Rog looked up at his mother. A strand of her auburn hair hung down between her eyes and almost hid the angry wrinkles. Rog looked at the kitten he was holding and gently petted it. "Roger, did you hear what I said?" his mother asked sternly. "Yes Mom, I heard you," he said. His head felt hot, and he thought that his mother must be staring at him hard, and her mouth was probably clenched tight like it always was when she got mad. Then he muttered, "I'll try to give them away." "See that you do," she said, and she turned and walked out of the garage. A light curtain of dust hung in the air, and warm sunlight came in through a hole in the roof arid shone down on the baby kittens. Quietly, he placed the kitten he was holding in with the others and let it go back to sleep. He stood up and looked around the cluttered garage. Some green flies were chasing each other around in little circles. He saw a black spider scoot out into the middle of the floor, and he raised his shoe and let it come down hard. The spider lay there like a squashed grape. He found an old gunny sack that hung over the handle of the lawn mower and took it over to the kittens' box. Carefully he lifted the kittens from the box and picked up the sack that they were lying on. It was damp from being under them for so long, and it smelled like a dish rag that had been in the sink for days without being wrung out. He put the fresh sack into the box, fluffed it, arid turned around to the kittens which were playing in another corner of the garage. He brought them all in his arms back to the box and hung a rag over the top. Rog heard a clicking noise, softer at first and then louder as it came nearer. He turned to see his friend, Dick, coming up the driveway through the sprinklers on his English racer. He had a playing card attached with a clothespin to the spokes. "Hey, Rog!" he yelled, "where are ya?" "In here," Rog said. He turned back to the kittens. He heard Dick barig his bike against the garage and come up behind him. Rog turned around and looked up at Dick. He was a tall boy with a crew cut, and his grey plaid shirt clung to his body, wet from peddling through the sprinklers. "Whatcha doin'?" he asked. "Nothin'," Rog said, and he turned back to the kittens. "Hey, when ya gunna give me one of them cats?" Dick asked. He reached in and picked up one of the kittens and petted its fur that shone 8 like spun gold. "Ya know," he said, "I want a girl cat the color o' this un. Then I can have a whole mess of 'em." He held the cat by the paws and swung it around wildly. Then he stopped and repeated, "Hey, Rog, when can I have it?" Rog took a deep breath. "You can't," he said, and he reached out and took the cat from Dick. "Gee Whiz! Why not?" Dick asked. His voice was high and shrill. He put his hands on his hips. "You just won't treat it good," Rog said, and he put the kitten back in the box, turned, and walked out of the garage. He sat down on the wet lawn, put his arms around his knees and stared at the grass. Dick followed him out. He sat down by Rog, pulled up a fist full of grass, and threw it up in the air. "Look, Rog. I wouldn't hurt it, honest. Geez, I'd fix it a little house in the basement. Honest, I'd treat it good." Rog stood up and stared at Dick. He could feel his face getting hot. "Listen, Dick," he shouted, "I saw you pull that butterfly to pieces, and you don't think I saw you when you threw old Mrs. McCleod's cat in the dftch, and it drowned! Yer just not any good, Dick! Ya just can't have it!" He turned and walked toward the house. "But Rog Geez!" Rog was inside now and had slammed the door. From the window he watched Dick get on his bike, ride out the driveway and down the street. He stood there for a long time starfng after Dick. A light wind raised the organdy curtain and brushed it across his face. It smelled sweet and clean like baby clothes just brought in from the wash. He was certain of one thing. No one could have one of his kittens who could not give it a good home. He would make certain of that. He remembered the day when the kittens were born. The mother cat lay in a box in the corner of the kitchen, and outside, rain came down on the roof in a rhythmic beat. Rog had been up taking care of the mother cat since he had first heard her crying early that morning. The air in the house was cold and damp, and he tried to make the mother cat warm and comfortable. He stayed close by her to stroke her head when she whined with pain. He sat on the chair and clenched his fists. His head felt as if it were burning, and a strand of unruly hair hung down in his face and made him nervous. He had the same fluttering in his stomach that he always got when he had to go to the dentist. Outside, the rain had stopped to a drizzle, and the sun filtered in through the curtained window. Rog stared at the polished floor covered with shadows cast from the raindrops on the window glass. 9