Fluffy

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.

I never told Mom about the mouse.

It was near the end of June when Fluffy first met Dad.

Mom and I did all right as long as Dad stayed away and sent the support checks on time. But that didn’t always happen. There was a time during the spring when I didn’t see him for quite awhile. Mom said he’d checked into the hospital for some kind of treatment, and maybe when he got out he wouldn’t be like he was anymore.

I would have liked that, but it didn’t happen.

Dad’s old pickup drove up that morning and Mom said, “Say hello to your father, Joey, and then I want you to go up in your camp and wait lor me to come get you. Your Dad and I have some stuff to talk about.”

Dad came in without knocking, carrying a six-pack, and tried to give me a hug. “Joey, boy!” he said. “How’s my little man, hey?”

“I’m not your little man,” I said.

“Sure you are. son. Sure you are,” he said, but he wasn’t even looking at me then, just at Mom with that look in his eyes. I could smell he’d already been drinking that morning Right now he was in a good mood, but alter a few more beers I wouldn’t want to be anywhere close.

I went out to the camp and Fluffy and I just waited for Mom. Fluffy took a nap and I was bored. After a while I climbed down and looked out the window of the garage. I could see into Mom’s bedroom from there, and she and Dad were in there and he was on top of her.

The first time I ever saw that, I thought Dad was beating Mom up, but she never was trying to get away. Usually when this happened, Dad would leave happy and Mom would be sad, but we’d have money to go buy groceries that day, and Mom would always get me extra stuff, like potato chips and ice cream, and we’d order out for pizza that night.

Fluffy came down and joined me, and I petted him while I was watching. A few minutes later Mom and Dad were done and Dad came outside.

“Come and say good-bye to your daddy, boy!” he called. He could see me through the garage window so I couldn’t pretend to be gone, so I came out. I could tell he’d had a few more beers, so I didn’t want to do anything to make him mad. But while I was walking toward him, Fluffy flew out of the garage and ran between Dad’s legs, and Dad tripped over him.

“Damn cat!” Dad yelled, jumping up. “Stupid little bastard!” He took a step toward Fluffy and kicked him a good ten feet. Fluffy landed and rolled then was up hissing and spitting, and glaring at Dad like he wanted to kill him. Dad saw that and said, “So you want more, huh?”

He started toward Fluffy again but I ran in between them. “No, Dad! Please don’t!”

“Get out of my way, boy!”

“No.”

Dad slapped me with the back of his hand and I fell down; Mom came out screaming at Dad about calling the cops and Dad laughed and got in his truck and drove off.

Later, I found Fluffy up in the camp. He wasn’t sleeping but he didn’t want me messing with him, either. He just laid there staring at nothing I could see, like people sometimes do when they’re thinking real hard.

We had pizza that night, and Mom let me stay up late, too.

A few weeks later another problem came up.

Fluffy was sleeping and I had to go over to the Stop and Go to get some milk for Mom. When I walked over there I noticed a sign tacked up next to the door. I saw it from far away and somehow I knew it was going to be bad news for me, even though I couldn’t read it from there.

I got close and read it. I was right.

The sign was written by hand with a black magic marker, except for the big words which were written in red. I knew Fluffy was one of those cats. But I couldn’t see Fluffy ever doing any thing that was dangerous to me or anyone else. Sure, he did some weird stuff for a cat, but mostly he just liked to lay around and be petted and sleep and eat.

I tore the sign down and threw it in the dumpster in back.

The next week Dad came to visit again. This time I stayed up in my camp the whole time. I didn’t want a repeat of last time. Fluffy was sleeping next to me and I was looking at the pictures in my Playboy when I heard Dad’s voice outside the garage.

Fluffy heard him too and sat bolt upright and went to look over the edge to see if Dad was there.

“C’mere, boy,” Dad said. “Yer daddy’s leavin’—” and the rest was kind of a slur. Dad had been extra drunk this time even before he came over. He opened the garage door.

I pulled Fluffy back from the edge, but he turned and scratched me and I had to let go. He jumped out of the camp and across a couple rafters and sat there staring at Dad.

Dad didn’t even see him. “Where the hell are you, boy! Little bastard! Come see yer Dad. You up in that goddamn camp again?” he hollered. I held back but then he started to climb up the ladder.

I pretended I was just waking up. “I’m here, Dad. I was sleeping.”

It was too late for that.

“Bullshit! Don’t lie to your old man. Come down here!”

I climbed down the ladder. Dad already had his belt off. “Bend o’er ya little shit. Teach ya to lie to yer father!” and then he let me have it.

The first one hurt the most. After that I was able to get on the ground and curl up and Dad didn’t whip me unless he was real drunk so half the time he’d miss when I was lying down. He got tired last, too.

Mom finally busted in but Dad was done by then. There was a lot of screaming and yelling and threats to call the cops, and Dad finally left. Mom was crying and said she was sorry and that she didn’t hear because she was in the bathroom trying to wash Dad’s stink off, and I let myself cry a little bit to make her feel like she was doing me some good by hugging me so hard I could hardly breathe.

As we were leaving the garage I looked up and saw Fluffy. He’d watched the whole thing.

It was a pretty good summer as long as Dad wasn’t around. July was a lot of fun, what with me and Raymond and Billy always hiking through the woods and exploring the hills out where the train tracks disappeared around the bend. Fluffy would come with us, and so would Billy’s dog. You’d think a dog and cat would fight it out, but Fluffy and Blacky didn’t. Blacky liked Fluffy. He’d always let Fluffy have the first drink when we’d come to a stream. Always.

I always brought along a little bottle with gasoline in it on our hikes. We’d use it to help light fires when we were far enough away not to get caught by grown ups.

We’d roast marshmallows. Fluffy loved marshmallows and seemed to know all about roasting them right from the start. But he’d only eat them if they caught on fire first so the outside was burned black.

Near the end of July that guy had been back to the Stop and Go because there was another sign up warning about cats. I took that one down, too.

The next morning that Dad came I went off on a hike early that day so I wouldn’t have to see him.

August was the best month for me that whole summer. Mr. Farmer (that was Billy’s Dad) said he’d take me and Billy camping up in the state forest. I spent a lot of time over at Billy’s that week before we left, packing and planning for the trip. Ray was kind of mad at us because his Dad didn’t like Billy’s Dad so he couldn’t go with us.

Sometimes it’s better not to have a Dad. A real Dad, that is.

I’ve always liked Mr. Farmer. He’s a great big guy with a brown beard and he laughs at everything. And Billy says he only goes through about one six-pack a summer.

Billy’s family has a pickup with a camper on the back and we got to ride inside the camper with Blacky and Fluffy. Mr. Farmer kept the window in the rear of the cab open and he had us pass him a bottle of pop or cookies now and then from the supplies we had back there with us.

We’d gone over a hundred miles that way by the time we finally got back deep into the woods at the end of a two track, and Mr. Farmer said, “We’re there, boys!” It was sunny but it had rained the night before and the ground and the wood around us was damp.

Mr. Farmer sent us out to gather firewood anyway, and said that once we got a little fire going, we could dry enough wood to get a real blaze burning later.

Mr. Farmer was still gathering wood when Billy and I came back with our first loads.

“Boy, this stuff really is wet,” Billy said. “I don’t know if we’ll ever get a fire going.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we had one going before your Dad gets back?” I said. “Let’s give it a try.” I wanted Mr. Farmer to like me. I thought getting the fire going would impress him.

We tried for a few minutes, laying the sticks out, and lighting the newspaper wadded up under the sticks. But once the paper was done burning the wood would just go out.

“I have my bottle of gas,” I finally said. I hadn’t told Billy I’d packed it.

“I don’t think my Dad would like us to use it,” Billy said.

But then he looked around and Mr. Farmer wasn’t anywhere around, so he said, “OK. Give it a try.”

I got the bottle from my pack and went back to the fire where a little flame was still flickering under a couple of the sticks. Blacky and Fluffy returned from running around in the woods just in time to watch me open the bottle and pour some on the fire.

I poured too much. FWOOSH!, up went a ball of flame.

Blacky got scared and ran away barking. Fluffy just stared at the ball of fire and then at the smoke and the flames of a pretty good looking fire. He was fascinated by it. Billy fed in more wood and we had a nice blaze going by the time Mr. Farmer came back.

“What was Blacky barking about?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Billy said.

“Me neither,” I said.

“Nice fire you boys got going there,” Mr. Farmer said. “I’m surprised you got one going that well so fast with that wet wood.” I knew he could smell the gasoline because I still could. I wondered if he’d be mad and take us home. But he didn’t say any more about it.

That night we roasted hot dogs and talked about what we wanted to be when we grew up. Even Mr. Farmer.

“I want to be a fireman,” Billy said. “I know a lot of kids say that, but I really want to be one. I want to learn what hose to use and about how fires start in houses and all that stuff.”

I looked up at the sky and the stars were so bright and beautiful that night. It’s never like that in the city. Not even on the edge of the city where I live. “I want to be an astronaut,” I said. I’d never told anyone else that. Not Mom, and certainly not Dad. But the thought of joining the astronauts in the space station up there, and maybe someday going to Mars and seeing if there really were alien ruins up there—Wow, that would be better even than walking to wherever it is the train tracks end.

“I’m with you, Joey,” Mr. Farmer said. “I’m only thirty-two. I know that sounds old to you boys, but I’ll still be alive I hope when ordinary people will be able to live on the Moon and work there.”

That night in my sleeping bag I pulled it way over my head. I didn’t want Billy to see I was sorta crying. I wanted a Dad like his so bad.

We camped for two days. When I got home, I knew something was wrong.

Dad would be coming for his usual visit the next day, I knew that. But Mom was used to that so I didn’t think that could be it. But she was looking at Fluffy kind of weird. And I don’t know how I knew this, but Fluffy noticed it, too.

That same night Mom started asking me questions about Fluffy. “Joey, have you ever seen Fluffy do anything really strange?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I saw him eat a grasshopper once.”

“Not like that,” Mom said. “All cats do that. I mean, have you ever seen him do anything that made you think he was really smart?”

“He learned how to climb up to my camp all by himself,” I answered. “I think he’s a smart cat.” By this time I figured she must have seen that sign. I tried to answer truthfully without telling Mom anything. I didn’t want her to call that man to come take Fluffy away.

I knew Fluffy was supposed to be dangerous, but I didn’t care. Lots of people are dangerous, too. Why didn’t anyone come to take my Dad away? Anyway, I know who my friends are.

The next day was Dad’s last visit. It was also Fluffy’s last day with us.

Dad pulled up like usual that morning. This time Mom told me to wait and say hello to him first before he was too drunk, and then take Fluffy and go for a walk.

“Flello, boy,” Dad said as he got out of the pickup. “Ya goin’ to be nice to yer old man for a change?” Dad was real drunk already. I should have known by how he was weaving when he drove in the driveway and just run away. “Well? What you doing just standin’ there? Come over here, boy!” He’d stopped in the middle of the driveway.

“OK, sir,” I said. Dad looked mad about something. I didn’t know what. With him it didn’t matter. When he was living with us, I always got it no matter what it was that set him off.

I knew I was going to get it now.

Fluffy came out of the garage through the people door which was open just wide enough for a cat.

“C’mere, dammit!” Dad yelled at me.

I didn’t know where Mom was. She should have been out there making Dad stop. She knew what was going to happen. I took a step away from him. I didn’t know what to do.

I was so scared.

Then Fluffy ran at Dad and jumped on his leg. He sank his claws in deep and he started biting. Dad was jumping up and down and swearing and trying to swat Fluffy off.

It got all confused after that.

Fluffy let go and landed on his feet. He hissed at Dad who was still spinning around, like he wanted Dad to see where he was. Dad spotted him, let out a yell, and started chasing Fluffy.

Fluffy ran back into the garage the way he’d come, with Dad close behind. Dad flung the door open and jumped inside. I saw something splash on him there in the doorway. He said, “What the (he used the F word)!” I saw the stove burner light up and a line of fire coming toward Dad.

Then Dad went FWOOSH.

Dad looked just like one of those balls of flame people turn into on TV shows when they burn up. Somehow the door closed and I couldn’t see him anymore, and Fluffy came tearing out of the garage through his cat hole.

About then I noticed that there were sirens going, and a police ear pulled up in the driveway, and right behind it was another regular car and some guy got out and came running toward me.

Mom got to me first and was holding me tight. “Oh, Joey! Joey! I saw what Dad was like. I stayed in to ( all the police. I was so afraid they wouldn’t get here in time!”

Smoke was really pouring out of the garage by now and the two policemen ran right past us and tried to get in the garage, but the door was locked. They tried the stall door but it was stuck. Then Mom remembered to tell them what the push button code was for the opener, but that didn’t work either. So they broke down the people door finally, but more smoke poured out and I guess they couldn’t see anything in there.

I could hear the sirens of lire trucks on the way.

That other guy who’d pulled in with the police hadn’t even stopped to talk with me and Mom, just ran past us when the police did and kept going. He came back the same time the fire-men got there, and asked Billy if he was me (Billy had come over when he saw the smoke). Billy set him straight and kept watching the firemen get their hoses going.

The man waited until the police were done talking to Mom and me, then he said, “Hello. I’m Jeff. You’re Joyce Reynolds?”

Mom said she was and told him I was Joey.

“The cat got away,” he said. “I chased him for two blocks, but he knows who I am. He won’t be coming back.”

“You wanted to take Fluffy away from me!” I said.

“Joey! Behave yourself,” Mom scolded. “I called Jeff yesterday to ask him about Fluffy. No one is going to hurt your cat.”

“I’m afraid your son is right,” Jeff said. “I would have taken Fluffy away. And I would have killed him.”

Mom didn’t know what to say, but I said, “You see!”

“Let me explain,” Jeff said. “I love cats. My daughter loves cats, too. I’m a bioengineer. I invented cats like Fluffy. The first one was called Puff.’ These cats stay little like kittens for years, then at the end they grow up and live like adult cats for a few years. But when they’re little they learn really, really fast, like ordinary kittens. Only they have years to keep learning. They get really smart.”

Just then the paramedics came out of the garage with something under a sheet that smelled like burned meat. It was Dad. Mom couldn’t look at it. She went inside. I said, “Fluffy never liked Dad. Dad kicked him.”

“In my case, Puff hated a local stray dog,” Jeff said. “It was a nasty mutt. Puff set a trap for it. But he used my daughter for bait. That’s why I have to kill these cats. They don’t love us the way we love them.”

Jeff told me to call if Fluffy came back, but he didn’t think Fluffy ever would. Fluffy would know better.

The firemen looked around the garage after the fire was out. They said they thought the stove must have been on when Dad went in. They also said there was a plastic food dish on the floor by the door that they think must have had gasoline in it.

Fluffy knew about gasoline. He knew where I got it from for my bottle—from the can in the garage we use for the lawn mower. He must have set the dish up to fall when Dad came through the door.

Jeff was right. Fluffy never came back to the house.

That all happened last year. I still hike down the train tracks and back into the woods, and I still build fires out there. Raymond moved away, but Billy and Blacky sometimes join me.

So does Fluffy.

We roast hot dogs and marshmallows, and me and Billy talk about what we want to be when we grow up. Fluffy just enjoys his marshmallows and watches us.

Him and those three cats just like him.