Catboy Read Free Page B

bad boys—were tossing rocks at the cats, and you two stopped them. You are very brave boys.”
    â€œUm…thanks,” I said.
    â€œI am Singh. Mr. Singh.” He smiled, stepped forward and extended his hand in greeting.
    I hesitated. Was this a trick to grab us?
    â€œPleased to meet you, sir,” Simon said as they shook hands.
    â€œMe too,” I offered, taking his hand once I’d seen him safely release Simon’s. “And thanks for saving us like that.”
    â€œYou looked like you were doing well without me,” Mr. Singh said.
    Either he hadn’t seen what was going to happen or he was being kind.
    â€œDo you own this place?” Simon asked.
    â€œNot me. I am only the security guard, the soldier responsible for all that is here, including the cats.”
    â€œI guess the guy who owns the place wouldn’t want anybody hurting his cats,” I said.
    â€œI do not think he even knows about the cats,” said Mr. Singh.
    â€œThen they’re your cats?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “Nobody ever owns a cat. Ever.”
    â€œI owned a cat,” I said.
    He shook his head again. “No, you did not.”
    â€œYes, I did,” I protested. “His name was Blinky, and he lived in our house for eight years.”
    â€œHe may have lived with you, but you did not own him. You can own a dog, but not a cat. Not any more than you can own a person or an eagle…or a tiger.”
    â€œI’ve heard about people owning tigers,” I said. “You know, tame, trained tigers.”
    He smiled. “I am from India, and I know tigers. They can be in a circus, but the best a tiger will ever be is less wild, not really tame, only pretending to be trained until the right moment arrives when it will become a tiger once more.”
    â€œI’ve seen tigers that are really well behaved. Once my mother took me to a tiger show when we were in Las Vegas on holidays,” I said.
    Then I remembered that a few months after we’d been there, I’d read in the paper how one of the tigers almost killed its owner, the guy who had raised it from a cub.
    â€œThese cats,” he said, gesturing around. “I give them food, I say nice words to them. Do you know why they do not kill me and use me as a meal?”
    I wasn’t sure if he expected an answer. It was a strange question. Cats didn’t kill people.
    â€œThey do not kill me because I am bigger than them. Much bigger. If not?” He drew his finger across his throat and made a slashing sound. “Just curry-flavored kitty chow is all I would be.” He paused as if he was thinking. “You boys came in through one of the holes in the fence.”
    â€œYes,” I said, feeling guilty.
    â€œYou do not need to do that anymore,” he said.
    â€œWe won’t,” I said. “I promise.”
    â€œMe too!” Simon said.
    â€œGood boys. Rather than coming in through one of the holes in the fence, you should come in through the front gate. I will let you in if you wish to come through the yard. You are good boys.”
    â€œThank you,” Simon said.
    â€œYeah, thanks.”
    â€œNow come. I will walk you to the other side. We must make sure those bad boys are gone. If they are not, I will hit them with my nightstick or maybe we will all throw rocks at them!” He laughed, and we laughed with him. “Or maybe I will pretend that I am on a cricket pitch and they are wickets!”
    He made a motion like he was throwing a ball, and we laughed again. I wasn’t sure what a wicket was, but I was sure I liked this guy.

Four
    I waved a final goodbye to Mr. Singh. He waved back at us and smiled. Then he turned and disappeared among the wrecks. Thank goodness the bullies were gone, although it would have been fun to toss a couple of rocks at them.
    â€œHe’s a nice guy,” I said.
    â€œPretty nice. You should have seen your face when you