“Sh-sh,” the person says softly. “You’re okay, little cat. Let’s get you out of the cold.”
I wriggle and squirm, but this sneaky soft-speaker won’t let go. I take out my claws and swing them toward him, and he—laughs!
How dare this human treat me like a clown! I wriggle some more, but I can’t reach him. “Let me go!” I scream again and again, but he pays no attention.
Then a bell jingles, and my nose fills with the smell of fried meat, crusty bread, and a touch of something sweet. I stop moving and look around. We’re in a warm room with shelves and shelves of boxes, cans, and bags with pictures of food on them.
I turn to the human. He has kind eyes and a smiling face.
CHAPTER 2 Miguel
This sure is a feisty kitty! I hold him by the scruff to avoid getting clawed.
I don’t blame him though. If somebody woke me up from a deep sleep, I’d be mad too. I already like the little guy. Here he is, tiny and alone, and he isn’t afraid to stick up for himself and fight a giant like me. That takes guts.
He stops yowling and squirming now that we’re inside the bodega, so I try my luck and hold him closer.
“See, I’m your friend, gatito,” I whisper.
He blinks at me, and I feel his body relax some.
“Miguel, what’s that?” Mami stomps toward me, her hands on her hips.
“It’s a cute little cat,” I say. “Can we keep him, Mami? Please please please please please!”
Mami shakes her head. “You know what we said. Pets are too much trouble.”
“No, you said dogs are too much trouble. This is a cat.”
Mami squints and folds her arms across her chest.
I keep talking before she can absolutely say no. “Cats don’t need to be walked. And they bathe themselves. Plus, every bodega needs a cat!”
“What does every bodega need?” Papi walks out of the storeroom wheeling a crate of rice.
“Miguel wants to keep this stray cat.”
“The poor thing is shivering,” Papi’s uncle Diego says from his chair by the window. “And so skinny, pobrecito.”
“I know, Tío Diego,” Papi says. “But it probably has fleas.”
The kitty tenses up in my arms.
“We can get rid of fleas, right, Tío Diego?” I say. My parents will surely listen to him.
But he just shrugs. I’m on my own here.
“I saw something online about how to remove fleas.” I look into my father’s eyes. “Please, Papi! He can be my Christmas present.”
My parents glance at each other and wrinkle their eyebrows like mirrored robots. The two of them can communicate without even speaking. That’s how well they understand each other. But me? They don’t get me at all.
“Christmas was two days ago,” Mami says.
“And you got plenty of presents,” Papi says.
“Not anything I wanted,” I mutter under my breath.
I asked for a new sketch pad, watercolor paints, brushes, and markers—things I’ll need for the art club my school is starting in January.
The art club my parents don’t know about yet.
I also asked for a puppy, because how could Mami and Papi say no to everything on my list? Surely they would decide the art supplies were very reasonable compared to a pet. I was so proud of myself for coming up with this brilliant plan. It had to work.
It didn’t. I got a boring math game, an ugly puffy coat, and a bunch of books about science. Because, my parents said, Art is a waste of time.
Don’t they understand that there’s a whole world out there waiting to be explored? And that art helps people learn about that world?
Nope, they do not. So here I am, stuck in this boring bodega, stocking shelves, sweeping the floor, listening to Tío Diego’s same old stories. Every. Single. Day.
“You wouldn’t really throw this sweet kitty out into the freezing cold? Would you, Mami? Would you, Papi?” I hold the cat up to them, glad he’s put away his murder claws and is showing them his cute little face.
“Oh, let the boy keep the cat,” Tío Diego says.
The door chimes tinkle, and Señor Norberto walks in. “Sorry I’m late picking up Don Diego,” he says. “The bus got stuck in terrible traffic!”
