Tiger by the Tail Read Online Free Page B

speed. For a little while, maybe one or two hundred metres, it’s the fastest. If it doesn’t make a catch by then it just stops and waits for another chance. It can’t run that fast for long.
    “The way they catch their food, chasing it down like that, is more like canines — you know, wolves or dogs or jackals — than it is like the other cats. The ancient Egyptians used them as hunting dogs. I read somewhere about a Pharaoh who had fifty pairs of hunting cheetahs.”
    “What’s that sound?” Nick asked.
    “Sound? Oh, that’s Laura. She’s purring.”
    “Purring?”
    “Yep. Let’s you know that she’s happy. Probably having a good dream.”
    “Maybe thinking about running free in Africa,” I suggested.
    “That would be some dream. She was born here, in the back of a circus truck.”
    “Really? You’re kidding,” Nick said.
    “Of course, ‘really.’ I got too many stories I’ve lived to need to make up anything. Half of what I’ve seen I can’t ever tell anybody because they wouldn’t believe me.”
    “I didn’t mean I thought you were lying,” my brother apologized.
    “That’s okay, it’s just I’m a little touchy about this. You see, cheetahs are shy, and they don’t like to breed except in the wild. Big zoos run by people with all kinds of fancy degrees spend all sorts of money to try to get that to happen. It used to drive them crazy that some guy who didn’t finish grade ten could do it, in a travelling circus. Over the years I’ve helped Laura — and her mother and her aunt before her — give birth to, and raise, twenty-seven cheetahs.”
    “Twenty-seven! What happened to them? What happened to the babies?”
    “Sold them to zoos around the world.”
    “Too bad they couldn’t be let go into the wild,” Nick said. Judging by the look in my brother’s eyes, he realized he’d probably said something wrong again.
    “You’re probably right. There are more cheetahs in zoos now than in the wild, but you can’t take a cheetah raised in captivity and turn it loose. It just wouldn’t know what to do.”
    “You stupid idiot!” came a voice from the other room.
    I jumped again and all three of us swivelled our headsto face the doorway leading out of the kitchen.
    “Be quiet, you old feather brain!” hollered Mr. McCurdy.
    “Stupid old man!” came the reply through the doorway.
    Mr. McCurdy shook his head. “If you want to insult me, at least come and face me!”
    “Ugly old man!”
    “Don’t get me mad,” Mr. McCurdy threatened.
    “Drop dead!”
    “That’s it,” said Mr. McCurdy. He rose from his seat, walked across the kitchen and opened a cupboard. He reached up and pulled out a box.
    “Want some crackers?” he called out, and opened up the box.
    A flash of blue and yellow came hurtling through the doorway as a large bird flew into the room. It flapped around, skimming over our heads and finally landed on Mr. McCurdy’s shoulder.
    “Give me grub!” the bird ordered.
    “No way!” Mr. McCurdy replied. “Be polite and say hello to our guests.”
    The bird turned its head so that one large eye was facing directly toward us sitting at the table. Making contact, it spun its head around and stared at us with the other eye.
    “Greet our guests,” Mr. McCurdy ordered.
    “Hello … ugly children!” it squawked.
    Mr. McCurdy burst into laughter as both Nick and I gasped in shock.
    “Stupid bird,” Nick said.
    “Stupid boy,” replied the bird.
    “No point in trying to get into an argument with him. The bird always gets in the last word, unless of course I do this.” Mr. McCurdy handed it a large cracker, which it took with a foot and quickly placed into its mouth.
    “That’ll keep him quiet for a minute.”
    “Why did you train your parrot to insult people?” Nick asked.
    “First, it’s a military macaw, and second, it was saying these words long before I came along.”
    “But …” I started to say and then stopped myself.
    “But how could