not
fixing to start an annex to Kate's cat home!"

"I'm sure Davey will find homes for them," Mom says soothingly, but
getting a little short of breath, the way she does any time she's afraid
one of us is losing his temper.

In fact, one thing this cat business seems to have established is that me
and Pop fighting is the main cause of Mom's asthma. So we both try to do a
little better, and a lot of things we used to argue and fight about, like
my jazz records, we just kid each other about now. But now and then we
still work up to a real hassle.

I've been taking a history course the first semester at school. It's a
real lemon--just a lot of preaching about government and citizenship. The
second semester I switch to a music course. This is O.K. with the
school--but not with Pop. Right away when I bring home my new program, he
says, "How come you're taking one less course this half?"

I explain that I'm taking music, and also biology, algebra, English, and
French.

"Music!" he snorts. "That's recreation, not a course. Do it on your own
time!"

"Pop, it's a course. You think the school signs me up for an hour of home
record playing?"

"They might," he grunts. "You're not going to loaf your way through school
if I have anything to say about it."

"Loaf!" I yelp. "Four major academic subjects is more than lots of the
guys take."

Mom comes and suggests that Pop better go over to school with me and talk
it over at the school office. He does, and for once I win a round--I keep
music for this semester. But he makes sure that next year I'm signed up
all year for five majors: English, French, math, chemistry, and European
history. I'll be lucky if I have time to breathe.

I go down to the flower shop to grouse to Tom. It's after Valentine's Day,
and business is slack and the boss is out.

"Why does Pop have to come butting into my business at school? Doesn't he
even think the school knows what it's doing?"

"Aw, heck," says Tom, "your father's the one has to see you get into
college or get a job. Sometimes schools do let kids take a lot of soft
courses, and then they're out on a limb later."

"Huh. He just likes to boss everything I do."

"So--he cares."

"Huh." I'm not very ready to buy this, but then I remember Tom's father,
who _doesn't_ care. It makes me think.

"Besides," says Tom, "half the reason you and your father are always
bickering is that you're so much alike."

"Me? Like _him_?"

"Sure. You'