The Cats in the Doll Shop Read Online Free PDF Page A

cream.
    â€œYou girls can keep setting out scraps. But don’t try to find the cats, and whatever you do, don’t touch them. I don’t want either one of you getting scratched. Or even worse—bitten.” He turns to go inside.
    Once Papa has gone, my sister turns to me and in a small, almost desperate voice says, “That man who swept the cats off the fire escape . . .”
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œHow could he have been so cruel? How could anyone?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I tell her. For a moment, it seems I am the big sister, and she is the younger one. I put my arms around her in a fierce hug, and just as fiercely, she hugs me back.

5
    W AITING
    The next day, we get dressed up and go with our parents to the shul on Rivington Street. Sophie wears a velvet dress Mama made out of an old drape, and the garnet earrings. I wish I had a dress like that. Trudie and I wear nice dresses, too, made of black and ivory striped ticking. But they are not as nice as Sophie’s dress. When I complain to Mama, she says that since Sophie is older and almost a young lady, it’s important for her to start wearing more grown-up looking clothes. My turn will come, she tells me. I sigh. It feels like a long way off.
    After shul , we don’t go to school but back home where we spend time in the yard, looking for the cats. My friend Esther comes over, and we tell her everything that’s happened—seeing Ginger Cat, the box, the food, the man with the mustache, the wounded kitten. Esther can’t believe that the man could have been so cruel. “I think he should be arrested!” she says.
    Ten days after Rosh Hashanah is Yom Kippur, the day of atonement. This year, Sophie decides that she will fast for the whole day, just like Mama and Papa. In the past, I felt grateful that we didn’t have to do that. We girls would skip breakfast, go to shul in the morning, and then come home for lunch. I still don’t want to fast all day, but I am not sure I like it that Sophie is moving away from us.
    During the next couple of weeks, we keep a lookout for Ginger Cat and her kitten, but we don’t see either of them. I even go up to the roof, because I think might be able to see better from up there.
    The first time, I see nothing. I try again the next day, after school, and I am rewarded by the sight of the kitten nestled close to Ginger Cat. They are both lying near a stunted, nearly bare bush. The kitten doesn’t have much fur, and he is as scrawny as the bush. Still, I wish I could pick him up and cuddle him. Ginger Cat looks very gentle and sweet lying there with her baby. Although Papa warned us, it’s hard to believe she would ever scratch or bite.
    I go for several more days without seeing him again. But the next time I spot the kitten from the roof, I notice something truly amazing. He is trying to stand up! He balances, shakily, on his three good legs. The fourth, with its useless paw, dangles behind him. I watch as he pulls himself up, then flops back down. He tries again, with the same result. Then he tries a third time, and manages to remain standing for several seconds longer. I am so proud of him! Although it is clearly hard, he is trying to stand up all by himself. And somehow I have not only the hope but the faith that he will be able to do it.

    I also notice that he’s starting to grow fur—he’s like his mother in color, only lighter, as if someone has mixed white paint with the orange. I rush downstairs so I can tell my sisters. “Guess what I saw!” I say to Sophie and Trudie, who are in the kitchen peeling potatoes. I tell them all about the brave little cat who is just so, so, plucky—that’s what he is! And then I realize: his name should be Plucky.
    â€œPlucky,” repeats Trudie, as if trying it on for size.
    â€œI like it,” says Sophie. “It fits.” The glow of her approval stays with me for the rest