Dewey Southwest went down the street. He looked about and saw a cat limping against the curb. It was propping itself up on the cement. "Well," said Dewey, "I better do something about this." Then, with a slow saunter, he walked over to the cat. The cat looked at him and hissed. "Whoa, there," Dewey said. "I'm here to help you." He tried again to help the cat, but the cat was hostile, and only scratched him. Dewey knew what the problem was. The cat had probably been maimed or hurt by a human -- now he was afraid of men. And who wouldn't be? They start all the wars, don't they?
Dewey reached into his pocket and gave the poor creature some kibble. (Dewey had a cat of his own and would often carry around treats.) The cat, however, was not hungry. It hissed once more and -- despite its busted bone -- hopped quickly to a sewer grate. There it threw up and died.
As Dewey was going to take a closer look, some neighborhood kids came around. There were three of them on bikes: Jack, Tilly, and Sandra. They circled around as if sharks. "What do you want?" Dewey asked. "Come to bother me?" Jack -- the leader -- reached into his coat and took out a knife. Then Tilly and Sandra followed.
"We're going to the woods," said Jack. "Could you sharpen our knives? They're quite dull, and we need them to cut branches and what not."
There was a smile on Dewey's face, he hadn't sharpened knives in a while. With a nod he obliged. "Sure," he said. "I'd like to do that." He collected the knives and headed back to his place. He went into his garage and walked through a cloud of dust. There was a little window which let light shine through. Dewey turned on a spinning stone-wheel and began sharpening the knives. He did it like a pro...actually, because he was a pro. He used to be a knife-smith, and he used to make weapons in his more youthful days. But now at age 38, pushing 40, he had let his "little" hobby go the wayside. Yeah, people went to him to sharpen knives, but he never charged them, and there were so few who asked.
In a moment Dewey was finished. When he went back out he saw that the kids were missing. They were probably to anxious to wait. But it was only three minutes or so... Come to think of it, he thought, it was quite strange. They would've definitely waited. Kids,
Dewey reached into his pocket and gave the poor creature some kibble. (Dewey had a cat of his own and would often carry around treats.) The cat, however, was not hungry. It hissed once more and -- despite its busted bone -- hopped quickly to a sewer grate. There it threw up and died.
As Dewey was going to take a closer look, some neighborhood kids came around. There were three of them on bikes: Jack, Tilly, and Sandra. They circled around as if sharks. "What do you want?" Dewey asked. "Come to bother me?" Jack -- the leader -- reached into his coat and took out a knife. Then Tilly and Sandra followed.
"We're going to the woods," said Jack. "Could you sharpen our knives? They're quite dull, and we need them to cut branches and what not."
There was a smile on Dewey's face, he hadn't sharpened knives in a while. With a nod he obliged. "Sure," he said. "I'd like to do that." He collected the knives and headed back to his place. He went into his garage and walked through a cloud of dust. There was a little window which let light shine through. Dewey turned on a spinning stone-wheel and began sharpening the knives. He did it like a pro...actually, because he was a pro. He used to be a knife-smith, and he used to make weapons in his more youthful days. But now at age 38, pushing 40, he had let his "little" hobby go the wayside. Yeah, people went to him to sharpen knives, but he never charged them, and there were so few who asked.
In a moment Dewey was finished. When he went back out he saw that the kids were missing. They were probably to anxious to wait. But it was only three minutes or so... Come to think of it, he thought, it was quite strange. They would've definitely waited. Kids,
