THE CATS-HAVE-NINE-LIVES THEORY
So now I'm thinking that wasn't very smart.
"You yelled at Zook's doctor," Fred says on our way home. He's crying, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
"I know, I know," I say. "Hey, don't worry. Nothing's wrong. Zook will get fixed." I feel shivery inside, and I'm crying, too. I'm not sure I believe what I just said.
The vet had patted me on the shoulder and said he understood. But, as I said, that vet isn't God. He's just a plain old human, who eats and sleeps and scratches an itch, like everyone else. A human who really doesn't like being yelled at, and who may not do his very, very best work when he sees Zook. Because when he sees Zook, he will think about Zook's owner with her big mouth and feel super annoyed.
We sit down on our special bus bench, even though we're not waiting for a bus. This particular bench is about halfway between the Good Samaritan Veterinary Clinic and our apartment building on Telegraph Avenue. It's a good place to stop and hang out if you're not in any particular hurry. Also, it's right across the street from a Bank of the West. If there happens to be a bank robbery, I am in the best position to notice important details to help the authorities. For instance, what the bad guys look like when they race outside, the license plate number of the getaway car, the exact time of the event, any witnesses, etc., etc. I'm a good noticer. Not that I've ever witnessed a robbery, but you never know.
I look over at Fred. I notice some important details. He's got that Sad Fred Look, all droopy-mouthed, and I know he'll be eating air again at the next meal. That's what my mom always says, that Fred eats air—boiled, fried, roasted, and grilled. In other words, his appetite isn't so hot. And we're always so scared that he'll go back to that time when he was REALLY wasting away, after our father died, two years ago.
Then I know what to do. It's one of my four jobs. Yes, believe it or not, I have four jobs.
One of my jobs is to crank up Fred's appetite. I reach into the pocket of my shorts and pull out a little plastic bag filled with tiny crackers. Fred likes food that's shaped like cute things. These crackers are shaped like goldfish.
My second job is helping Fred improve his reading skills. I want him to be a STAR when he gets to kindergarten next year. That's what happened to me. Also, reading will take his mind off things and make him happier. And I'm happy when Fred is happy.
I pull out a pencil stub and a little pad from my pocket, handy just for this purpose. I get inspired and draw a really good rebus, if I do say so myself. Rebuses taught me to read and now they're teaching Fred. My dad, the Great Rebus-Maker himself, was the one who taught me.
"Cats," reads Fred.
"You got it. Go on."
"H-h-h-a-a-ve."
"Great!"
"Nine. Hives. Cats. Have. Nine. Hives. They do?"
I point to the code RW above my drawing of the hives. "Rhymes with, remember? Make hives rhyme with something that starts with L."
"L-l-l-ives. Cats have nine lives."
"There." I scribble I ? Fred under my rebus.
I feel like Miss Crackenhower must have felt. Miss Crackenhower was my first-grade teacher, way back. Practically everything she ever said was in caps. Her teeth were very white and it looked like she had more of them than a usual human. She was always smiling. That's because you get a happy feeling helping someone read. You feel sort of like a wizard. I have to say, to this day, Miss Crackenhower still has the whitest teeth. And she still seems much happier than any other teacher, especially my fourth-grade teacher, Mr. Fry, who has trouble keeping the lid on Room 7.
"Ha, ha, that's silly! Nine lives!" says Fred, and he gives me a little punch on my arm. Of course he doesn't believe me. And all of a sudden, it's important, VERY important, that Fred understand and believe. He'll feel happier right away. And like I said, I'm happy when Fred is happy.
So I start talking very fast. "Listen to me, Freddy. Cats are born with nine lives inside of them. They have the ability—the POWER—to live nine whole lives! Some of those lives can be very long, and maybe some are shorter, but this is how it works: Whenever something bad happens, like a cat fight, or a bad fall, or a failing kidney, just like that, PRESTO! That cat's back in business again!"
"You mean he dies and comes back again?"
"He sort of dies, but not really. He starts a whole new life. Nine lives altogether. Cats are amazing that way."
The Cats-Have-Nine-Lives Theory is what people call "an old wives' tale." It's a theory that's been around since olden times. Everyone who knows cats knows how often they do dumb, death-defying stunts that would kill other living things. How many cats have you noticed snoozing peacefully under a car? Ever seen a dog do that? I rest my case.
I look around and notice an older woman approaching our bench.
"See her? I'm going to prove it to you," I say quietly out of the corner of my mouth, because the woman is coming closer. Sometimes older people have hearing problems, but sometimes they don't. For instance, Gramma Dee claims she can hear a fly's little hairy legs touching down onto her kitchen countertop.
Now the woman sits down on the bench with us. Fred and I squiggle to the side to make more room.
"But, really, how do you know it's true?" Fred asks, continuing the conversation.
"I just know," I say. "It's one of those things you learn when you get older."
I can feel the woman beside me listening. She smells like mint tea and just-washed laundry. Of course, she can't help listening, since we're all squished together on the bench. But often older people do eavesdrop on kids' conversations, and even jump right in. That's because they miss the children they used to have, who have all grown up and left home.
I smile at her. "Nice day," I say.
I try to keep a couple of good conversation starters up my sleeve. And it's usually a nice day in Oakland, except for a couple of months in the winter when it rains. We even love the rain, especially when there's a drought. But even when there's lots of rain, we all still try to practice water conservation whenever we can. For example, not running the water while we brush our teeth.
"Yes, it sure is a pretty day today," the woman says.
"My brother and I are talking about cats. How many lives would you say they have?" I ask, hoping she'll say the right thing.
"Nine, of course."
BINGO!
"And you wouldn't believe the scrapes my cats have bounced back from!" the woman says. The bus arrives before she can tell us about those scrapes. She waves from a window of the bus, and we wave back.
"See?" I say to Fred. "Just ask anyone."