Jack on the Tracks Read Online Free PDF Page A

was going to first feel sad, then guilty. After I took a few steps I said, “It should have been me who got hit by the train.”
    “That’s what Betsy said,” Pete replied.
    “Don’t you have a thought of your own?” I growled. After the guilt came anger.
    “Why should I?” he said. “Betsy is smarter than all of us put together.”
    “I can’t believe you listen to her propaganda,” I said. “Betsy is no smarter than my little finger.”
    “She said you ate the cat,” Pete declared.
    I was stunned. “Ate it!” I screeched.
    “She said the next war is going to be fought over food and that people have to be prepared to eat their pets.”
    “Where did she hear that?” I asked.
    “Miss Fry,” he replied. She was our crazy survivalist next-door neighbor who was gleefully preparing for the end of the world.
    “Well, I didn’t eat the cat,” I said.
    “Did it taste like chicken? Because if it does I’ll have a bite.”
    “Are you listening to me?” I asked. “I didn’t eat the cat.”
    “Betsy said you lie,” he said. “So how do I know what you did?”
    He was no help at making me feel better. Poor Miss Kitty, I thought. I kept wondering what had happened to the rest of her. It couldn’t have been very pretty. And even though I wanted to believe that she had escaped and run off into the bushes to lead a long and happy life, I honestly didn’t believe it. The only thing I knew for sure was that I didn’t eat her.
    I trudged through the back door and into the kitchen.
    “Well look what the cat dragged in,” Betsy sang tauntingly.
    I groaned and covered my heart with my hand. “Can’t you see I’m in emotional pain?” I said to her.
    “What’s emotional pain compared to being flattened by a train? Besides,” she added, “you should cheer up. Just in case you are arrested for caticide, it says in the newspaper that when criminals in prison are allowed to keep cats in their cells they become nicer, less violent people.”
    “Well, what happens to the cats?” I asked. “Do they become meaner and more savage?”
    “Believe it or not!” Betsy shouted up at the ceiling. ‘Jack has asked a good question.”
    Just then there was a knock at the door.
    “Make yourself useful,” Betsy snarled, and jerked her thumb toward the living room.
    I opened the door. It was Tack Smith again. He was all cleaned up and smiling nicely, and he had another cat. Only this one wasn’t scratching him up, it was just sitting calmly at his feet. It was wearing a thin collar, and Tack reached forward and offered me the leather leash handle. Oh no, I thought, not this again, and I stepped back.
    “Brought you a replacement cat,” he said cheerfully. “Grandma picked it out herself.”
    “Did you tell her what happened to the first one?” I asked, ready to slam the door on him and hide.
    “Didn’t have the guts,” he replied. “Grandma just had a pacemaker put in. It’s one thing to lose a cat, but another to lose your grandmother.”
    “Well, no dice on the cat,” I said. “I’ve had it.”
    ‘Just hold your horses,” he said. “I know you are going through cat mourning, but you have to calm down. This cat is smarter than a dog.” He turned to the cat and commanded, “Roll over!”
    The cat stretched out and rolled over.
    “Bark!” he ordered.
    To my surprise, the cat began to spit out a strange little bark.
    Tack unhooked the leash. “Fetch,” he hollered, throwing a stick across the yard. The cat ran after it and brought it back and dropped it at his feet, then obediently waited for him to throw it again.
    “See,” Tack said. “You’ll love this cat. It’s like a dog without being a dog.”
    I was beginning to think I could open my heart one more time and love this cat.
    Just when I stooped down to pet it Betsy called out, “Does that cat know you killed the last one?”
    “What it doesn’t know won’t hurt it,” I replied.
    “Why don’t you take it out to the tracks and ask