The Painted Ponies of Partequineus and The Summer of the Kittens Page 8

  I added some more water to the bowl and tucked it away under the back steps where the cat could find it if it stayed in the yard, which I was hoping it would. Right about then I heard Mom coming along the side of the house to put her gardening tools away in the shed, and I scooped up the cat and carried it into the house. It must have been used to being carried ’cause it didn’t struggle or anything, and only flinched a little when the screen door slammed shut behind me with a loud bang. I hurried upstairs into my room and closed the door behind me, and put the cat down on the floor. It must have felt right at home, because it jumped up on my bed real quick and started clawing at the comforter, then turned around two or three times and flopped back on its rear end and lifted one leg and started to wash.

  I’m glad I don’t have to wash myself that way.

  Something Jimmy said reminded me that I didn’t know whether it was a boy cat or a girl cat, but when it started to wash down near its tail, it was pretty obvious that it didn’t have any extra equipment, not like Tristan’s dog, for example, so it had to be a girl. So I could start calling her “she” instead of “it” all the time.

  I didn’t dare try to take the cat back outside right then in case Mom saw me, so I decided to get my homework out of the way before supper, and was reading my history book when she came down the hall and knocked on my door. Everybody always knocks in our house. We have a rule that everyone is entitled to their privacy, and that nobody comes in unless they’re invited.

  It wasn’t always that way. Mom and Dad used to come in and out of my room whenever they wanted to. Only when Dad started getting all strange, what with going off to be with some woman at the university and all, I didn’t want him around so much. One day he just barged right in when I was getting dressed, and I screamed and yelled “Get out!” and he said “Don’t talk to me like that, young lady,” and I screamed again and Mom came running, and they had an awful fight. Anyway, from then on nobody comes into my room unless I say it’s all right, and it’s okay with me when it’s Mom, but not Dad. Only now he never comes to my room anymore, anyway, ’cause he’s never around much.

  I guess I told you that already.

  Anyway, like I said, Mom came and knocked on my door. “Hanna, are you in there?”

  “I’m doing my homework,” I called out.

  “I could use some help in the kitchen.”

  “Coming!”

  The cat was asleep in the middle of the bed, and if I had told Mom to come in she’d have seen her right away, so I shut my book and hurried to the door and opened it just enough so I could slip out and closed it again. Mom didn’t see the cat. I followed her downstairs and helped her get supper, and it was just her and me again, ’cause Dad hardly ever comes home until pretty late any more. I don’t know why he bothers to come home at all.

  After we ate and cleaned up I told Mom I had to finish my homework, and I went back upstairs. The cat was sort of prowling around the room, and when I tried to pet her she acted kind of strange. She jumped up on the windowsill and scratched at the screen, and I figured she wanted to go out. I was going to try to sneak her downstairs to the front door, but when I picked her up she wiggled so much I had to put her down again, and she jumped back up to the window and stretched up against the screen, and it fell right out and down onto the lawn with a really loud noise.

  The cat almost fell out too, and scrambled around and jumped down on the floor. Then she jumped right back up again. There’s this big maple tree outside my window, and one of the branches comes pretty close to the house, only not close enough to reach, but the cat sort of crouched down and then jumped, and she landed on the branch, and the branch swayed up and down but the cat hung on, and when she found her balance she ran along the branch to the trunk and backed all the way down to the ground and ran off toward the fence where I’d left the board propped open, and disappeared into Mr. Harding’s back yard.

  I hurried downstairs and found Mom standing outside on the back steps, looking at my screen lying on the grass. She turned around when she heard me come out.

  “What happened?” she said.

  “I was just looking out my window and the screen fell out,” I told her.

  “It looks kind of bent. Were you leaning on it?”

  “No,” I told her, and it was the truth. It wasn’t me who leaned on it.

  “You could have fallen out, you know. You’d better stay away from the window until we get it fixed.”

  “Maybe I can bend it back in shape,” I said.

  “Leave it for your father. Bring it inside and put it in the back hall.”

  I figured I could fix the screen myself, and if I left it for Dad to do, it’d be Christmas before he got around to it, but I didn’t care. I picked it up and brought it inside, and then I went into the living room and called Jimmy to tell him about the cat, only his mother said he was asleep and couldn’t come to the phone.

  I wonder if I’ll ever see the cat again.

  May 25th

  Hey, Diary!

  I had fun last Saturday. Mr. Morris took Jimmy and me out to the flying field so Jimmy could try out his new airplane, and it flew really well, and Jimmy did lots of tricks with it. And he brought one of his old planes, too, one that he said was easier to fly ’cause it had a bigger wing and went slower, and they had this second radio thing for me that was hooked up to Jimmy’s radio by a long wire. Mr. Morris started the plane’s engine and Jimmy took off with it. Then he flew it around a few times and showed me how the joysticks worked, how if you pulled back on the right hand one the plane went up, and if you pushed it right or left the plane turned. He didn’t explain about the other joystick, but I could see that when he pushed it forward, the plane made a lot more noise and went faster, and when he pulled it back, it slowed down.

  “See how it works?” Jimmy asked me.

  “I think so,” I told him.

  “It’s your turn then,” he said, and he flipped a switch on his radio. I found out later that the switch made my radio work instead of his. “Pull back a little on the right stick and see what happens.”

  I did, and the plane sort of jumped up in the sky and the motor made a whining noise, and then it turned over and started falling, and Jimmy flipped his switch again and did something with his own radio and the plane levelled out again and started flying right.

  “What happened?” I said.

  “You pulled the stick too far and it stalled, that’s all,” Jimmy said. “Go easy next time.”

  He turned the plane around and it started back toward us, and he flipped that switch again and told me to try it. I moved the stick just a little and the plane began to climb.

  “Now the other way,” Jimmy said, and when I did the plane came back down again, and when I let go it levelled off.

  “Neat!” I told him.

  “Now try some turns. Just move the stick a little bit to the right.”

  I wiggled it and the plane dipped its right wing and began to turn. When I let go it straightened out, and I tried the other direction and the plane turned left.

  “This is fun!” I told him.

  We stayed there for more than two hours, and I even got to take off twice, but Jimmy wouldn’t let me land the plane. “Next time,” he said. But I didn’t mind. Mostly I liked watching him fly, so competent, almost as if he was, I don’t know, a whole person like everybody else.

  I understand Jimmy a little better now, about his flying and all. His planes aren’t just toys. They’re a whole lot more to him, a way to be in control of something, something powerful, and to do something that not just anybody can do. They’re more than just models. Maybe they’re even a part of him somehow.

  Jimmy doesn’t take everything for granted like I do, walking and running and just being a kid. Those are things I never even have to think about, but he must. All the time.

  Anyway, about the cat. When I came home from school this afternoon and went up to my room, she was waiting outside the window as usual. I hav
en’t told you that yet, about what happened later that night after she jumped out the window and went down the tree.

  Here’s what happened. I finished all my homework, and Dad still hadn’t come home yet, and Mom and I made some popcorn and watched TV for a while, only there wasn’t much on, so we played cribbage for about half an hour and I won, two games out of three. Then I went to bed, and I was just about asleep when I heard the cat meowing. I got up and looked out the window. See, it was shut on account of there wasn’t any screen, and the bugs would get in, and the cat was sitting on that long branch of the tree and looking in. So I opened the window, and she sort of crept along the branch, right out to the very end, and then she jumped and landed on the windowsill and down to the floor and up on the bed.

  “You can’t stay here,” I told her. “If anybody finds you, I’ll be in big trouble.”

  But she didn’t pay any attention to me. Okay, I know she didn’t understand what I was saying, but I sounded kind of angry, so she should have gotten the idea, but instead she did that flop-back-and-wash-her-privates thing that cats do, one back foot stuck up in the air. I got into bed, and when she finished washing she went down to the foot of the bed and turned around three or four times, pushing at the comforter with her front paws, kind of making a nest for herself, and when she was done she laid down on her stomach and started washing her front paws. I didn’t see what happened after that, ’cause I was really tired and I guess I fell sleep, but when I woke up the next morning she was still there, all curled up with her eyes closed.

  I opened the window in case she wanted to go out and went to the bathroom to take a shower, and when I came back she was still lying on the bed, but she was awake by then. I picked her up and carried her to the windowsill, but instead of going out she jumped down and wandered over to the door. She looked up at me and meowed, and I said “Shush!” ’cause I didn’t want Mom to hear her, or especially Dad, in case he had ever finally come home. Then I went out and closed the door and went downstairs for breakfast.

  Mom was there but Dad wasn’t. I didn’t ask where he was. I didn’t really care, and asking might have made Mom sad. I poured myself a glass of orange juice and ate a slice of toast. Then I poured some Rice Krispies into a bowl, about twice as much as I usually eat, and some milk too.

  “We’re having an assembly today,” I told her.

  “That’s nice, dear,” Mom said, not really listening to me.

  “A whole bunch of kids are getting all their hair cut off.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  I ate some Rice Krispies for a minute or two, and then Mom stopped what she was doing and looked at me strangely. “What did you just say?”

  “Some ninth grade kids are getting their hair cut off, right down to the scalp, and we’re all going to the gym to watch.”

  “What for?”

  “It’s a fund-raiser for cancer. You know, like when kids get cancer they lose all their hair ’cause of the medicine they have to take, so the ninth graders are getting their hair cut off. That way kids with cancer won’t feel like they’re different. And they’re donating the hair to this place in Toronto that makes wigs for kids who don’t have any, so people won’t look at them funny or feel sorry for them. You know how Jimmy hates it when people feel sorry for him. Lots of people are donating money to the Cancer Society, too, just to see all of them get bald.”

  “Just the boys?” Mom asked.

  “Uh, uh. Girls too. It’ll be in the newspaper and everything.”

  “Why would they want to do that?”

  “I told you, to help other kids who have cancer.”

  Mom just shook her head. “Well, I guess it’s for a good cause. But I wouldn’t want you to look like that. You have such beautiful hair.”

  “I’m gonna do it when I’m in ninth grade,” I told her.

  “We’ll see.”

  When Mom says “We’ll see” like that, it always means she won’t let me, only when the time comes I just won’t tell her about it until it’s all over. Anyway, I bet it would be kind of neat to have all my hair cut off. Maybe then I’d really know what it was like to have cancer and lose all my hair so that people would look at me like they look at Jimmy in his wheelchair.

  I wish I knew what it’s like to be Jimmy.

  I went back to my cereal and finished half of it. I waited until Mom’s back was turned, and then I slipped out of the chair and took the bowl with me. I held it really close in front of me so she wouldn’t see it and hurried out of the room and ran upstairs as fast as I could. The cat was still there, and I put the bowl down on the floor and she came over right away and started to eat.

  Cats like Rice Krispies too, just like me.

  It was almost time to leave for school, and I closed the window so the bugs wouldn’t get in and picked up my backpack and went out, shutting the door after me. I thought about asking Mom to stay out of my room, but that wasn’t a good idea, ’cause she’d just wonder why and maybe go snooping, and today wasn’t one of her cleaning days, so I just left the door closed and went downstairs and said goodbye and went to school.

  When I came home for lunch, the first thing I did was go upstairs and look for the cat, and when I went into my room she was asleep on the bed, only there was this funny kind of smell. I hunted around and found a yellow puddle in one corner.

  Cat pee really stinks!

  I got a towel and wiped it up, and then I scrubbed the floor with a washcloth and some soap until the smell disappeared - well, most of it, anyway - and then I washed the towel out in the bathroom sink and hung it up. Finally I opened the window and picked the cat up and carried her to the windowsill, but she didn’t want to go out, so I had to leave the window open and hoped she wouldn’t pee on the floor again, or something worse. After lunch I checked on her again, only she wasn’t there, so I shut the window and went back to school.

  Over the next few days we sort of developed a system that worked pretty well. I sneaked food up to my room after breakfast and after supper, and I left the window open while she ate. She seemed to know that I wanted her to go out after that, and most times she jumped up on the windowsill and ran down the tree. You should see her do that. She hangs on with her claws and goes down backwards, just like I do in my elm tree, only I haven’t got any claws, of course, which is why I have boards nailed into the trunk to hang on to.

  Once when she didn’t want to go out and I had to leave for school, I had to sneak downstairs with her and put her out the front door when Mom was in the kitchen. She hasn’t peed on the floor again, and I’m really glad about that.

  Oh, yeah, and I gave her a name. She’s Maggie now.

  So today when I came home Maggie was outside the window as usual, waiting for me to let her in, and I did. I stayed up there and did my homework, and after supper - Dad was home for a change - I offered to clean up and put away the leftovers like I always do ever since Maggie came so I can save some food for her without Mom noticing, and when Dad went into his den and Mom started loading the dishwasher, I took the meat I snitched upstairs and fed her.

  While she was eating I had to go to the bathroom, and I shut my bedroom door but I guess the latch didn’t close tight, and when I came back it was standing open and Maggie was gone. I had left the window open and I went over to look out, hoping I’d see her climbing down the tree, only she wasn’t there, and right then I heard Dad holler and I ran to the top of the stairs and found him standing in the middle of the living room. Maggie was halfway down with her ears kind of laid back, and Dad was shouting at her.

  “What the hell is a cat doing in here!”

  Mom came hurrying out of the kitchen, and I ran halfway down the stairs and picked Maggie up and petted her, but she was all kind of tense from Dad yelling like that, and she dug her claws into my shoulder. It hurt.

  “Louise,” Dad hollered, “did you tell this child she could bring a cat into this house?”

  “Of course not,” Mom said, and then she said to me, �
�Where did it come from?”

  “Some college kids dropped it off last week,” I said, and I guess I kind of mumbled because Dad said “What did you say?” really loud and kind of mean.

  “Don’t yell at her like that,” Mom said. “She said some college students left it here.”

  “Here?” He was glaring at me. “In this house?”

  “In the vacant lot across the street,” I said.

  “So what is it doing in my house?”

  “Our house,” Mom said. “Hanna, put the cat outside.”

  “I can’t,” I told her.

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause she’ll just get right back in.”

  “Not if we don’t open the door,” Dad said.

  “She doesn’t come in the door,” I said, really quiet, and Dad said “What?” really loud, and the cat sank her claws into me again and I let her loose and she ran back upstairs.

  “That’s enough!” Dad said, and he pushed past me up the stairs and into my bedroom, only the cat was gone ’cause I’d left the window open. I followed him in, and he stared at the window and then turned around and said, “How long has this been going on?”

  Mom came in, and I could tell she was getting mad ’cause I hadn’t told her about the cat. Well, I was getting mad too.

  “Somebody has to feed her,” I said. “Those college kids just left her, and so I took her some hamburger and some chicken and she followed me home, and I let her in once, and she wanted to go out and she knocked the screen loose and ran down the tree, only she came back again, and I’ve been feeding her ever since, and I want to keep her.”

  “It’s not your responsibility,” Dad said.

  “It has to be somebody’s, or she’ll die,” I said. “Paul Gallico says people are always doing that, they keep a pet as long as it’s not too much trouble, but when it becomes too much work for them, they just kick it out. They abandon it.”