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

say, especially to someone whose beloved pet is in the hospital!
    â€œThat’s not true!” I say, totally shocked. “Of course cats are just as likable as dogs.”
    Kiran himself wishes his parents would allow them to have a dog. He’s read many training books about them in preparation for the future pets he’ll have when he’s on his own. Every year he watches the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show on TV. He can reel off the top four smartest breeds (border collie, poodle, German shepherd, and golden retriever) and even tell you what to feed a dog with diarrhea (rice and cottage cheese). He also knows the difference between a domestic and a Persian breed of cat, and a thing or two about scratching posts. But when a person has too much book knowledge and not enough actual experience, their theories can be off base. Way, way off base.
    â€œCats just don’t seem to have that much love or allegiance to their owners,” Kiran says.
    â€œLove or allegiance! They have loads of that!” I say. “Right this minute, this very minute, Zook is longing for our entire family.”
    â€œWell, you said a cat doesn’t obey its owners,” says Riya.
    â€œYou don’t have to command a cat to love you!” I say hotly. “And Zook does love us!”
    We have reached Freddy’s school. Freddy’s face is pressed against the front window, just like Zook’s face always is, waiting for us after school. Freddy’s school is called the Little Tots Playskool. That’s the way they spell it. Playskool. It seems weird that an educational establishment would use the wrong spelling on purpose, but there you go.
    We all go into the Playskool, and I put my initials on the sign-out sheet:
O.A.
I make the
A
have a fancy, mature, loopy cat tail, like this:

    I am very proud to have the responsibility of signing Freddy out.
    And then, walking home, I continue our discussion.
    I tell Riya and Kiran how my mom and I smuggled Zook into the hospital to visit my father, the story that’s been going around and around in my head these past few days.
    â€œZook was in a wicker basket covered with a green-and-whitecloth napkin with strawberries on it,” I say. “No animals were allowed into the hospital except special therapy dogs, and I don’t think there was such a thing as a therapy cat at Kaiser Permanente Medical Center. I had my hand resting on top of the napkin to keep Zook calm so he wouldn’t wriggle around. A nurse saw my mom and me and said, ‘That looks like a delicious picnic you’ve got there!’ and I said, ‘Sure is.’ Then we marched right in.”
    â€œI thought you said no one saw you go in,” Kiran says.
    I forgot I’d already told them the story. “Well, I left out that part last time,” I say.
    I add more details to this story every time I tell it. Every single time I think about it, actually.
    â€œSo we went in, and my dad pulled off the napkin and laughed because he was expecting submarine sandwiches or tacos or something. He didn’t have much appetite then, anyway. He lifted Zook out. That wasn’t easy for my dad to do because he wasn’t as strong as he used to be, and Zook is big. But it was worth it, because Zook licked his face all over. Believe me, there was lots of love and allegiance in that bed! He snuggled up next to my dad under his blankets. Zook was purring so loud, like a car motor, or like a refrigerator when you leave the door open, so loud that we had to turn up theradio every time a nurse came into the room. He stayed with my dad for hours and hours.”
    â€œHours and hours and hours,” says Freddy, who wasn’t even there, but had heard the story a couple of times.
    Zook wasn’t actually in that bed for hours and hours. Maybe just thirty minutes or so. But it seems like hours and hours every time I think about it. But sometimes it feels like it was just a few