Hi, Diary. Gordy here.
The next door empty lot has three huge rock piles. Where they came from, not even ninety-year-old Mrs. Hahn knows. I asked her how long the wild cats lived in them. "You mean those feral cats?"
"I guess. If feral means wild." I pointed at a large tiger cat that glared at us. "If we go any closer, it'll growl and scoot into a crevice."
"A what?" half screamed the old lady, hand to an ear. "What are you talking about?"
She got me on feral but I got her on crevice. I pointed. "The dark holes between the rocks—they're crevices. Can you spell Feral for me?"
"Begins with an F."
Duh. Found it in my Thorndike. It means wild or savage. Crazy Annie, my stupid, younger sister started taking a bowl of milk outdoors for those wild cats and putting it on the ground. I watched her through a dining room window. Anyone with a half a brain could figure those beasts would like milk as much as tame cats. Maybe more. "What were you doing?" I asked when she came back indoors.
"Those are my pets. I have a right to feed them."
"Your pets? You're kidding, of course. They're savage animals."
She took a bowl outside the next morning, as well. So, I told Mother who said, "Annette asked permission—unlike a certain boy does in this house. His name begins with G and ends in N."
"You let her do it—on purpose?" I could hardly believe it.
Soon, Crazy Annie remained outside. She watched cats fight over and drink the milk. They didn't seem to mind she was there if she gave them the milk. Then, horror of horrors, one morning I watched her hold and pet one of those menacing creatures.
"Look," I yelled and pointed at Crazy Annie as Dad passed by to go to the bathroom so he could shave. "Annie's petting a wild cat."
Dad stopped, smiled, and patted my back. "And so she is."
As he made his way to the bathroom, I said, "Don't you care if your only daughter is clawed to death?"
Dad quietly shut the bathroom door. "I can't believe these people," I said to no one there. I shook my head in disgust. If no one else seemed to care, why should I?
Since winter was coming, Dad ordered Doc III and Dork to take off the screens and put up storm windows. "It's got to be done this weekend."
So, on Saturday, both high schoolers moaned and groaned as they performed their tasks. With Mother as supervisor, they washed and cleaned the windows. Finally, they put them up. Where the storm windows had leaned against the inside of the garage, the screens took their place with enough room for the Oldsmobile. During warm weather, Dad parked the car on the driveway, often catty-wampus since he drove, drunk as a skunk. A week later, with my silver and maroon jacket buttoned, I hurried outdoors and picked up the Schwinn. I was going to ride over to Bobby Kell's house. His tiger cat had another batch of tame kittens.
"Gordy." I jerked to the sound. Crazy Annie looked as if she had just found a hundred-dollar bill and was going to tell me where it was. "I want to show you something," she said. "but you can't tell anyone else."
"Okay, I promise." She didn't see me crossing fingers behind my back.
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, she opened the right-side garage door and waved me in. And what did I see? A zoo. A zoo in our garage. A horrible sight. I couldn't believe my ears, either. Yowling, howling, squealing feral cats, all going nuts, trying to escape Crazy Annie's prison, made up of a dozen screens. "They're my pets."
"Your pets? They're crazy. And so are you. They want to get out and return to their rock piles. Do they really look like pets?"
My stupid sister had to think about the answer. "Not now, but they'll be fine in a few days."
Those cats were so upset, they peed and crapped all over the floor, showing their true selves, defiling the garage as the savages they are. The next day I told Crazy Annie, "It smells like our bathroom after Dork gets done, taking a crap. What're you going to do about that stink?"
"I'll clean it."
"Hah. Remember how you puked and cried when I asked you to help me clean my hamster cage?"
"No."
"And you didn't even help. You were puking and crying and I felt sorry for you but I'm not gonna help you with this mess. Plus you're going to spend every afternoon after school in your bedroom for a year, maybe for the rest of your life."
Crazy Annie clamped hands to ears. "Remember, Gordy, you promised."
"Somebody will find out soon enough."
It happened the next day. Dad heard the cats and released them. He had cat poop all over his shoes. Of course, since Crazy Annie is his favorite, he ordered Doc III, Dork, and me to clean the garage.
"No way, said Doc III. Even Dork, Brown Nose Extraordinaire, refused. Of course, I also declined the privilege. We were sent to our bedrooms. No supper. Big deal. That stinky garage would've cost us our appetites for life. Mother cleaned the garage with much fanfare.
Louie Abler still laughs and always asks, "How are Annette and the cats?" I laugh, too, because those beasts are back in the rock piles where they steadfastly refuse all offers of free milk.
The next door empty lot has three huge rock piles. Where they came from, not even ninety-year-old Mrs. Hahn knows. I asked her how long the wild cats lived in them. "You mean those feral cats?"
"I guess. If feral means wild." I pointed at a large tiger cat that glared at us. "If we go any closer, it'll growl and scoot into a crevice."
"A what?" half screamed the old lady, hand to an ear. "What are you talking about?"
She got me on feral but I got her on crevice. I pointed. "The dark holes between the rocks—they're crevices. Can you spell Feral for me?"
"Begins with an F."
Duh. Found it in my Thorndike. It means wild or savage. Crazy Annie, my stupid, younger sister started taking a bowl of milk outdoors for those wild cats and putting it on the ground. I watched her through a dining room window. Anyone with a half a brain could figure those beasts would like milk as much as tame cats. Maybe more. "What were you doing?" I asked when she came back indoors.
"Those are my pets. I have a right to feed them."
"Your pets? You're kidding, of course. They're savage animals."
She took a bowl outside the next morning, as well. So, I told Mother who said, "Annette asked permission—unlike a certain boy does in this house. His name begins with G and ends in N."
"You let her do it—on purpose?" I could hardly believe it.
Soon, Crazy Annie remained outside. She watched cats fight over and drink the milk. They didn't seem to mind she was there if she gave them the milk. Then, horror of horrors, one morning I watched her hold and pet one of those menacing creatures.
"Look," I yelled and pointed at Crazy Annie as Dad passed by to go to the bathroom so he could shave. "Annie's petting a wild cat."
Dad stopped, smiled, and patted my back. "And so she is."
As he made his way to the bathroom, I said, "Don't you care if your only daughter is clawed to death?"
Dad quietly shut the bathroom door. "I can't believe these people," I said to no one there. I shook my head in disgust. If no one else seemed to care, why should I?
Since winter was coming, Dad ordered Doc III and Dork to take off the screens and put up storm windows. "It's got to be done this weekend."
So, on Saturday, both high schoolers moaned and groaned as they performed their tasks. With Mother as supervisor, they washed and cleaned the windows. Finally, they put them up. Where the storm windows had leaned against the inside of the garage, the screens took their place with enough room for the Oldsmobile. During warm weather, Dad parked the car on the driveway, often catty-wampus since he drove, drunk as a skunk. A week later, with my silver and maroon jacket buttoned, I hurried outdoors and picked up the Schwinn. I was going to ride over to Bobby Kell's house. His tiger cat had another batch of tame kittens.
"Gordy." I jerked to the sound. Crazy Annie looked as if she had just found a hundred-dollar bill and was going to tell me where it was. "I want to show you something," she said. "but you can't tell anyone else."
"Okay, I promise." She didn't see me crossing fingers behind my back.
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, she opened the right-side garage door and waved me in. And what did I see? A zoo. A zoo in our garage. A horrible sight. I couldn't believe my ears, either. Yowling, howling, squealing feral cats, all going nuts, trying to escape Crazy Annie's prison, made up of a dozen screens. "They're my pets."
"Your pets? They're crazy. And so are you. They want to get out and return to their rock piles. Do they really look like pets?"
My stupid sister had to think about the answer. "Not now, but they'll be fine in a few days."
Those cats were so upset, they peed and crapped all over the floor, showing their true selves, defiling the garage as the savages they are. The next day I told Crazy Annie, "It smells like our bathroom after Dork gets done, taking a crap. What're you going to do about that stink?"
"I'll clean it."
"Hah. Remember how you puked and cried when I asked you to help me clean my hamster cage?"
"No."
"And you didn't even help. You were puking and crying and I felt sorry for you but I'm not gonna help you with this mess. Plus you're going to spend every afternoon after school in your bedroom for a year, maybe for the rest of your life."
Crazy Annie clamped hands to ears. "Remember, Gordy, you promised."
"Somebody will find out soon enough."
It happened the next day. Dad heard the cats and released them. He had cat poop all over his shoes. Of course, since Crazy Annie is his favorite, he ordered Doc III, Dork, and me to clean the garage.
"No way, said Doc III. Even Dork, Brown Nose Extraordinaire, refused. Of course, I also declined the privilege. We were sent to our bedrooms. No supper. Big deal. That stinky garage would've cost us our appetites for life. Mother cleaned the garage with much fanfare.
Louie Abler still laughs and always asks, "How are Annette and the cats?" I laugh, too, because those beasts are back in the rock piles where they steadfastly refuse all offers of free milk.