"Susan Palwick - Going After Bobo" - читать интересную книгу автора (Palwick Susan)

he could hold his own against most other cats, maybe even against owls. I tried not
to think about cars and coyotes, and people with guns.

He started going over the fence right away, but he was good about coming home. He
always showed up for meals, even if sometimes he brought along his own dessert:
dead grasshoppers, and mice and voles, and once a baby bird. Dr Mills says that
when cats bring you dead prey, it's because they think you're their kittens, and
they're trying to feed you.

Bobo was a good cat, but David kept letting him out, no matter how much I yelled at
him about it. Mom tried to ground David a couple of times, but it didn't work. David
just laughed. He kept letting Bobo out, and Bobo kept going over the fence. It took
me four months of allowance, plus Christmas and birthday money, to save up
enough for the transmitter chip and the handheld. David laughed about that, too.

"He's just a fucking cat, Mike. Jesus Christ, what are you spending all your money
on that transmitter thing for?"

"So I can find him if he gets lost," I said, my stomach clenching. Even then, I could
hardly stand to talk to David.

"If he gets lost, so what? They have a million more cats at the pound."

And you'd let them all out if you could, wouldn't you? "They don't have a million
who are mine," I said, and Mom looked up from chopping onions in the kitchen. It
was one of her days off.

"David, leave him alone. You're the one who should be paying for that transmitter,
you know." And they got into a huge fight, and David stomped out of the house and
roared off in his rattletrap Jeep, and when all the dust had settled, Mom came and
found me in my room. She sat down on the side of the bed and smoothed my hair
back from my forehead, as if I was seven again instead of thirteen, and Bobo
jumped down from where he'd been lying on my feet. He'd been licking the place
where Dr Mills had put the transmitter chip in his shoulder. Dr Mills said that licking
would help the wound heal, but that if Bobo started biting it, he'd have to wear one
of those weird plastic collars that looks like a lamp shade. I hadn't seen him biting it
yet, but I was keeping an eye on him. When Mom sat on the bed, he resettled
himself under my desk lamp, where the light from the bulb warmed the wood, and
went back to licking.

Bobo always liked warm places. Dr Mills says all cats do.

Mom stroked my forehead, and watched Bobo for a little while, and then said,
"Michael—sometimes you can know exactly where people are, and still not be able
to protect them." As if I didn't know that. As if any of us had been able to protect
Dad from his own stupidity, even though the pit bosses knew exactly where he was
every time he dealt a hand.

I knew that Mom was thinking about Dad, but there was no point talking about it.
Dad was gone, and Bobo was right in front of me. "I'd keep him inside if I could,