The Old Cat and the Kitten Read online

  Then one evening Joel decided to stand—or sit—his ground. Instead of backing away he put the plate down and sat down beside it.

  “It’s about time you let me stay to dinner, Old Cat. It’s about time. Here I been feeding you all this time, buying your dinner out of my own money, serving it all up your way. Least you can do is eat beside me. I won’t touch you—not yet.”

  After a while Old Cat, still growling a little, found that his hunger overcame his distrust, and he ate his food within inches of Joel’s hand.

  Joel was very careful not to make any further motions toward Old Cat other than leaving his hand lying, relaxed, beside the dish. Old Cat sniffed the hand. He decided it held no threat to him and ignored it until one evening, suddenly, before he touched the food, Old Cat sniffed those fingers again. Then he pressed his forehead against Joel’s wrist. Gently, the boy turned his hand and his fingers stroked Old Cat’s chin. They moved slowly under his ear, but when Joel tried to stroke his head Old Cat drew back.

  “OK, Old Cat—I’ll let you do all the making up. I’ll just go along with you. OK, you just show me—show me Old Cat. Show me how you want it—show me, show me.”

  His hand lay still once more. Again Old Cat pressed his forehead against the boy’s arm.

  And Joel felt his throat swell, and he had to stop his crooning and fight back the sudden tears in his eyes as Old Cat butted his forehead all along his arm, rubbed it and pressed it along his side, in his armpit, against his chest. Then the cat stretched out on the ground and rolled over on his back and squirmed from side to side; and this time when Joel put his hand under Old Cat’s chin, the cat’s front paws, claws sheathed, closed over it; his hind feet came up close together and beat gently, rapidly, playfully against Joel’s arm.

  Joel swallowed.

  “I told you we was gonna be friends, didn’t I?” he whispered. “You and me, we gonna have a ball, that’s what we gonna have, you and me. I’m your man, and you my Old Cat, right? My Old Cat, my Old Cat.”

  At last Old Cat left off his loving and turned to his dinner, but now he let Joel stroke him while he ate. When the cat had finished and washed, Joel stood up.

  “You gonna stay here now and live in my garage? You gonna sleep in that nice bed I made for you, huh? You gonna stay, Old Cat? This a good place I fixed for you, come on, come on.”

  Old Cat rubbed his body against the boy’s ankles, weaving in and out between his feet. With his tail and hindquarters pressed against Joel’s knee, he rubbed his scarred face on Joel’s foot until he lost his balance and turned over in a complete somersault.

  “You old comedian you!” Joel laughed as he rubbed Old Cat’s tummy. “You still got fun in you, haven’t you, Old Cat? Even after all you been through, poor old guy. Here, let me look at that scar.”

  He knelt beside the cat and peered closely at the puffy scar that ran down the eyebrow, over the eye and across the cheek.

  “That eye don’t look so good, old fella. It’s looking kinda cloudy, like a scum starting over it. Wish I knew what to do—jeez, I wish I knew.”

  After more petting, Joel tried to get Old Cat to come to the garage window. He went around and inside the garage and brought back the piece of old blanket. He let the cat smell it, sniff it thoroughly all over, then he stood up on the garbage can and reached through the window and dropped the blanket to the top of the sideboard. When Old Cat did not appear anxious to follow it through the window, Joel went back inside the garage and stood up on the old sideboard. He let Old Cat see him through the window and called, “Come on, Old Cat. Come on in, Old Cat. Come on, see your own place, your own sleeping place, nice and cozy in here. Come on.”

  Old Cat jumped up on the garbage can and then into the window and balanced on the windowsill. He did not join Joel on the sideboard, however, but turned around and jumped back out into the alley.

  He simply did not show any interest in the shelter, and finally Joel joined him in the alley again.

  “Guess I’ll have to let you have your own way, as usual,” Joel sighed. “I sure hope you’ll stay around. I sure hope you’ll let me know, some way, what you want.”

  But after a while, when it was almost dark, with a new moon rising over the trees around the lake and stars coming out thickly across the sky, Old Cat turned his back on Joel and walked with graceful dignity away down the alley.

  Every evening after that Joel and Old Cat spent a longer time together as though they measured out their time by the lengthening of the days. Joel tried to interest the cat in a string or a ball, but Old Cat seemed to want nothing but affection. It was as though he had stored within himself so much unused love that now he could not hold it in. If Joel sat down, Old Cat was in his lap at once, nestling in his arms, pawing with sheathed claws, burying his head under Joel’s armpit or in the crook of his arm, licking Joel’s skin. He did not talk much any more, except when he first arrived, asking for his dinner, but he purred almost from the time he came until the time came when he decided he must go. Then he walked away, always in the same direction, always slowly now, tail up and strangely beautiful.

  Along the fence across the alley someone had planted the kind of roses that grow in trailing clusters. They were now in full bloom falling over the fence and tangling in an overgrowth of weeds and tall grass that grew at the alley’s edge. As Old Cat walked past he always brushed against them as though enjoying their scent, their softness, their color. And sometimes cat and roses were washed with moonlight and made a picture that Joel would never forget.

  PART TWO

  Old Cat and the Kitten

  Chapter One

  OLD CAT WALKED DOWN THE ALLEY ­into the next block and crawled under a crumbling stucco wall. Several of the houses in this block were old. This one was very old and long vacant, and what had once been a rock garden and lily pond in its back yard was now a catchall for trash. An old wheelless baby carriage lay on its side on top of a heap of cast-off furniture, broken tools, rusted auto parts, a twisted metal garden chair and other junk, and because it had all piled up on top of the rocks, there was a small opening underneath that made a shelter of sorts. Early in April, a mother cat had had a litter of four—three gray and one black. They had nested in the overturned baby carriage on the top of the heap. Old Cat stayed in the shelter below.

  Then the rains had started, and after a few weeks, the shelter had filled with water. Old Cat had had to move. He had nosed around the pile and found that the baby carriage was empty, so he moved in. It was damp and smelly, but better than the wet shelter under the pile. If the sun came out, a bit of it reached the ragged mattress during the afternoon and he could warm himself a little before he set out for the evening.

  He was alone until early one morning when he was awakened as what seemed to be a part of him began to move up and down his belly, nuzzling and biting. The hair rose along his backbone, and he growled. He nosed the thing, and it curled itself into a small ball under his chin, mewing miserably.

  It was the black kitten, about six or seven weeks old. She was wet, and her downy fur was caked with chunks of mud. Again, she nuzzled along Old Cat’s underside. He got to his feet and arched his body over her, growling, but she went on, stretching up, hungrily nibbling at his belly. He pushed her away with his forehead and held her down with one great black paw. Then he crouched over her and, starting with her face, he began to lick. His big, rough tongue worked steadily in and out of her ears, around her neck, over her head, and she relaxed and stopped her pitiful, sharp mewing. She was quiet as he licked her clean.

  He was not hungry when, at dawn, he had crawled into the baby carriage to sleep. Now, however, he got up, stretched and started to leave. The kitten tumbled after him, but he cuffed her back into the nest.

  When he returned, he carried in his mouth a broken-off piece of stale cookie, which he dropped in front of the kitten. She licked at it and batted it with her tiny p
aws. Some of the broken edges crumbled off and softened, and she licked them away. Old Cat lay and watched her.

  When the kitten gave up on the hard cookie, she nuzzled Old Cat again, biting at his underside in search of real nourishment. He stood up, arched, and when she continued to try to nurse, he cuffed her off. Then he left the nest again.

  This time, when he returned, he carried a strip of gristle with fat, but no meat on it. The kitten sucked at it for a while, then gave up and once again attacked Old Cat’s belly. He paid no attention and chewed on the gristle himself. This bit of food had been cleverly come by, snatched from a mongrel’s dish while the dog was chasing off another cat.

  When Old Cat had done all he could with the gristle, he tried to do what he could with the nest, now foul with kitten droppings. There was not much left of the old carriage mattress, but he pawed and scraped and kicked with his hind feet until some of the dirt was out of the nest. After this, he washed himself, fending off the kitten with his nose or cuffing her away until he had finished. Then he stretched out flat and reached for the kitten with both paws. He washed her thoroughly all over. It was now midmorning, and when the kitten finally lay still beneath his paws, he lowered his chin over her and slept, too.

  IT WAS NOT EASY FOR AN OLD, WORN-OUT fighting tom to mother a little kitten, but he tried. His best source of food for the kitten was the loaded dish belonging to the mongrel dog nearby, and he really enjoyed fooling the young animal by luring him to one end of the fenced-in yard, then dashing in and grabbing from the plate whatever he could carry away in his mouth. He usually jumped to the top of the fence and showed off his loot, while the dog barked insanely and flung himself against the boards below.

  Unfortunately, the kind of food he was able to carry was seldom anything that the kitten could eat. Even if he had wished to share with her the food given to him by the boy, it was never of the kind he could carry a distance of two blocks, being either a soft, moist mixture or hard crumbly particles. A small frog now and then, or a field mouse gave the kitten her best nourishment, but there were not enough of these around. Also, he did not know how to teach her to find the food for herself. Slowly she began to lose her strength. She no longer tried to follow him, or nuzzle or play about the nest.

  As the kitten weakened, Old Cat brought more and more odds and ends until the nest was foul with bits of stale and rotting food.

  When Old Cat could no longer bear this state of affairs, he pushed the kitten out of the nest all the way down to the ground. There he washed her and tried to get her to follow him out to the alley. He had some trouble getting her under ­the stucco wall and, once out on the alley side, ­she lay down and refused to move. He sat beside her, but when a large stray dog came excitedly toward them he rose. With hair standing out on body and tail until he appeared to be twice his size, he arched his back. Hissing and snarling, he moved toward the dog, who halted, whined, then turned around and ran back the way he had come.

  After a while, Old Cat nudged the kitten to her feet. She wobbled after him for a few paces, then lay down again. He mouthed her all over, trying to pick her up, but she mewed and cried and squirmed away from him. At last, he got hold of her at the back of the neck and lifted her by her skin. She stopped struggling then, and he carried her up the alley.

  Chapter Two

  WHERE YOU, OLD CAT? YOU LATE tonight. Come on, Old Cat—come get your dinner. Come on, Old Cat, come on.”

  Old Cat came out from under a cluster of roses and twined around Joel’s ankles. He set the heaping plate down on the ground and stroked Old Cat’s head.

  “This here’s a special dinner tonight, Old Cat,” he said. “‘Special Deluxe Dinner’ it’s called. It’s got chicken and liver and egg and kidney—that’s what it says on the label. What’s the matter, Old Cat—ain’t you hungry? Don’t you like that dinner? What’s the matter?”

  Old Cat sat beside the plate of food, but he neither sniffed nor tasted it. He just sat there and looked down the alley at the cluster of roses.

  “What you looking at, Old Cat? Huh? What you—what the he—what the heck is that?”

  The cluster of roses moved, and the black kitten came out from underneath. She swayed, then took a few steps toward them and sat down. She got up and moved a few more steps, then stumbling, wobbling all the way, she finally got herself to the plate and sank her face into the food. She put both paws into the plate and pressed them one after the other into the food as she sucked it up.

  “Golly! I never seen anything like that before. Hey—she’s gonna choke herself! Hey, there, wait a minute, kitty. Slow up there—you gonna be sick.”

  Old Cat sat still beside the plate, not ­touching it nor the kitten, just watching as Joel knelt down and gently lifted the kitten away from the food. All four legs were waving, tiny toes spread out, reaching toward the food. He set her back again.

  “Old Cat, you been fooling me all along? You been fooling me? No—no, you ain’t no mother cat. I know an old tom when I see one.”

  The boy stroked Old Cat while they both watched the kitten eat.

  “That sure your baby, though—even got those white hairs on her shoulder. How come, Old Cat? How come? I sure never heard tell of a male cat taking care of a kitten, his or any other—hey, wait! I told you—”

  The kitten began to choke, and as Joel lifted her away from the plate she threw up. “See? That’s what you get for being so greedy, see? Only—you ain’t greedy, you just plain starved. What you need is some milk.”

  He stroked the black kitten nestled against his chest.

  “You stay here, Old Cat. I gotta see what I can do.”

  Old Cat followed the boy, for the first time, to the back door of the house.

  Instead of going in, Joel rattled the screen door and called softly.

  “Mom—hey, Mom! Can you come to the back door a minute?”

  “What you want? I’m busy.”

  “Mom, is the Fiends asleep yet?”

  “Not for long if you keep up that racket.”

  “Mom, please!”

  She came to the door, and Old Cat moved a few feet away, crouching.

  “Oh! For lord’s sake! What now!” She opened the screen door and came outside peering at the kitten.

  “Mom, Old Cat brought her. She needs some milk—please. I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”

  “I thought you told me that old cat was a tom?”

  “He is.”

  “Then what the hell’s he doing with a kitten? Don’t you go taking advantage of me, boy! Just because I let you keep that old cat don’t mean I’m going to put up with any litter—”

  “Mom, please! Please listen.”

  The only light came from the kitchen and from a half-risen moon. Joel held the kitten out with both hands so that his mother could see it better.

  “Mom, he led this kitten—Old Cat brought her—just this one—to the food tonight. He ain’t touched the food himself. She gobbled it, then threw it up because it’s too much for her. She needs milk, Mom, and—and maybe baby food. But right now, mostly she needs milk. Please, Mom—see? She’s really starving.”

  His mother took the kitten into her hands.

  “You right about that, son. I never seen anything this thin. You don’t really think you gonna keep her alive, do you?”

  “I gotta try Mom—I just got to—after the way Old Cat brought her—like he knew I’d take care of her. Mom, I just can’t not try to save her—please . . .”

  He noticed with surprise, and hope, that his mother was stroking the kitten.

  “You got your work cut out for you with this one. Nothing this thin could ever survive. But, I have to hand it to you, son, you sure done wonders with that old tom. If it wasn’t for that ugly face of his all screwed up with that scar, he’d be a handsome animal.”

  The boy wondered if his mother knew how gently she wa
s cradling the kitten.

  “Your brother left half his milk on the kitchen table—it won’t be too cold like what’s in the refrigerator. You can use one of them pink saucers tonight, but you’ll have to find something else to feed her with tomorrow.”

  When he came back out with the brimming saucer, his mother dipped her fingers in the milk and rubbed them against the kitten’s mouth. Then they both knelt to watch while the kitten waded in and began to drink. Old Cat relaxed and lay quietly where he was, watching.

  “Where you going to put them? You say the old cat don’t use the place you went to all that trouble to fix up for him.”

  “I don’t know.” Joel sighed. “I don’t think I can put them anywhere. I just have to wait and let Old Cat show me what he wants. It’s his kitten. I guess he’ll let me know what he wants, when he’s ready.”

  Chapter Three

  WISH YOU’D LISTEN TO ME SAME WAY you let that Old Cat boss you around,” Joel’s mother said later as they were putting away the supper dishes and setting the kitchen table for breakfast. They had watched the kitten fill herself until her sides were stretched out, then stagger over to Old Cat who held her between his paws and washed her clean. Joel had brought another plate of food and set it down beside Old Cat, who then ate hungrily while the kitten slept. Then Joel and his mother went into the house, leaving cat and kitten in the yard.

  Joel set the box of cold cereal in the middle of the table. “That’s just the way cats are,” he told his mother. “You got to help them—they independent, but they got to have people-help, too. Only you got to let them decide. Say, Mom—how come—how come you knew how to get that kitten to lap milk?”

  “You heard me tell you a hundred times: I lived for a while in the country when I was a little kid.” She sat down at the table and hooked a foot around another chair pulling it out so she could put her feet up on it. “Lord, I’m tired,” she said, lighting a cigarette. The boy sat in the chair across from her and crossed his arms on the table. He waited while she puffed again on her cigarette.