To Kill a Mockingbird
Oscar
“To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee,” Oscar wrote on the top line of his college-ruled notebook paper. He glared at the book flapped open on his bed and then back at his piece of paper.
He hated book reports.
“Meow!”
Oscar reached down and stroked the tabby cat rubbing against his leg. “In a minute, Felix.”
Felix purred, pushing his striped head into Oscar’s meaty hand. Oscar scratched the cat’s ear and then retracted his hand back to his small desk.
“Screachhhh!”
Oscar turned his attention out of the window and looked past the street sign at the corner of his family home—marked Melville Pl. and Poe Ave.—and into the face of the angry driver who had just slammed on the brakes of his blue minivan to avoid the neighbor’s collie, Lassie. Oscar watched, amused, as Lassie urinated on a fire hydrant and the man in the blue minivan drove away.
Something beside him jumped onto his desk and stole his attention from the window.
Felix.
Oscar scowled and brushed against the cat to move him aside, but Felix expertly stepped one paw at a time over Oscar’s arm, purring with self-satisfaction.
“Seriously, Felix,” Oscar muttered, nudging the tabby. “I have to write this stupid book rep—”
“Screachhhh!”
Oscar released the cat and turned in his seat. He looked out the window again, surprised to find an empty intersection.
“Screachhhh!”
Oscar frowned. “What the—?”
A small grey, black, and white finch-like bird with a long black beak hopped across the lawn.
A mockingbird.
Oscar looked down at his nearly blank piece of paper and smirked. “How appropriate.” Felix purred and pushed against his chest. Oscar petted the cat again before lifting him to the open windowsill.
“Go kill that thing, will you, Felix?”
Felix flicked his ears and turned to leap from the windowsill.
Oscar waved his hands. “Ffft! Go away!” he said. “You can come back when I finish my book report.”
The tabby’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he turned and exited through the window, tail flicking upward as if to say, Ffft, right back at you, buddy. Who needs ya?
Oscar smirked. He loved that damn cat. They’d been inseparable for nearly ten years. Felix was more than a pet—he was family.
With his feline distraction gone, Oscar returned to his paper. He reached for his pen and began to write:
“Even when we think nobody else is looking, all of our actions come with consequences. In her tale, To Kill a Mockingbird, author Harper Lee tells the story of—”
“Screachhh!”
Oscar sighed and stood to shut the window. Stupid bird.
Felix
Felix tiptoed across the hot roof, careful to avoid the black tar he’d learned as a kitten was uncomfortable and impossible to clean from his fur. He found his way to the edge of the roof nearest the branch of the oak tree.
Another cat was on his branch.
Felix crouched. Adrenaline spiked through his body. His fur bristled along his spine. He’d tussled with the grey and white tabby before, and neither had yet established dominance.
Felix looked over his shoulder toward the closed window. His human had sent him out here, hadn’t he? Might as well deal with unfinished business.
The grey tabby dozed in the dappled sunlight. Felix took two silent, crouched steps forward. The other cat didn’t stir.
Felix aimed for a spot just short of his foe and sprang.
He landed inches away, claws gripping the branch. The other tabby’s eyes snapped open. Felix’s opponent sprang backward, gripping the branch just before losing balance. But now, the grey tabby was between Felix and the trunk.
Felix opened his mouth, tasting the air. Both cats released a deep, belly-born growl. Their tails twitched in unison. Eyes wide, pupils dark and round. Felix took a step forward. The grey tabby took two.
“Screachhh!”
The grey cat looked toward the mockingbird first. Mistake.
Felix lunged.
The two cats tangled, hissing and spitting, claws raking against fur. The world spun. Then—gravity.
They fell.
The impact drove the air from Felix’s lungs. The grey tabby scrambled to its feet and bolted. Felix barely had time to lift his head before the Collie barreled toward him, barking like a lunatic.
Felix leaped into the tree, claws scratching at the bark. He climbed higher, panting. His paws ached from the fall, and his side throbbed where the other tabby had swiped him.
He heard the Collie crash into a trash can, sending the lid rolling into the street.
Above him, the mockingbird flapped onto a high branch, warbling a new tune.
“Mrowrrrrrr!”
Felix’s ears flattened. His tail flicked in agitation. He opened his mouth to smell the air. He crouched lower, eyes locked on the oblivious bird. His jaw began to chatter with anticipation.
Slowly, he reached a paw forward and crept higher into the tree.
“Mrowrrrrrr!” mimicked the mockingbird.
Oscar
Inside the house, Oscar sighed.
“Stupid cats,” he muttered.
He stood, walked to the window, and stuck his head out.
“Mwowrrrrrr!”
Oscar’s gaze lifted. The little grey bird sat on a branch. Smug little bastard.
He thought about what his mother had said about his airgun:
“I don’t like guns, Oscar—even air guns. If you’re going to shoot that thing, take it out to the country. I don’t want to hear about you shooting birds or squirrels. Do you understand me?”
“Let him alone, Marjorie,” his dad had said. “Oscar’s a good boy. He’ll leave the critters be.”
Oscar had agreed.
But the bird kept calling.
“Mwrowrrr!”
Oscar clenched his jaw.
He raced to his closet, pulling aside the winter coats. There it was. The black air rifle.
Beside it, a box of pellets. He grabbed it, but the bottom fell out, sending silver rounds scattering across the floor.
Crap!
He knelt, grabbing a single pellet. He loaded the rifle. Cocked it.
For a moment, he hesitated.
But then—
“Mwrowrrr!”
He lifted the rifle to his shoulder, peered through the scope, and found the mockingbird.
“Die, you little jerk,” he whispered.
He pulled the trigger.
The branch exploded into a flurry of feathers and leaves.
“Raowwrrr!”
Oscar’s stomach flipped.
The bird took flight—
But so did Felix.
The pellet struck before he even had time to react. A small, hollow thwump.
Felix yowled. His body twisted midair, then fell.
Thud.
Oscar’s world turned to ice.
“Nooooooo!”
He dropped the rifle and ran, feet pounding down the stairs, through the foyer, and out the front door.
Felix lay crumpled on the ground, his striped fur slick with red.
His body was still.
His eyes—those bright, mischievous green eyes—were dull. Empty.
Oscar collapsed beside him. His hands shook as he reached out, pressing against Felix’s motionless chest.
No heartbeat. No rise or fall of breath.
Felix was gone.
Oscar’s vision blurred with tears. A raw, gasping sob tore from his throat.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please, God. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—please.”
Felix didn’t move.
Across the street, near a grey Craftsman house with white trim, the little grey bird perched on a telephone pole.
It opened its beak.
“Noooooooooo!”
Oscar sobbed into his hands as the mockingbird called again.
I don't like these kinds of stories.....at all