(San Diego 1951)
I like our neighbors a lot but some of the older guys get into fights sometimes. Gary’s place is just over in the next row of buildings and his parents are the nicest folk so I half dragged my parents over to meet them last week. They hit it off real good.
I’m in first grade in Midway Elementary School and the place we live is called Frontier Housing. It isn’t very pretty with big circular oil tanks in the open spaces between the rows of buildings. Each building has two families downstairs and two upstairs. I like it when the iceman comes and puts another block in our icebox. On weekends, a movie theater truck comes and parks in the parking lot. For a dime you can go inside and watch cartoons and sometimes a serial like Flash Gordon or Tarzan. It’s hard to come back outside; the sun hurts your eyes and you can’t see anything for a while.
We live here with Rusty, our Cocker Spaniel, and Tam-Malacha, our Siamese cat. We call her ‘Tam’ for short. We let them outside and they go off by themselves to who knows where but in the evening when we want them to come home, we just call their names. They come tearing around the corner of one or another of the many buildings in the housing complex; sometimes together and sometimes from opposite directions but always running fast.
So that’s what I’m doing; calling our pets. Mom asked me to.
“RUSTY! TAM!”
Rusty rockets around the building on the far side of the open space and his short legs move so fast you can’t see them. I brace myself for the collision. Just when you think he’s going to knock you flying, he suddenly slows but still bangs into your legs kinda hard. He hits my legs and I tousle his ears before opening the screen door so he can go in.
I turn and look to see which way Tam is coming. I don’t see her.
“TAM! TAM-MALACHA!”
“TAM-MALACHA! C’MERE TAMMY!”
“Mom. Tam’s not coming.”
“She’ll come when she wants to, Dave. Wash your hands for dinner.”
Linda tries calling Tam before we sit down for dinner but Tam still doesn’t come.
After dinner, each of us tries calling her and then we go looking. I’m running around the buildings calling her name. My legs get so tired all I can do is walk and call for her. Then I get some ideas where I might find her so I head to the Rec. I walk all around it calling her name and then go farther still. I walk and call and it is getting darker and darker. This is too scary being alone in the housing complex in the dark so I turn back home and trot most of the way.
Mom’s mad. “Dave where were you? Noel just went looking for you.” She goes to the door to call for Noel but he must have seen me because he comes in before Mom can step outside.
I ask, “Did Tam come home?”
No one wants to answer. Then I notice that Linda has tears on her face and it occurs to me that maybe they found her dead.
“Where’s Tam,” I ask more urgently.
Noel answers, “We didn’t find her. She didn’t come home.”
Dad looks like he’s about to explode with anger at himself or something.
“You kids get ready for bed. Noel and I will call for her later.”
“Wake up. Wake up. School day.” It’s Mom. It’s morning.
“Did Tam come home?” I ask hopefully.
“Not yet. Now get out of bed and come get breakfast.”
When I got back from school, I went searching for Tam again. I’d seen dead cats on streets before so I with dread I walked along the streets looking ahead and on the side streets and parking areas for a cat-size lump. I ran to check out discarded bottles, bits of cardboard, empty oil cans, and old newspapers. I was thinking I would find Tam, injured but alive, and I would run home with her and be a hero for rescuing her. On my way back home I looked under bushes that grew up against some of the buildings and around trash cans.
I didn’t do much searching on the third day and none at all after that. Mom and Dad suggested that maybe we’d get another cat sometime.
“Dave, wake up. Tam’s home.” It’s Mom voice but I what she said makes no sense as I clear my sleep-drugged head.
“Wha?” The ceiling light is on and it kinda hurts my eyes. It’s totally dark outside.
“Tammy’s home. Come and see her.”
I’m in the front room in a flash and the rest of the family is there, even Rusty. In the middle of the huddle is Tam and she is talking and moving non-stop. She pushes her face against our hands and our faces and she climbs all over us as we kneel all around her. All the while she’s saying things like, “Mmrrum” and “Reowr.”
“How’d she get here?” I ask.
Noel answered, “I heard her voice getting louder as she got closer to home. I opened the door and she ran in.”
“I wish you’d waked me up,” I pouted.
“We got you up immediately,” Mom says. “Tam just now got here.”
Tam doesn’t pause as she climbs on each of us. Tight around her neck is an electric wire covered with brown rubber that has about four inches hanging loose. It’s the kind of wire that zips apart and is used for lamps and toasters and things. Dad and Noel untie the wire and I pick it up when they finish.
“I think she chewed through the metal,” I tell everybody. The loose end of the wire is ragged with marks made by Tam’s teeth and the copper strands are crinkled and scarred.
“She’s so skinny,” Mom points out.
Dad says, “Tomorrow will be a week since she disappeared. I don’t think she’s eaten a thing the entire time.” All of us agreed. Tam was skin and bones.
“Somebody must of took her and had to tie her up to keep her from leaving,” Linda tells us. “And she wouldn’t even eat for them.”
“It’s back to bed for you, Dave,” says Mom. “Linda, get ready for bed now. We’ll clean Tammy up and she can sleep with you tonight if she wants.”