Read Online The Five Lives of Our Cat Zook by Joanne Rocklin - Free Book Online

as my father figure, although she doesn’t call him that. She just said she thought it would be helpful for us to have some talks at recess every now and then. I know she wishes he’d tell me to stop wearing my dad’s Raiders sweatshirt every day. But we nevertalk about my sweatshirt. Mr. Fry usually lets me choose the topic.
    â€œWell,” says Mr. Fry today.
    There are quite a few long, pleasant silences during my talks with Mr. Fry. Mr. Fry is a shy man. (Name Theory: Fry RW
shy.
) Lately we’ve mostly been talking about cats.
    â€œZook’s still at the vet, hooked up to fluids to flush out his toxins,” I say. “His kidneys aren’t working well enough to do the job.”
    Mr. Fry nods. “Well,” he says, getting his thoughts together. I study Mr. Fry’s cowlick while I’m waiting. It sticks out over his right ear. I figure he tries hard to tame it because it usually looks damp.
    â€œWell. Fluids will certainly help to flush out those toxins,” Mr. Fry says finally, nodding his head. “Don’t you worry.”
    I believe him because Mr. Fry himself has three cats.
    â€œMy own cat had kidney trouble last year. He was given fluids and he’s fit as a fiddle now,” Mr. Fry says.
    I’m not sure I understand what “fit as a fiddle” means, but I suppose it means that you can get a tune out of it, if it’s a fiddle, and that you’re back to normal, if you’re a cat. Mr.Fry knows all about tunes, because he plays the cello in the Sailors’ Chamber Orchestra. He told us that fact on the first day of school, when he was introducing himself to us.
    â€œI love sailing and movies and mystery novels, and have recently taken up tennis. And I’m allergic to pickles,” said Mr. Fry.
    â€œHoo-hoo, allergic to pickles!” a Rowdy called out from somewhere around Table 2. Our class is made up of Rowdies and Listeners. I’m in the latter group. Rowdies are a few sandwiches short of an all-day picnic, as my dad would have said.
    My gramma works in a school office. She knows which teachers keep a lid on things and why. Mr. Fry doesn’t know much about keeping lids on. That’s why Room 7 keeps boiling over, in Gramma Dee’s opinion.
    â€œYou don’t begin the year trying to be pals with students. You start off firm, set some rules, and then loosen up a bit as the school year goes on,” Gramma Dee says.
    The Rowdies always talk to one another while he’s trying to teach. They throw pencils and rolled-up paper across the room. They mumble “Pass the pickles, please” under their breaths and laugh.
    Mr. Fry keeps telling everybody to “keep it down to a dull roar.”
    My gramma says there shouldn’t be any roar at all, dull or any other kind.
    â€œI think it’s because Mr. Fry is a cat owner and not a dog owner,” I say to Riya and Kiran on the way to pick up Freddy at preschool. Today was a pretty noisy day in Room 7.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Riya asks.
    Most people would understand exactly what I mean, but Riya doesn’t know much about pets. Her parents won’t allow them. You have to take off your shoes when you go into their house, and since dogs don’t have any shoes to take off, just their big, dirty paws messing up the carpets, that’s the end of that.
    â€œDog owners learn how to be the boss,” I explain. “You have to be the alpha with dogs. That means number one. A cat owner doesn’t have to learn how to be the boss of its cat. Cats are their own bosses. You can’t train a cat to listen to you.”
    â€œJust like the kids in the class are the bosses of Mr. Fry,” says Kiran. Kiran, a year older than us, had Mr. Fry the year before.
    â€œRight,” I say. Even Mr. Fry’s cowlick is the boss over him.
    Then Kiran says, “You know what? In my opinion, cats aren’t as likable as dogs.”
    What a thing to