Fluffy
by Jeffery D. Kooistra
Illustration by Steve Cavallo
My friends used to throw rocks at cats. I’d do it too, just to be sociable, but I never aimed to hit. I think it’s stupid, and besides, I like cats.
But I wanted to have friends.
One day I was down by the old train tracks with Raymond and Billy, and some of the stray cats were going through the garbage, and my friends started throwing rocks at them. But this time there was one little black and white cat with the other ones. Actually, it looked like it was still a kitten—it was real tiny. Only it didn’t act like a kitten.
The cat was weird. While Raymond and Billy were throwing their rocks, the other cats scattered. But the little one—I swear on a stack of Bibles—would watch the rocks coming, decide if they were going to hit, then only move if a rock was going to.
“What a dumb cat,” Raymond said. “I’m gonna get that sucker!”
He ran after the little cat, but it took off from him. When Raymond stopped running, the cat did, too, and just watched him. Raymond tried again, but the cat did the same thing. Finally Raymond picked up a stick, but by then I’d run over and stopped him.
“Leave that cat alone, Ray,” I said. “It’s just a kitten.”
Raymond is bigger than me. He knocked me down. “Damn you, kitty lover. You pussy! Now the cat got away.” My mom won’t let me talk like that—I’m only eight. But Raymond’s dad talks like that all the time, so Ray does, too. Only not in front of his dad.
“You weren’t going to get him anyway, Ray,” Billy said. Billy is the fat one of us. “Just leave Joey alone. Besides, I want to go down to the creek.”
Raymond wasn’t really mad, so he let me back up. But I’d really hurt my butt when he knocked me down. I didn’t tell them that. I just said, “You guys go ahead to the creek. My mom said I could only stay out a couple hours. It’s probably time I went home anyway.”
“Shee-it,” Raymond said. Then: “Whatever,” and he and Billy left me by the tracks.
I started limping home and that little cat came out of the tall grass and wandered over to me. He bumped his head against my leg and purred. I tried to ignore him. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” I said. “I almost got my butt kicked because of you. And Mom says we can’t afford to have a cat. Not since Dad left.” The cat didn’t care what I said and kept trying to be friendly. I finally gave up and let him follow me home.
“Joey, you can’t have a cat,” Mom said at first. Then she noticed that I was limping, and so I told her how that happened. I had to beg her not to call Raymond’s mother and told her Raymond didn’t really want to hurt me. That was almost true—he didn’t care whether I got hurt or not. Then I picked up the cat and brought it to the gate, limping just a little extra.
I put the cat down outside the fence and said, “Go away, little cat. Mom says I can’t keep you. You have to fend for yourself. I know I have my mom and you don’t have anybody, but—”
I turned to look at Mom and she was trying to keep me from seeing she was crying. She’s a softy. Anyway, she said, “OK, Joey. Bring him back. You can keep him. He’s such a runt anyway. He probably won’t eat much, just live off what we can give him from the table.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’m going to name him ‘Killer.’ ”
“Oh no you’re not!” Mom said. “That’s a terrible name for a cat. You’ll call him ‘Fluffy.’ ”
“Fluffy? But he’s a boy cat!”
“I had a tom named ‘Fluffy,’ ” Mom said.
I decided not to push my luck.
Mom wouldn’t admit it, but that first week Fluffy was with us she really had fun with him. I still had another week of school to go before summer vacation, so Fluffy was home with Mom all day. She wouldn’t let him into the house, but she made sure he had a box with some blankets out in the garage, and she even cut him a cat door through the garage door (the big car door, not the people one).
But once school ended, Fluffy was my cat. Even Billy and Raymond learned to like him—though that first day they met him as my cat. Fluffy gave Raymond a bad scratch. It was just an accident, but Raymond had to go home and was afraid he might even need stitches in his cheek.
I thought it was just an accident, but I’m not so sure anymore.
Fluffy was a weird cat.
I made a camp up in the rafters of the garage. I found some old 2x4s down by the tracks, and Mom let me nail them across the rafters up in the garage. A few other trips around through the empty lots and back in the woods, and I found enough other wood to make a nice floor. Billy and me found an old mattress and Mom gave me an old blanket, and then I had a pretty good camp for myself. I even had an old Playboy stashed under the mattress. I didn’t think Mom was ever going to come up there to look.
Fluffy was with me when I found an old table at a burned-down house, and I wanted to move it up into the camp. It was too heavy for me to haul up the ladder I’d nailed to the wall studs, so I rigged up a pulley and hauled it up with some twine.
Fluffy watched me the whole time I did this, and doggone it if he didn’t try to help. Of course, he was so little he couldn’t do much. But after I had the table in place, I hooked up a little can with some rocks in it so it was a lot lighter than Fluffy just to see what he would do. He jumped up and grabbed the twine and pulled it down, then ran along the floor until he’d pulled the can to the top. Then he just let go and the can fell down. He didn’t do it again.
Fluffy used to join me in the camp all the time. He didn’t need to use the ladder though—he’d just jump up on the old stove we had out in the garage, then to a shelf, then up to the rafters. He could come and go as he pleased, and he usually would sleep up there instead of in his box on the floor.
One day Fluffy moved his food dish up there.
I didn’t know how he managed that. I’d just climbed up to the camp and there he was with it But I was sure Mom wouldn’t have done it for him. I put the dish back on the floor and went outside to watch through the window to see if Fluffy would put it up there again.
Fluffy came down from the camp and pushed the dish back across the floor to under where the pulley was. The pulley still had the twine through it. and Fluffy went back up to the camp and pulled the end loose and dropped it to the floor. He put the hook on the end under the lip of his dish, then he went back up again and jumped down on the other end of the twine, and up went the dish! He twisted the end of the twine into the spokes of my bike to hold it. Another trip up and he had the dish off the hook and in the camp again, then he put the pulley back the way he’d found it.
I decided I’d better not mention this to Mom.
I said earlier there was a stove in the garage. It was still hooked up to gas and one burner worked and sometimes I’d turn it on and cook stuff on it. Mainly I boiled hot dogs.
One day I woke up late at night and I looked out the window and I thought I saw a light in the garage. I didn’t want to scare Mom so I went to look myself. I slowly opened the garage door and looked in. There was a pot on the stove, the one I used for my hot dogs, and the burner was on under it. I went to look and saw there was a mouse in the water. The water was boiling already.
I never did catch Fluffy at it, but he’d watched me make hot dogs often enough, and I used to feed him some. I had a bad habit of leaving the used water in the pot until the next time I made hot dogs, so after that I always made sure the pot was emptied and I never left it on the stove anymore.