"Andre Norton - Star Ka'at 01 - Star Ka'at" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

the first bad days.

"Well, for a while then." Jim knew what that meant. Tiro could stick
around until Mr. Dale came home. Then there would be talk about taking
the cat to an animal shelter and—

"I'm going to keep him," the boy said with determination. "I've got my
allowance. I can buy cat food—"

"It's more than just food," Mrs. Dale warned. "He'll have to have shots,
one at least, for rabies. And those are expensive; remember that, Jim. Yes,
he is a beautiful cat. But I think you are right, someone lost him. We'll
have to keep watching the Lost and Found in the paper."

Jim's breath whooshed into the fur on the top of Tiro's head. At least he
had won this much; she was going to let Tiro in and feed him. The boy
knew that he would fight in every way he could to keep the cat. Luckily,
the phone rang; and as Mrs. Dale, went to answer it, Jim took the steps,
mostly two at a time, to put Tiro in his room before she noticed. He set
Tiro on the bed and scratched behind the cat's ears, soothed by an
answering purr, as his new, fur-coated companion half closed his eyes and
kneaded the bed cover with his front paws.




"Now where did you come from?" asked Elly. Her limp bag was slung
over her shoulders. She had been down to Uncle Slim's junk yard and
there was cash money tied up in a rag and stuck under her Tee shirt. She
had not had to share with that boy either, though he had been the one to
find all them old glass jars a-waiting on a low down shelf in the cellar hole.

Here was another big cat, not the black one the boy said he had found.
And it was sitting on the doorstep watching her just like it was at home
and she was only folks come visiting. Sure was a funny-looking cat, kind of
two colored, and with blue eyes, blue eyes. Elly knew only the wild cats
who ran from among the trash cans when she was hunting throw aways.
This was a different sort of cat; it did not seem in the least afraid. And
because it was not, Elly was—a little.

This was her doorway, the door itself hanging crooked because a lot of
the wood was rotted away. Cock Alley was all shanty houses. But this was
likely the worst of the lot, Elly reckoned. There was only one room inside
and the windows were nothing but frames. Elly had tacked some old
gunny sacks over those. Kept out the light, but kept out some of the wind
and a little of the cold in winter, too.

Now the cat raised a front paw to lick the fur over its claws. Elly swung
her empty bag.