Golly, I wonder, maybe the guy is a burglar, and that gives me another creepy feeling.
But would a burglar be taking time out to get a kid's cat free?
"Well, thanks for the cat. See you around," I say.
"Sh-h-h. I don't live around here. Hurry up, before we both get caught."
Maybe he's a real burglar with a gun, even, I think, and by the time I dodge past the elevators and get out in the cold April wind, the sweat down my back is freezing.
I give Cat a long lecture on staying out of basements.
After all, I can't count on having a burglar handy to get him out every time.
Back home we put some nice jailhouse blues on the record player, and we both stretch out on the bed to think.
The guy didn't really look like a burglar.
And he didn't talk "dese and dose."