Off and on since then I’ve seen quite a lot of Kate. I’d pass her on the street, chirruping to some mangy old stray cat hiding under a car, and he’d always come out to be stroked. Sometimes there’d be a bunch of little kids dancing around jeering at her and calling her a witch. It made me feel real good and important to run them off. Quite often I went with her to the A & P and helped her carry home the cat food and cottage cheese and fruit. She talks to herself all the time in the store, and if she thinks the peaches or melons don’t look good that day, she shouts clear across the store to the manager. He comes across and picks her out an extra good one, just to keep the peace. I introduced Kate to Mom, and they got along real well. Kate’s leery of most people, afraid they’ll make fun of her, I guess; my mom’s not leery of people, but she’s shy, and what with asthma and worrying about keeping me and Pop calmed down, she doesn’t go out much or make dates with people. She and Kate would chat together in the stores or sitting on the stoop on a sunny day. Kate shook her head over Mom’s asthma and said she’d get over it if she ate cottage cheese every day. Mom ate it for a while, but she put mayonnaise on it, which Kate says is just like poison. The day of the fight with Pop about the Belafonte record it’s cold and windy out and there are no kids in sight. I slam my ball back and forth against the wall where it says “No Ball Playing,” just to limber up and let off a little spite, and then I go over to see Kate. Kate has a permanent cat named Susan and however many kittens Susan happens to have just had. It varies. Usually there are a few other temporary stray kittens in the apartment, but I never saw any father cat there before. Today Susan and her kittens are under the stove, and Susan keeps hissing at a big tiger-striped tomcat crouching under the sofa. He turns his head away from her and looks like he never intended to get mixed up with family life. For a stray cat he’s sleek and healthy-looking. Every time he moves a whisker, Susan hisses again, warningly. She believes in no visiting rights for fathers. Kate pours me some tea and asks what’s doing. “My pop is full of hot air, as usual,” I say. “Takes one to know one,” Kate says, catching me off base. I change the subject. “How come the kittens’ pop is around the house? I never saw a full-grown tom here before.” “He saw me buying some cans of cat food, so he followed me home. Susan isn’t admitting she ever knew him or ever wants to. I’ll give him another feed and send him on his way, I guess. He’s a handsome young fellow.” Kate strokes him between the ears, and he rotates his head. Susan hisses.