Читать книгу Crenshaw - Katherine Applegate - Страница 14

I don’t exactly remember how I felt about Crenshaw that day we met.

It was a long time ago.

I don’t remember lots of stuff about what happened when I was young.

I don’t remember being born. Or learning to walk. Or wearing diapers. Which is probably not something you want to remember anyway.

Memory is weird. I remember getting lost at the grocery store when I was four. But I don’t remember getting found by my mum and dad, who were yelling and crying at the same time. I only know that part because they told me about it.

I remember when my little sister first came home. But I don’t remember trying to put her in a box so we could mail her back to the hospital.

My parents enjoy telling people that story.

I’m not even sure why Crenshaw was a cat, and not a dog or an alligator or a Tyrannosaurus rex with three heads.

When I try to remember my whole entire life, it feels like a Lego project where you’re missing some of the important pieces, like a robot mini-figure or a monster-truck wheel. You do the best you can to put things together, but you know it’s not quite like the picture on the box.

It seems like I should have thought to myself, Wow, a cat is talking to me, and that is not something that usually happens at a highway rest stop.

But all I remember thinking is how great it was to have a friend who liked purple jelly beans as much as I did.