He is not impressed. But I'm worried.
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Suppose some big old cat chews him up and he's hurt too bad to get home? After breakfast I take him out in the backyard for a bit, and then I shut him in my room and go over to consult Aunt Kate.
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She sets me up with the usual iced tea and dish of cottage cheese.
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"I had breakfast already. What do I need with cottage cheese?"
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"Eat it. It's good for you."
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So I eat it, and then I start telling her about Cat.
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"He came home all chewed up night before last. I'm afraid some night he's not going to make it."
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"Right," says Kate.
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She's not very talky, but I'm sort of surprised.
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I expected she'd tell me to quit worrying, Cat can take care of himself.
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She starts pulling Susan's latest kittens out from under the sofa and sorting them out as if they were ribbons: one gray, two tiger, one yellow, one calico.
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"So what you going to do?" she shoots at me, shoveling the kittens back to Susan.
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"I?uh?I dunno. I thought maybe I ought to try to keep him in nights."
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"Huh. Don't know much, do you?" she says.
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"Well, so I'll tell you. Your Cat has probably fathered a few dozen kittens by now, and once a cat's been out and mated, you can't keep him in. You got to get him altered. Then he won't want to go out so much."
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"Fixed. Castrated is the technical word. It's a two-minute operation. Cost you three dollars. Take him to Speyer Hospital?big new building up on First Avenue."
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"You mean get him fixed so he's not a real tomcat any more? The heck with that! I don't want him turned into a fat old cushion cat!"
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"He won't be," she says.
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"But if it makes you happier, let him get killed in a cat fight. He's tough. He'll last a year or two. Suit yourself."
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"Ah, you're screwy! You and your cottage cheese!" Even as I say it I feel a little guilty.
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But I feel mad and mixed up, and I fling out the door.
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It's the first time I ever left Kate's mad.
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Usually I leave our house mad and go to Kate.
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Now I got nowhere to go.
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