asked.
    “Of course she’s seen us,” said Aaron.
    The teacher gathered her wits and said to the children, “Come away from the window now, boys and girls. It’s such a lovely day, and there is this nice bit of yard right here. Why don’t we stay outside Omar’s house today and do our school work here? Who would like to do that?”
    Ms. Fahima got the children away from the window before any of them spotted the soldiers. They seemed very excited about making their school outside.
    “Can we have a picnic?” I heard one of them ask.
    “Very good remembering of the English word we learned yesterday! Let’s all say it together.”
    Sixteen little voices chirped their way through a collection of English words and the alphabet song. I went back to the window to watch them.
    They sat on the rocks and cement blocks that littered the yard beside the house, all of their eyes on the teacher. I couldn’t see her all that well from the window. She was standing with her back to the door.
    I got the message even if the soldiers didn’t.
    If anyone was leaving the house, they’d have to get past her.
    “Nice and loud, children, so that Omar can hear us inside his house and not feel left out.”
    “One little, two little, three Palestinians,” they sang at the top of their lungs. “Four little, five little, six Palestinians.”
    While the children sang, Ms. Fahima took out her cellphone. She glanced back at the house once, then turned away to watch her students.
    “Who’s she calling?” Simcha asked.
    “Whoever it is,” Aaron said, “I think we’re in trouble.”

Sixteen
    —
    “She has straight A’s in every other class.”
    My mother was an assistant district attorney. She used her courtroom voice in real life whenever she was trying to get her own way. She was using it now with Ms. Zero in the parent-teacher conference.
    The teacher had her own special twist on parent-teacher conferences. She thought they should include the students, which meant that I was sitting