Chapter 1

I've never been especially fond of them; cats, I mean. They're OK, I guess, but I don't think they make the best pets. I like animals you can play with and do stuff with, like dogs and horses. Once they get past being kittens, cats are just sort of... there, you know? I guess it's good to have cats around the neighborhood because they're such good predators, and they'll keep the rats, mice and other kinds of vermin under control, if you let them. Of course, if you keep them penned up inside the house all the time, they're not much use at all.

That's what Mrs. Wilson does. She has this big ol' tom that's gotta be older than I am, and I don't think I've ever seen him outside. I'm almost sixteen, and Virgil's been around for as long as I can remember.

Virgil! Now, what kind of a name is that for a cat? And he's fat! I swear, he'd go thirty pounds if you could get him on a scale. And lazy? As far as I can tell, he doesn't do anything but sleep, eat and crap. For a good part of just about every day, you can see him dozing in her front room window; just a big blob of gray fur lying there in the sun and acting like he owns the world. Every once in a while, he'll open his eyes and look around to see if everything is still going according to his plan.

That pretty much describes Mrs. Wilson, too, come to think of it. Well, she's not gray or furry, but I don't think she does much besides sleep, eat and crap. And watch TV. And she's fat, too. I don't mean like a few pounds overweight, I mean ginormous! You should see her getting in and out of her old VW bug. I swear it takes her five minutes to get squeezed in behind the steering wheel and adjusted before she starts the car. Sometimes, I wonder if maybe she keeps Virgil fat because it makes her feel like they're kindred spirits or something.

She's nice, though. Ever since I was about ten, Mrs. Wilson has been calling my mom about every day, and asking her to send me over to help her with stuff. It started out as just little things like climbing up on the step stool to get something out of one of the high-up cabinets, or carrying something down to her basement. As I've gotten older, she has me doing a lot of different things like fixing electrical appliances and doing some general repairs around her house. I'm pretty good at that kind of thing because Dad's a building contractor and he's always teaching me how to make stuff and fix things. I want to study engineering when I go to college.

I don't really mind doing chores for Mrs. Wilson because she always pays me more than she should. Like once, she asked me to fix her automatic garage door that got stuck halfway between up and down. It wasn't any big deal; one of the rollers had jumped off the track, is all. It only took me about ten minutes to see the problem and fix it, but she gave me twenty bucks. I told her it was too much, but she insisted. I didn't argue too hard.

A few weeks ago, she called my mom to ask if I could look after her place for three or four weeks while she went out to some little town in Nevada to take care of her sick sister. School had just let out for the summer, so Mom figured it would be a good way for me to earn some spending money, and she told Mrs. Wilson I'd do it without even asking me. I got pretty steamed about it, but there wasn't much I could do except whine and gripe, and neither one of my parents will put up with that for very long. They're not real big on freedom of expression.

But I changed my tune after I talked to Mrs. Wilson. She said she'd pay me fifty bucks a week just to feed Virgil, keep his litter box scooped out, and mow her lawn once a week. It's a small lawn, and I knew it wouldn't take me more than about twenty minutes or so to do it. And she wanted me to bring in her mail and newspapers so nobody could tell she wasn't at home.

I figured fifty bucks a week was a pretty good salary for the little bit of work she wanted, so I told her I could start whenever she wanted. She said a taxi was picking her up real early the next morning, so she gave me the key to her back door, and said she'd leave a list of instructions on the counter. Oh, and she wanted me to use up all the stuff in her refrigerator that might go bad. In three or four weeks, that'd be about everything, and was thinking there might be a lot of things like pies and pastries and stuff. It was for sure she didn't get that fat eating carrots and celery.

Fifteen minutes after I crawled out of bed the next morning, I was in her house, checking it out. She must lead a really boring life because I didn't find anything that was interesting. The whole place was as neat as a pin, and that made me wonder if she hired someone to come in and clean for her. I couldn't imagine that big, round body down on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor or cleaning behind the toilet.

I was right about her refrigerator. It was stuffed with things Mom would never allow in our house because she's a real health nut. She makes Dad and me eat leaves and twigs and stuff. Well, not really, but close. I figured I'd have to pace myself on all that rich food or I wouldn't have any appetite at dinner, and Mom would know I'd been cheating.

The note Mrs. Wilson left on the counter explained everything I needed to know about feeding Virgil. He got two cans of cat food a day, one in the morning and one in the evening, plus a saucer of half and half. Can you imagine? And as fat as he was, I'll bet she fed him Cheezee Pops and junk like that all the time, too. I expected to have to scoop his litter box every day because he probably pooped at least twice as much as a normal cat. I thought about maybe cutting his food intake in half to trim him down some while she was gone, but I was afraid he'd meow bloody murder and Mrs. Wilson would think I forgot to feed him when she got back home. Anyhow, he wasn't my cat, so why should I worry about it?

As I was standing there reading her instructions, I felt something bump my leg. I looked down and there was Virgil arching his back and rubbing up against me, begging for his breakfast. He was purring like a motorboat and I could feel the vibrations through my jeans. I reached down and scratched him between the ears and that made him purr even louder. I think Virgil's a slut.

So, I figured, what the hell, and scooped a can of cat food into his dish and set a saucer of half and half next to it. I'd come back in the evening to serve him his second can of cat food. Jeez, what a life!

So every day, I did what I was supposed to. Virgil got fed, his litter box got scooped out, and I stuffed my face with all kinds of forbidden goodies from Mrs. Wilson's fridge. Saturday, I mowed her lawn and even trimmed it up and swept the sidewalk. I think I was feeling a little guilty about how much I was getting paid, and decided to to an extra good job.

The next day, Sunday, was the beginning of my summer of adventure. Actually, it was the beginning of three adventures that changed my life. You're probably gonna think I'm telling a big lie, but I swear it's all true! It started when I went next door to feed Virgil before heading over to the park to play some touch football with my friends.

I unlocked her back door, and when I opened it to go inside, a streak of gray shot by me, scaring the crap out of me. It was Virgil, of course. I knew Mrs. Wilson never let him out, so I was gonna have to round him up and get him back inside.

When I twisted around to see where he went, there he stood in the middle of the back yard with his tail sticking straight up in the air, showing me his pink butt hole and furry balls. He was looking over his shoulder like he was saying, "Catch me if you can!"

Crap! I thought, I don't have time for this. I'm supposed to be at the park in ten minutes.

I called to him and made little kiss-kiss noises, but Virgil wasn't that easy. I knew he couldn't resist food, so I went inside and poured some half and half in a saucer and put it on the porch step, figuring he'd come a-runnin'. He just sat there on his fat butt and stared at me.

It was plain he was gonna make me do all the work. I walked toward him real slow, saying, "Kitty, kitty, kitty. Heeeere kitty, kitty, kitty." Jeez, I felt stupid. He'd let me get to within about five feet of him, then he'd get up and move a few feet further away. We did that all the way across the back yard. I didn't dare make a run at him because I knew, even as fat as he was, he could still outrun me, easy, and if I scared him, he'd never let me get close.

After a few minutes of following him around the yard, I finally decide, Screw it! The yard is enclosed by a six-foot fence, so he can just stay out here and enjoy the great outdoors for a couple of hours. It'll do him good!

And that's what I did. When I closed the gate behind me, he was sitting by the corner of the garage, looking around like he didn't have a care in the world.

When I got home a couple of hours later, I saw he'd lapped up the half and half, but he was nowhere to be seen. I looked all over the yard and in the bushes, but I couldn't find him. I was starting to get worried because he wasn't an outside cat, and I was afraid he might do something stupid like find a way out of the yard and run out into the street and get himself killed. How would I explain that to Mrs. Wilson?

I was standing there trying to decide what to do next when I heard a 'meow' coming from over by the back fence. I guess he must've gotten out, somehow. I trotted over and unlatched the gate to let him in - and I let him out! The dirty sneak was hiding behind the trash can by the gate, and he tricked me into opening it.

"Damn it, you stupid cat! You get your fat ass back here!" I yelled, as if we spoke the same language. He trotted down the alley a few feet and stopped to look over his shoulder. I swear, he was bustin' my chops on purpose! I kept walking toward him real slow so he wouldn't spook and run. Like before, he'd just wait there until I got close, then he'd trot down the alley another twenty or thirty feet.

About four or five houses down the alley, he suddenly took a right turn and did an amazing leap to the top of a privacy fence and dropped down on the other side. It was hard to believe the big butterball could actually jump that high!

Crap! I didn't know who lived there because they'd just moved in two or three weeks earlier, but I hoped they wouldn't mind me chasing Virgil through their back yard. I unlatched the gate, stepped through and latched it again, like I was gonna trap him inside. As if!

When I turned around, I found myself staring at a lady lying on a chaise about ten feet away and reading a book. She was in her birthday suit! Naked as a jay-bird! We just gawked at each other for about five seconds before she started laughing, probably at the dumb-ass look on my face, and I damn near died of embarrassment. I spun around facing the fence and groaned, "Jeez, Ma'am, I'm so sorry! I was chasing my cat and he jumped over your fence!"

She just kept laughing and I just kept feeling my face getting redder and hotter. Pretty soon she calmed down and said, "You can turn around now."

I turned my head very slowly until I could see she was standing and that she'd wrapped a big beach towel around herself. I kept my eyes pinned to the grass, anyhow, and asked, "Um, did you see which way he went?"

"I did," she said. "He's right here."

I looked up and there was ol' Virgil, doing figure eights around and between her legs. I think, just for a moment, I was jealous because she's a real pretty woman. Then I was angry. "Virgil, darn it! See what you've done now! We've busted in on this lady's privacy! She probably thinks we're a couple o' pervs!"

Chapter 2 »