Every elementary classroom has its fair share of odd-balls.
My grade had Mr. Whiskers.
thought he was a cat.
Now this kid
told everyone to call him by this name, and this name alone. He seemed to be a
pretty harmless child overall.
would pretend to cough up fur-balls, or he’d climb up onto the top of his desk
and lick his hands. He’d even rub up against your sides and purr at you. It was
all normal for him, it was just how he was. Everything he did was typical of a
In a way, his
presence was great for me and my other friends. We loved to play role-play
games at recess, and he made an excellent animal companion.
I was never
mean to him, and I never judged him for being that way. Some of the other kids
liked to call him a freak, but my friends and I all rolled with his games. It
was kind of fun sometimes.
I was never
scared of him. I just thought he was trying to be funny.
skipping rocks by the lake one weekend afternoon and he turned to me and said,
“Meow, meow, do you want to meet my brothers and sisters? Meow.”
I was too
curious to say no, and followed him along blindly. He led me to a shed in the woods.
When he saw it, he started to crawl on all fours.
I could hear
the distant meows of some cats. I slowly followed him into the shed.
clawed at my pants. Another jumped at me from the rafters and left a scratch on
my arm. The shed was full of these feral cats and they were all hissing and
screeching at me. I took a couple of steps back as Mr. Whiskers crawled into
the middle of the room.
once, and they all stopped. They turned towards his call, and their yellow eyes
gleamed up at him.
There was a
tiny section that had been taped off in a square. No cat dared to cross that
line. Within that square was a bunch of dead mice and rats.
eat,” said Mr. Whiskers. He was looking at me. The cats all started to
I watched the
kid pick up a rat by its tail. He lowered his head, and bit off a huge chunk.
I watched as
blood dripped down his chin.
He looked up
“Meow,” he said. And they all meowed back at him.