Searching for Candlestick Park (2 page)

“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do,” Mama said.

As we drove away from the house, I rolled down my window and looked back, still hoping to see a reddish brown cat with a bushy tail.

“Mrs. Ryan will probably adopt him,” Mama said. “She likes cats.”

I didn’t answer. Mrs. Ryan lived next door. Her cat and Foxey sometimes fought with each other.

Mama kept talking. “You’ll be busy at a new school, making new friends. Before you know it, you’ll forget all about him.”

She was wrong there. I knew I wouldn’t forget Foxey. I would never forget Foxey. I would come back by myself and look for him. I would take the bus from Aunt May’s house every day until I found Foxey and took him with me.

I
sneaked away the next night.

Aunt May’s house is small, so the only place for me to sleep was on the couch. I waited until I was sure Mama and Aunt May and Buzz and Cissy were asleep. Then I got up and put on my clothes.

I took along one of the cardboard boxes that Mama had packed dishes in. I thought Foxey could ride in the box on the way back.

The buses don’t run as often at night; I had to wait half an hour. It was spooky standing there alone so late at night but I was determined to go after Foxey.

It was nearly midnight when I got off the bus. As I walked toward our old house, I was surprised to see
lights on in the house and a truck parked in the driveway. Had someone moved in already? If so, I hoped they hadn’t let Foxey inside. He always went to the kitchen door and meowed when he wanted to go in. What if the new people had let him in? What if they thought he was going to be their cat? What if he was in there now? The curtains were closed so I couldn’t see inside.

I walked quietly down the driveway, past the side of the house, into the backyard.

“Here, Foxey,” I whispered. “Here, Foxey.”

When I got to the back side of the house, I could see in. Two men were painting the kitchen. I wondered if they were the landlords that Mama owed the money to.

I couldn’t see the floor, so I didn’t know if Foxey was inside.

“Kitty, kitty, kitty,” I said.

Bosso barked.

When Foxey didn’t come, I decided to look in the garage. I pulled the garage door partway open.

“Here, Foxey.”

From inside the garage, I heard, “Meow.”

“Come, Foxey. Come on, you silly old cat.” I peered into the darkness but I couldn’t see him.

Because I was concentrating on Foxey, I didn’t hear the back door of the house open.

“Hey! What are you doing out there?” The man’s voice boomed out behind me.

I whirled around just as the porch light went on. The man stood on the porch step, looking at me.

I should have closed the garage door and told him who I was and what I wanted. Instead, I panicked. All I could think of was to get Foxey and beat it out of there as fast as I could.

I ducked inside the garage.

“I’m warning you!” the man yelled. “Get out of there.”

Bosso barked louder and leaped against the fence.

I put my box on the floor, and flattened myself against the garage wall. Beads of sweat popped out on my upper lip.

I heard a soft
thud
as Foxey jumped down from the rafters. I knew the yelling had scared him. He tried to run out the door but I saw him in time and scooped him up.

“We called the cops,” the man yelled.

The cops! I would be arrested for trespassing and get put in jail and Mama would be so mad she’d refuse to bail me out. I had to get out of there before the cops came. I decided to make a run for it.

I held Foxey tight against my chest and dashed out of the garage. I didn’t stop to pick up the cardboard box.

The man started down the steps toward me.

I lunged sideways, reached over the top of the fence, and unlatched the gate. Bosso came snarling through, headed toward the man. Quickly, the man ran inside
and slammed the door. Bosso followed him up the steps and stood at the top, barking.

I raced down the driveway, clutching Foxey. I didn’t even look where I was going. I just ran. My feet pounded down the concrete driveway, then angled across the grass, and ran down the sidewalk.

Foxey’s toenails dug into my shoulder but I couldn’t stop. The cops would be there any second.

I wondered if the man had stayed inside or if he went straight through the house and out the front door. Maybe he was chasing me. I didn’t look back to find out.

I ran.

When I got to the corner where the bus comes, I crouched behind a large, leafy bush, where I wouldn’t be seen by any cars going past. If the landlord was looking for me, or if the cops came by, they wouldn’t notice me there.

As I watched for the bus, I quickly regretted leaving the box behind; it was almost impossible to make Foxey stay with me. Bosso’s barking had panicked him and now his cat brain had only one thought:
ESCAPE
!

He squirmed in my lap. He attempted to climb over my shoulder. He stuck his head under my arm and tried to squeeze through. I thought the bus would never come.

When it did, the driver wouldn’t let me on. As I stepped off the curb, he said, “No animals allowed. Sorry.”

“But I have to get home,” I said, “and Foxey won’t hurt anything. I’ll hold him the whole time.”

“Sorry, kid,” the bus driver said. “Unless it’s a Seeing-Eye dog, I’m not allowed to let an animal on the bus. I would lose my job.”

I squeezed my eyes shut tight. “It’s a Seeing-Eye cat,” I said. “I’m blind and I’m participating in a special experiment with Seeing-Eye cats.”

I heard the bus driver chuckle. Then I heard the bus door close.

As I opened my eyes, the bus pulled away from the curb.

Now what was I going to do? I couldn’t walk all the way to Aunt May’s house. And I sure couldn’t afford a taxi.

I looked at the bus schedule on the signpost; it was half an hour until the next bus. That gave me plenty of time to think of a plan, and to get Foxey calmed down.

While I waited, I broke three-foot-long branches off the bush. By the time the bus arrived, I was ready.

As soon as I saw the bus approaching, I stuffed Foxey under my shirt. He made quite a lump. I pressed my left arm against my shirt to keep Foxey from squirming out. I laid the branches across the lump and held the stem ends with my left hand.

Luckily, it wasn’t the same driver. This one gave me an odd look, as I dropped my quarters into the
container and then folded my right arm across the branches, pushing them against my shirt.

“My mother makes dried flower arrangements,” I said.

I walked quickly to the back of the bus and sat down. The driver watched me in the rearview mirror but he didn’t say anything. I clutched Foxey close and hoped he wouldn’t meow.

By the time I got to Aunt May’s house, I was glad to put Foxey on the floor. My chest was covered with scratches. It wasn’t Foxey’s fault, though. He was scared. He had never ridden a bus before; it was noisy and he couldn’t see where he was. Besides, he was hungry.

I cut up a hot dog and gave it to Foxey. While he ate, I put my pajamas on, and then I carried him to the living room. When I laid on the couch, he curled close beside me. The last thing I heard before I fell asleep was Foxey’s purring.

Aunt May’s scream jarred me awake. Nerves jangling, I sat up and looked to see what was wrong.

Aunt May and Mama stood beside me. They both had their hands on their hips. Aunt May glared at Foxey. Mama glared at me.

“How did that cat get here?” Mama demanded. “You answer me, Spencer Atwood. How did that fool cat get here?”

Foxey cowered under a chair, with his tail swishing from side to side.

“I won’t have it,” Aunt May said. “I have enough work without cat fur all over the house.”

“I’ll take care of him, Aunt May,” I said. “He won’t be any trouble for you.”

“How did he get here?” Mama repeated.

“I’ve heard of cases,” I said, “where a cat walked hundreds of miles and found its owner.”

“Are you trying to make us believe that fool cat made its way clear across Seattle and found you?” Mama said.

“Foxey is very intelligent.”

“Well, you aren’t,” Mama said, “if you think I’ll buy that story. You sneaked out last night, didn’t you? You went back to the old house and found that cat and brought him here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. I figured I might as well admit it. I could see Mama wasn’t going to let up until I did.

“Then you can take him right back,” Aunt May said, “because he isn’t staying here. Cissy’s allergies might act up again.”

“I can’t take him back,” I said. “There’s no place to take him. Last night two men were painting the kitchen, and there was a big snarling dog on the back porch.” I saw no reason to tell Mama that the big, snarling dog was Bosso.

Mama and Aunt May glanced at each other. Mama looked determined but I could tell Aunt May was weakening.

Just then Foxey came out from under the chair. He rubbed against Aunt May’s ankles and purred. I knew Foxey was smart, but I didn’t know he was that brilliant.

“If you can’t take him back,” Aunt May said, “you’ll have to find a new home for him.”

Foxey turned around and rubbed on her ankles again.

“He likes you, Aunt May,” I said. “Usually he only does that to me, but he likes you.”

“Don’t you try to butter your aunt up, young man,” Mama said.

Aunt May said, “He can stay here just until you find a home for him. Maybe it won’t bother Cissy.”

Mama threw up her hands. “You’ll be sorry, May,” she said. “Where’s he going to find anyone silly enough to take that cat?”

“Thanks, Aunt May,” I said. “I’ll do extra chores, to make it up to you. I’ll wash the dishes every night and weed your garden and . . .”

“You’ll do that anyway,” Mama said, “to repay May for letting us stay here. You have three days to find a home for the cat. Do you hear me, Spencer? Three days and then the cat goes to the Animal Control pound. And don’t you sneak out at night again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Three days. How was I going to find a home for Foxey in only three days?

I wasn’t. Not in three days, not in three weeks, not in three years. I wasn’t going to find a new home for Foxey, ever. Because I wasn’t going to try.

On the morning of the third day, Mama said, “Have you found someone to take the cat?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“No maybes. Did you find someone or didn’t you?”

“A kid at school wants him.”

“Fine. He can come get him this afternoon.”

“He might not be able to come until Saturday.” I was stalling, of course. No kids at school had said they wanted Foxey. How could they? Since I had no intention of giving him up, I had never mentioned him to anyone.

“If he wants the cat, he had better come today. Cissy had a sneezing attack last night and had to take her allergy pills.”

“Maybe it wasn’t Foxey’s fault,” I said. “Maybe she’s allergic to Buzz.”

“I know this is difficult for you,” Mama said, “but if the cat is still here when I get home from work this afternoon, I’ll have no choice but to turn it in to the pound.”

I looked hard at Mama. I could tell that she meant it.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

Mama isn’t always so mean. I knew she was still angry at me for sneaking out to find Foxey.

“I’m working the breakfast and lunch shift,” Mama said. “I’ll be home at four o’clock.”

“Foxey will be gone,” I said. I did not add that I would be gone, too.

M
y mind galloped, trying to make plans. I knew I couldn’t just run away. It’s no good to run
away
from something. You have to run
to
something, or somewhere, or someone. But where could I go?

As if to say he was sorry for causing so much trouble, Foxey jumped in my lap. His purr rumbled out of his throat like a car whose engine idles too fast. I leaned down and scratched behind his ears, remembering back to that long ago day when I found a scrawny kitten cowering in the Target store parking lot.

“Dad!” I had said, pointing to the kitten. “Look!”