Free Cat Tales by Alma Alexander Page A

sat back and started cleaning
my whiskers, deliberately ignoring them.
    "Isn't she pretty?" said Janine. There – I
knew the girl had taste.
    "She's a moggy, darling – and she's so
painfully thin – and how do you know it's a she anyway?"
    "I know."
    "Oh, dear. You know that would mean a trip to
the vet. If she stayed."
    I looked up at that, mid-motion, and then
flung myself off the porch into the bushes.
    "She's probably somebody's," said Janine's
mother. "She seemed to understand the word 'vet' perfectly well,
anyhow."
    It was weeks before I came close enough to
explore the house. It had had a cat door before they moved in, but
they had no pets so they had locked it shut. After a while, though,
I realized that Janine had stealthily unlocked the cat door and was
leaving the house accessible. The first time I came in it was well
after midnight, and they were all fast asleep. It was a pleasant
house, and it had all the right things. I tried out one of the
cushions on the sofa – it was just right. I had an excellent nap
before I made my escape in the morning before the rest of them
stirred. But I made sure that they would know I'd been there.
    The next time I snuck in, there was a saucer
of milk by the fridge. I could feel my whiskers twitching. They
were doing well.
    I allowed myself to fall asleep on one of the
wicker chairs on the back porch one or two days later, knowing they
would find me there. When I felt Janine's thin hand on my back, I
kept my eyes closed and started purring.
    "Listen," Janine said happily, "she enjoys
it."
    "Your Dad doesn't like the idea, Jan," said
her mother. "Now go inside, you have homework."
    "Michelle thinks we're lucky," Janine said.
"Black cats are supposed to be lucky…"
    "Funny, that," said her mother. "I always
heard just the opposite. Homework."
    Michelle. Hmmmm. It was working already.
    When I let their next door neighbors catch me
stalking the cage with their budgies, they had already seen me on
Janine's back porch often enough to assume I belonged there. So it
was to that house that they directed a complaint.
    "She's not our cat," Janine's mother said
apologetically. "But come in. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
    The neighbor from the other side subsequently
popped over to tell Janine's mother what a fusspot the woman with
the budgies was. They too shared a cup of coffee. Then Janine's
family was invited there to dinner one night. Michelle came to hang
out with Janine, and soon there were other girls there, too. I
allowed myself to be seen and stroked. They all thought I was
beautiful, and I was gracious enough to accept the compliment – as
well as the small can of tuna which they sneaked off the pantry
shelf to give me.
    I started sleeping in the house. The family
didn't seem to mind. A beanbag appeared beside the TV one night,
and it was just the right size for a cat. I appreciated their
thoughtfulness. But it was still best when I climbed into Janine's
Dad's lap when he least expected it and sat there kneading his
legs. He always protested, but I could tell that he enjoyed the
attention, especially when he knew that Janine was jealous – she'd
sort of discovered me and she rather thought of me as "her" cat.
But her dad smelled nice – a sort of musty male smell with a whiff
of leather from the patches on the elbows of his sweater, and
tobacco. He had a moustache – whiskers almost as respectable as
mine. If he'd been a cat he would have made a very good mouser.
    The family seemed nicely established now. The
left neighbor got Janine's mother and father involved in a bridge
club. The right neighbor said that Janine could come over and play
on the Internet on his computer if she liked. The neighbor two
houses down the road asked if Janine could baby-sit. Michelle
practically lived at Janine's place. And in the middle of it all –
as there should be – there was a contented cat drowsing before the
TV. The center of the circle, the heart of the house.
    It was probably time