Free Breaking Brooklyn by Scott Leopold Page A

lot of stray
pets.
    Tom was my first cat. He was a black and white
billicat that had mostly white fur, dotted with irregular black
spots. There was even one on his neck that resembled a bow tie.
Combined with the big spot on his back, he looked like he was
wearing a tuxedo. I thought that was so cool.
    Tom was always looking for a little kindness,
a handout, a bit of food he could pull out of the garbage. The
night I found him I snuck him into my room so he could sleep with
me. When my mom found out she tossed him out the back
door.
    I could relate to his lonely howling as my
mother shut the door, abandoning him into the lonely darkness. Tom
craved affection and so did I. My furry friend loved to sit on my
lap purring as I tickled the black spot on his tiny head. Hearing
him purr, I felt a ray of heat fill my chest. We spent hours
sitting on the side of the railroad bank looking up at the stars.
Though I was an outgoing kid, I was very much a loner. Tom was my
only real friend at the time.
    My mom had no problem with me adopting a
neighborhood cat as long as I didn’t bring him into the house. I
could live with that rule for a while. I fed Tom Star-Kist tuna
from a small can and poured him a bowl of milk every morning. The
more I fed him, the more he came around. I loved seeing his eager
little face in the morning when he walked into our yard. I knew he
was looking for me, and that made me feel loved. I guess it was a
bond between two loners. He needed me and I needed him.
    I liked all the neighbors with the exception
of one person, Molly Baker. Molly was the same age as my mother and
carried a thick black book that was bound by worn leather. She
would read from it out loud to herself as she walked through the
neighborhood at night. Molly had frizzy black hair the color of
charcoal with a large, irregular mole on her nose. Draped in black
clothes she resembled the wicked witch of the west. Being eleven
years old, I truly believed she was casting spells as she read out
loud from her book.
    Molly was not fond of me. I could never figure
out why. I think she was envious of my popularity in our small
apartment complex. She would intently watch everything from her
apartment window where I suspect she kept a diary, recording
everyone’s actions. How else would she have known our business so
well? It was rumored that Molly (a widow) was never able to have
children. I imagine that’s why she was so bitter.
    One day Tom didn’t show up for his usual meal
of tuna and milk. I waited, and waited, getting more and more
worried. Something felt very wrong to me. Desperate to find my
friend I took off looking for him. I searched all over town,
checking everywhere we had ever been. I couldn’t find him anywhere!
Thoughts of Jim entered my mind. I couldn’t stand to lose another
friend.
    After a week of searching I was starting to
wonder if Tom got hit by a train or a car. Maybe he had been
attacked by a dog and was lying in some alley suffering. These
thoughts kept me awake at night. I couldn’t concentrate in school,
and I didn’t feel hungry at all. I kept looking with more intensity
and determination than ever, but still, no Tom.
    Then, on my way home from school one day, I
happened to hear a scratching noise as I passed one of the
apartment buildings that sat in the very back of our complex. My
heart filled with excitement when I saw my long lost friend. Tom
was just as excited to see me, scratching at the window like he was
trying to open it. I checked to see if it was unlocked, and to my
surprise it was. I opened it and let my friend out. We made a quick
getaway. When I got Tom home I snuck him into my room. I held him
tight all night.
    The next morning, I awoke to my mother
standing over my bed.
    “ Why is this cat in your
room?”
    “ Because it’s mine! You told me I
could have him.”
    “ I told you it was a neighborhood
cat. That you could play with it as long as it stayed
outside.”
    “ But Tom is mine. He wants to