Animals
As he watched the fish, Radim got to thinking that it looked a bit like his uncle Carl. "He has whiskers like you and bulging eyes," Radim informed the carp. "I think I'll call you Carl."
Carl gave no sign as to whether he liked his new name or not.
"I don't like cats," Simon said. "They're dirty."
"They're not dirty," I said, defending Blinky and all of catkind. "They wash themselves all the time."
"They wash themselves with their tongue," he said and made a face like he was grossed out. "But if you love cats, then this is the place to be. There are dozens and dozens of them here. I'll show you."
My desire to get out of the junkyard wasn't as strong as my curiosity. Why would there be dozens of cats here?
Others in the class might listen, but every word that Ms. Samson said about butterflies, Chance heard. Every picture that she showed, he pored over. The written words worked themselves into tangles and defeated him, but everything that he could learn about butterflies, he took right in deep. Not only was he going to be here until the butterflies were flying around in the classroom, he was going to be an expert.
