Free Catboy by Eric Walters Page B

looks like she needs to go on a diet.”
    We walked through the yard.
    â€œI’ve never been in a junkyard before,” she said. Her head swiveled from side to side. “It’s a bit spooky.”
    â€œIt’s not spooky. Well, not that spooky.”
    â€œIt’s just the sort of place you’d see on one of those CSI episodes where they find a body or there’s a killer or—”
    â€œI used to think the same thing.”
    â€œBut not now?” she asked.
    â€œNot until you brought it up. You’re creeping me out.”
    â€œSorry,” she said.
    Of course it didn’t feel creepy to me anymore. The junkyard was like a second home, a second home that could be a scene from CSI Toronto .
    â€œI’m just a little nervous. I really do want to see the cats, and I guess there’s no other way,” she said.
    â€œIt’s not like I can bring them around to the apartment.”
    â€œYou talk so much about them, I think I’ll even be able to pick them out, especially the ones like Miss Mittens and King and Hunter.”
    â€œHunter is the least likely to be here,” I said.
    â€œThat’s strange. You talk about him the most.”
    â€œI do?”
    â€œDefinitely. I get the feeling he’s your favorite.”
    â€œI guess he is,” I said.
    â€œOh my goodness!” My mother shrieked and skidded to a stop.
    Right in front of us, directly in our path, was a raccoon. It was the same raccoon I’d first seen with Hunter in the alley. I had seen it in the junkyard a couple of times since then. He heard us, stopped, spun around and sat down, staring at us.
    â€œDon’t worry, it’s just Rocky,” I said.
    â€œRocky?”
    â€œI named him,” I said. “You know that song you listen to by that group, what is it called, the Beatles?”
    â€œOh, ‘Rocky Raccoon’!” she said and sang a couple of bars from the song. “I can’t believe how big it is.”
    â€œHe is big, but he never bothers me. I think he lives around here too,” I said. “But from what Mr. Singh has told me, he doesn’t live in the yard.”
    â€œRaccoons can be dangerous,” she said. “Especially one that big. They have very sharp claws and can be vicious. I read somewhere they get rabies and—”
    â€œRocky doesn’t have rabies,” I said. “And he isn’t vicious. He’s pretty relaxed.”
    It looked like Rocky had a smile on his face, like he had a secret or had just been told a joke.
    â€œActually,” my mother said and chuckled, “his expression—this is going to sound strange—it looks a bit like Mona Lisa’s smile. Well, if she was furry and wearing a black mask.”
    â€œI can see that,” I said, “but he reminds me of somebody else. With that big belly, the way he’s sitting and that thoughtful look, I was thinking that he looked like a furry Buddha.”
    â€œI can see that too!” she exclaimed. “He does look wise, like he’s sitting there contemplating life.”
    â€œThinking that wouldn’t offend anybody, would it?” I asked. “You know, comparing a raccoon to Buddha. That wouldn’t make people who believe in Buddha mad, would it?”
    â€œI think Buddhists are a pretty understanding people,” she said. “Besides, they believe in reincarnation. For all we know, coming back as a raccoon may be a higher life form than a person.”
    I laughed.
    â€œEither way, he’s such a chubby guy, he seems to be doing fairly well for himself,” she said. “Maybe he just got a promotion too.”
    Rocky tilted his head to the side as if he was trying to figure us out. He shook a paw at us, like he was waving goodbye, turned around and slowly waddled away.
    â€œAny more surprise animals I should know about?” she asked.
    â€œThere is a family of skunks, a mother and a couple