Catboy by Eric Walters Page B

giving him one “good” piece first, before giving him the piece that might taste bad because of the medicine.
    He gently took that second piece from my fingers. I felt his teeth brush against my fingertips. A bite— even an accidental one—wouldn’t have been good. It would have been hard to explain to my mother. But at least she’d know it wasn’t a health problem. Hunter was fully inoculated from his shots after the surgery. Besides, Dr. Reynolds had explained a cat bite wasn’t nearly as bad for germs as a human bite, not that any humans had bitten me recently!
    I was grateful when Hunter gobbled down the medicated chicken. I tossed another piece through the bars and he grabbed it midair and swallowed it without chewing.
    I took the rest of the pieces and slid them through the slot leading to the food dish. I was deliberately overfeeding him so he’d have a little extra weight when he was released, just in case he wasn’t able to hunt as effectively for a while.
    â€œEnjoy your meal, Hunter. It’s your last before you go home.”
    He stopped eating and looked up at me. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn he understood.
    â€œYou’re going home today. Well, maybe.”
    Dr. Reynolds was coming over to do an exam, and if it went well, Hunter would be set free.
    â€œI know this has been hard. But we had to do it. We had no choice.”
    I hoped he understood and could forgive me. I’d only been to the colony briefly in the last few days. Simon, Jaime and the guys, with help from Mr. Singh, had been taking care of feeding them.
    Wait, what was that sound? It was like a small motor or…Hunter was purring. He was rubbing his face against the bars and purring!
    I slowly moved my hand closer. I put it flat against the bars. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he pressed harder, and I felt fur against my hand. This wasn’t an accident. He knew my hand was there. He knew I was petting him. His little engine got louder. I was so happy I thought I might start purring myself!

Eighteen
    â€œI’d offer to help, but I think it’s better if it’s just you,” Dr. Reynolds said.
    â€œI think you’re right.”
    I pulled the cage out of the back of his vehicle. It was heavy and awkward.
    â€œI could help,” my mother offered.
    â€œNo, Dr. Reynolds is right. Hunter is more comfortable with just me.”
    â€œNo argument there,” she said.
    Hunter crouched down in the cage, trying to maintain his balance as I walked away with him. If anybody else approached, he’d start to hiss and snarl. He might even try to strike at them through the bars. I was wearing the thick work gloves Dr. Reynolds insisted I wear—that my mother really insisted I wear. She was wearing a pair too, even though she wasn’t planning to get near Hunter.
    She and Hunter had coexisted in our apartment, but they hadn’t interacted much. They both kept an eye on each other, but their fears were very different. My mother was afraid he wasn’t ever going to leave, that somehow he was going to become “our cat.”
    She hadn’t said it in so many words, I just knew. Really, she had nothing to worry about. Despite my random thoughts about keeping him—thoughts I would never say to her—Hunter was a feral cat. He was wild, born and raised. There was no way he could ever become a pet. No way. He tolerated me, but that was a far cry from being a house cat.
    Besides, Hunter didn’t belong in an apartment. His world was out here. Locking him up in a cage— and really, our apartment was just a big cage—was like putting him in jail. He’d committed no crime and didn’t deserve to be imprisoned. Life on the streets was harder and shorter, but it was his life.
    And there was one other factor. The other cats. Hunter had lived as part of a large extended family, and in my apartment he was all by himself. It