I slam the record player shut, grab a stick and ball, and run down the three flights of stairs to the street.
This isn't the first time Pop and I have played this scene, and there gets to be a pattern: When I slam out of our house mad, I go along over to my Aunt Kate's.
She's not really my aunt.
The kids around here call her Crazy Kate the Cat Woman because she walks along the street in funny old clothes and sneakers talking to herself, and she sometimes has half a dozen or more stray cats living with her.
I guess she does sound a little looney, but it's just because she does things her own way, and she doesn't give a hoot what people think.
She's sane, all right.
In fact she makes a lot better sense than my pop.
It was three or four years ago, when I was a little kid, and I came tearing down our stairs crying mad after some fight with Pop, that I first met Kate.
I plunged out of our door and into the street without looking.
At the same moment I heard brakes scream and felt someone yank me back by the scruff of my neck.