It's like this, cat Page 3

  Nick and I have been friends pretty much since I can remember. Our mothersused to trade turns fetching us from kindergarten. Nick lives around thecorner on Third Avenue, upstairs over the grocery store his old man runs.If anyone asked me _how come_ we're friends, I couldn't exactly say. We'rejust together most of the time.

  Neither of us is a real whiz at sports, but we used to roller-skate andplay a little king and stickball and ride our bikes around exploring. Onetime when we were about ten, we rode way over to Twelfth Avenue at theHudson River, where the _Queen Mary_ docks. This is about the only time Iremember my mom getting really angry. She said Pop ought to take my bikeaway from me, and he did, but only for about a week. Nick and I still ridebikes a lot. Otherwise we sit and do our homework or play chess and listento records.

  Another reason we're friends is because of this creepy little kid wholived down toward the corner, between me and Nick. He always tagged along,wanting to play with us, and of course in the end he always fouled up thegame or fell down and started to cry. Then his big brother came rushingout, usually with another big guy along, and they figured they wereentitled to beat us up for hurting little Joey.

  After a while it looked to me as if Joey just worked as a lookout, and theminute me or Nick showed up on the block, one of the big guys came to runus off. They did little things like throwing sticks into our bike spokesand pretending it was just a joke. Nick and I used to plot all kinds ofways to get even with them, but in the end we mostly decided it was easierto walk around the block the long way to get to each other's houses. I'mnot much on fighting, and neither is Nick--'specially not with guys biggerthan us.

  Summers, up in the country, the kids seem to be all the time wrestling andpunching, half for fun and half not. If I walk past some strange kid myage up there, he almost always tries to get me into a fight. I don't getit. Maybe it's because sidewalks are uncomfortable for fighting, but wejust don't do much scrapping for fun. The only couple of fights I everhad, I was real mad.

  Come spring, Nick and I got restless hanging around the street, withnothing to do but stickball and baiting the super at Forty-six. It was soeasy to get him sore, it wasn't even fun. Cat stayed out of that basement,but I wanted to get him really out in the open, where he could chasesquirrels or something.

  One day we rode our bikes up to Central Park. I put Cat in a wicker hamperand tied it on the back of my bike. He meowed a lot, and people on thestreet would look at me and then do a double take when they heard him.

  We got up to Central Park and into a place they call The Horseshoe,because the parking area is that shape. I opened the lid a crack to lookat Cat. He hissed at me, the first time he ever did. I looked around andthought, Gee, if I let him loose, he could go anywhere, even over into thewoods, and I might never catch him. There were a lot of hoody looking kidsaround, and I could see if I ever left my bike a second to chase Cat,they'd snatch the bike. So I didn't let Cat out, and I wolfed my sandwichand we went home. Nick was pretty disgusted.

  Then we hit a hot Saturday, the first one in May, and I get an idea. Ifind Nick and say, "Let's put Cat and some sandwiches in the basket andhop the subway out to Coney."

  Nick says, "Why bring Cat? He wrecked the last expedition."

  "I like to take him places, and this won't be like Central Park. No one'sat Coney this time of year. He can chase around on the beach and hunt sandcrabs."

  "Why do I have to have a nut for a friend?" Nick moans. "Well, anyway, I'mkeeping my sandwich in my pocket, not in any old cat basket."

  "Who cares where you keep your crumby sandwich?"

  So we went. Lots of people might think Coney Island is ugly, with all thejunky-looking booths and billboards. But when you turn your back on themand look out at the ocean, it's the same ocean as on a deserted beach. Ikick off my shoes and stand with my feet in the ice water and the sun hoton my chest. Looking out at the horizon with its few ships and some seagulls and planes overhead, I think: It's mine, all mine. I could goanywhere in the world, I could. Maybe I will.

  Nick throws water down my neck. He only understands infinity on mathpapers. I let Cat out of the basket and strip off my splashed shirt andchase Nick along the edge of the water. No need to worry about Cat. Hechases right along with us, and every time a wave catches his feet hehisses and hightails it up the beach. Then he rolls himself in the hot,dry sand and gets up and shakes. There are a few other groups of peopledotted along the beach. A big mutt dog comes and sniffs Cat and gets aright and a left scratch to the nose. He yelps and runs for home. Catdiscovers sand crabs. Nick and I roll around in the sand and wrestle, andafter a while we get hungry, so we go back where we left the basket. Catis content to let me carry him.

  Three girls are having a picnic right near our basket. One yells to theothers, "Hey, look! The guy went swimming with his cat!"

  Cat jumps down, turns his back on them, and humps himself around on mysweater until he is settled for a nap. I turn my back on the girls, too,and look out at the ocean.

  Still, it's not the same as it would have been a year ago. Then Nick and Iwould either have moved away from the girls or thrown sand at them.

  We just sit and eat our sandwiches. Nick looks over at them pretty oftenand whispers to me how old do I think they are. I can't tell about girls.Some of the ones in our class at school look about twenty-five, but thenyou see mothers pushing baby carriages on the street who look aboutfifteen.

  One of the girls catches Nick's eye and giggles. "Hi, there, whatchawatching?"

  "I'm a bird watcher," says Nick. "Seen any birds?"

  The girls drift over our way. The one that spoke first is a redhead. Theone who seems to be the leader is a big blonde in a real short skirt andhair piled up high in a bird's nest. Maybe that's what started Nickbird-watching. The third girl is sort of quiet-looking, with brown hair, Iguess.

  "You want a couple of cupcakes? You can have mine. I'm going on a diet,"says the blonde.

  "Thanks," says Nick. "I was thinking of going after some cokes."

  "Why waste time thinking? You might hurt your head," says the redhead.

  The third girl bends down and strokes Cat between the ears very gently.She says, "What's his name?"

  I explain to her about why Cat is Cat. She sits down and picks up a pieceof seaweed to dangle over his nose. Cat makes a couple of sleepy swipes atit and then stretches luxuriously while she strokes him. The other kidsget to talking, and we tell each other our names and where we go to schooland all that stuff.

  Then Nick gets back on the subject of going for cokes. I don't really wantto stay there alone with the girls, so I say I'll go. I tell Nick to watchCat, and the girl who is petting him says, "Don't worry, I won't let himrun away."

  It's a good thing she's there, because by the time I get back with thecokes, which no one offers to pay me back for, Nick and the other twogirls are halfway down the beach. Mary--that's her name--says, "I never sawa cat at the beach before, but he seems to like it. Where'd you get him?"

  "He's a stray. I got him from an old lady who's sort of a nut about cats.Come on, I'll see if I can get him to chase waves for you. He was doing itearlier."

  We are running along in the waves when the other kids come back. The bigblonde kicks up water at me and yells, "Race you!"

  So I chase, and just as I'm going to catch up, she stops short so I crashinto her and we both fall down. This seems to be what she had in mind, butI bet the other kids are watching and I feel silly. I roll away and get upand go back to Cat.

  While we drink cokes the blonde and the redhead say they want to go to themovies.

  "What's on?" Nick asks.

  "There's a Sinatra thing at the neighborhood," the blonde tells him, andhe looks interested.

  "I can't," I say. "I've got Cat. Besides, it's too late. Mom'd think I'dfallen into the subway."

  "I told you that cat was a mistake," says Nick.

  "Put him in the basket and call your mother and tell her your watchstopped," says the redhead. She comes over
and trickles sand down my neck."Come on, it'd be fun. We don't have to sit in the kids' section. We alllook sixteen."

  "Nah, I can't." I get up and shake the sand out.

  Nick looks disgusted, but he doesn't want to stay alone. He says to theblonde, "Write me down your phone number, and we'll do it another day whenthis nut hasn't got his cat along."

  She writes down the phone number, and the redhead pouts because I'm notasking for hers. The girls get ready to leave, and Mary pats Cat good-byeand waves to me. She says, "Bring him again. He's nice."

  We get on the subway and Cat meows crossly at being shut in his basket.Nick pokes the basket with his toes.

  "Shut up, nuisance," he says.

  4

  Dave and Nick fighting on the ground.]

  FIGHT