novel that's what he did for work.
'Don't worry, Owen,' Mommy said, and went off to work on a
noivel-because that was what she did for work, too.
'Don't worry, Owen' Big Brother said, and went off to watch The
Tomorrow People on TV.
'You just hate my cat!' Big sister said, and went off to play The
Entertainer on the piano.
But no matter what they said, Owen knew he'd better keep a good
old eye on Springsteen, because Springsteen certainly did like to
kill things. Worse, he liked to play with them before he killed
them. Sometimes Owen would open the door in the morning and
there would be a dead bird on the doorsteo. Then he would look
further, and there would be Springsteen crouched on the porch rail,
the tip of his tail switching slightly and his big green eyes looking
at Owen, as if to say: Ha! I got another one... and you couldn't stop
me, could you? Then Owen would ask permission to bury the dead
bird. Sometimes his mommy or daddy would help him.
So when Owen saw Springsteen on the grass of the front lawn, all
crouched down with his tail twirching, he thought right away that
the cat might be playing with some poor, hurt little animal. Owen
forgot about picking flowers for his mom and ran over to see what
Springsteen had caught.
At first he thought Springsteen didn't have anything at all. Then
the cat leaped, and Owen heard a very tiny scream from the grass.
He saw something green and blue between Springsteen had was
shrieking and trying to get away. And now Owen saw something
else-little spots of blood on the grass.
'No!' Owen shouted. 'Get away, Springsteen!' The cat flattened
his ears back and turned towards the sound of Owen's voice. His
big green eyes glared. The green and blue thing between
Springsteen paws squiggled and wiggled and got away. I started to
run and Owen saw it was a person, a little tiny man wearing a
green hat made out of a leaf. The little man looked back over his
shoulder, and Owen saw how scared the little guy was. He was no
bigger than the mice Springsteen sometimes killed in their big dark
cellar. The little man had a cut down one of his cheeks from one of
Springsteen's claws.
Springsteen hissed at Owen and Owen could almost hear him say:
'Leave me alone, he's mine and I'm going to have him!'
Then Springsteen jumped for the little man again, just as quick as a
cat can jump-and if you have a cat of your own, you'll know that
is very fast. The little man in the grass tried to dodge away, but he
didn't quite make it, Owen saw the back of the little man's shirt
tear open as Springsteen's claws ripped it apart. And, I am sorry to
say, he saw more blood and heard the little man cry out in pain. He
went tumbling in the grass. His little leaf hat went flying.
Springsteen got ready to jump again.
'No, Springsteen, no!' Owen cried. 'Bad cat!'
He grabbed Springsteen. Springsteen hissed again, and his needle-
sharp teeth sank into one of Owen's hands. It hurt worse than a
