Chad roared, and stopped. He wasn't a house cat. He was a panther. He heard the squeaky toy, and knew he had to obey. The bell around his neck jangled, as he ran toward the sound.
"That's a good, Mr. Kitty," laughed Rick. "Remember when we were kids, and played circus, Chad?"
Chad remembered they must've been seven or eight, maybe younger. Bruno would put on a top hat and his big brother's tux jacket, and he'd be the ringmaster. Then Rick would put on his khaki shorts and shirt, and put on a plastic safari helmet he got at the zoo. Then he'd get a chair and whip from the garage. They made Chad strip down to his underwear, and they drew stripes with permanent marker on his body, and he'd be the tiger. Or they'd find Rick's sister's old wig, and Chad would be the lion. He had asked why he couldn't be the ringmaster or liontamer, He recalled it took five baths to get all the marker off one time.
They did it to him again. Still it felt great to be a black furred, muscular panther. He lashed his tail, and slunk over to Rick's booted feet. Rick cracked the whip - it was real whip this time, not a bit of garden hose. Chad leapt up on the overturned wash bucket, and balanced on his four paws.
"Good, Chad!" said Rick.
The sound of two hands clapping were followed by Bruno's approach.
"Not only do I think we'll ace the talent show, but I've lined up a paying gig weekends at the Indian Casino," Bruno said.
Chad still balancing on the bucket, raised one paw to his mouth and started licking it.