by Huntly Ketchen

Mama always said, “It doesn’t matter what cards life deals you, it’s how you play them that makes all the difference.”

I don’t think she meant for me figure out that since one of the cards life dealt me was my small size, I would get an equalizer. It didn’t take me long to progress from a roll of quarters to a pair of brass knuckles, then a Louisville Slugger, and finally an assortment of knives. I was good at throwing them too, nine out of ten times I hit my mark, from up to thirty feet away.

Last time I saw my daddy he was on the inside of a set of bars that separated us, and he said he might never see me again so he gave me two pieces of advice to live by. One, there is no such thing as a dirty fighter, just a winner and a loser. And two, don’t waste time talking, take the first swing. That was when I was eight, I never did see my Pap again, and following his advice brought me whole world full of grief.

In school I became known as the tough kid, didn’t matter that I was a girl, and once I got the rep of being tough everybody wanted to try me. I took a lot of beatings, but I learned from each one and it wasn’t long before I stopped losing.

Problem is grownups don’t like kids that fight. They tag them as troublemakers. Once you have that reputation you best move on because no matter how much you toe the line and follow the rules they will find something to punish you for. It also meant I attended a different school every year, the administrators trading us kids like baseball cards. At least the ones who were rebels, or innocents like me who got a bad rap. When I was fifteen I had had enough of the educational system and said good bye to Ma, I think she was glad to be rid of the extra mouth to feed, and the hassle of bailing me out of trouble every week. I was off to the big city, to become rich and famous, or maybe infamous.

Hitch hiking from the mid west I finally reached my destination, last stop, freekin’ Chicago. Within an hour of my arrival I had made a new friend. “Listen up kitty, we have no money, no friends, no relatives, and nothing is familiar. It is you and me fur ball, back to back with no help coming our way. Good thing I got you or people would think I’m loony tunes, walking around talking to myself.“

I dabbed at my neck where the blood had almost stopped seeping from the tiny but plentiful scratches where the kitten’s baby claws had grabbed for purchase. About half an hour ago three boys had pushed the kitten off a ledge two stories up. They wanted to see if the old adage was true about a cat always landing on its feet. The idiots cursed me for ruining their experiment, I gave them the finger and kept the kitten. Buggers, there is no accounting for some peoples’ kids. Standing on the street I clutched the kitten and looked around. Chicago known as the windy city, once the nefarious home of gangland slayings, prostitution, gambling, and every illegal vice you wanted to partake of. This was my kind of town!

First things first, I was so hungry my stomach thought my throat was cut. I started walking and purposely bumped into a well dressed man reading his blackberry, and fell to the pavement with a yell. A few people looked and hurried away, the jerk never even said he was sorry he just kept walking. Lesson one, no one cares, I am on my own. However, if nothing else I am inventive, and rising to the occasion I poked my eyes until tears ran down my cheeks before bumping into another older man, falling down, and this time crying out “hey mister, you hurt my kitten!” God bless animal lovers.

Several people stopped and started berating the man, and he got apologetic real quick. Helping me up he asked about the cat and squeezing its paw until it cried I said “looks like it might have a broken leg, and I have no money for a vet.”

The crowd that gathered said,”Pay the girl, help her out,” and other great advice. The man pulled his wallet out and fished around for a bill, I reached out and took them all with a quick “Thanks this will do,” ducking between two big guys and pulling a disappearing act. Behind me I could here him saying, “I think I’ve been had,” and replies of “Serves you right picking on a child,” and “Too bad, big man, be more careful, she was only a kid.”

Score 375 clams, and Bob’s your uncle!

Okay dokey, looks like me and kitty have found our new routine, at $375.00 per half hour, I am going to make as much as any big city lawyer, without the expenses.