Carefully putting his feet down two at a time, Robie walked along the ledge. His confidence grew with every step. This was going so well. Then it happened.
The ledge gave scant warning that it was at the breaking point. Without his weight as well as the loot on it, the ledge might have remained in place for many more years. As he stepped, the concrete made a grinding noise that caused him to rear backward onto his hind legs just as it tore free. The concrete tumbled down to the street below. Robie found himself on his hind legs like a human, fighting to keep his balance.
With a deft twist, he turned and flopped belly-down on his stolen treasure.
Now what do I do?
Robie arched his back and started to step across the bag he was dragging when he felt the distinctive tremors, like the one that had preceded the other part of the ledge collapsing. Scrambling fast, Robie got over the sack with its food as the spot where his hind feet had been crumbled.
He let out a screech that turned into a strangled whine when the bag tumbled down with the ledge. His feet were on solid ledge but the sack’s two handles strangled him. The weight around his neck pulled him flat. Robie chanced a quick look ten stories down. Cats had survived such a fall.
I won’t make the fall at all. I’m too good for that!
All he had to do was lower his head and let the sack fall. Determination hardened within his mind. That would be a breach of duty. His honor would be gone. How could any proud cat hold his head up after losing such good food?
With a snort of determination, he heaved hard and strained to stand. The bag dangled under him. Robie began retracing the path he had already traversed, his neck muscles knotting from the exertion. When he reached the corner with the gargoyle, an idea came to him. He used its stony skull as a lever to pull up the bag. He turned around, got all four feet against the far side of the gargoyle, and pushed hard. The sack inched upward and then flopped down once more on the ledge.
Am I THE cat! Robie purred with pleasure. He had done more than survive. He had kept his loot from getting away from him. Neck stiff and chafed, he passed the open window. Robie took a final deep whiff of her scent and pushed on.
Uncertain where he was going, Robie circled the building until he saw it. A rope dangled from a pulley on the roof. Exhausted from hauling the bag behind him, he judged distances and wondered if the rope would extend all the way to the ground. Why else would it be here? The crazy humans always did things impulsively, but he had to give them one thing. They built apartments and bridges well.
Robie got his back feet under him, estimated the distance, then leaped powerfully. His front claws raked the end of the rope, scrambling for purchase. When his claws caught hold, he felt himself falling. Fast. Faster. He swung close to the rope and dug in his back claws, making sure he had maximum grip.
And the rope ran faster and faster, taking him toward the ground. He looked down and then back up. He had fallen six stories. Seven.
With a twitch, he let the bag of food fall free. He caught sight of the picture he had stolen. Although it wasn’t in 3-D and lacked the proper scent, he felt his heart twitch. Then he reacted with the full speed of his feline reflexes. Jumping from the rope wasn’t easy since there wasn’t anything to push away against, but he succeeded in landing in a Dumpster atop piles of trash.
He sank to the bottom, claws working hard to halt his descent. Then he fought to surface in the sea of garbage and stood for a moment, triumphant, on the metal edge before hopping down to paw through the fallen bag. Some of the food cans had burst open. He made sure the picture wasn’t soiled, then began dragging the loot to a spot where he could jump onto a box and let out his “Come and get it!” yowl.
Within a few minutes a dozen stray cats crowded close.
“Eat up. Enjoy yourselves,” he called. Robie watched in satisfaction as the scrawny cats, some with ribs poking against their fur, hungrily ate what he had brought.
He shouldered a couple aside and found unopened cans. Using a quick claw and a push with his other paw, he opened these for his adoring crowd, too. Then he gathered the feathered toys and batted then around, deciding on which he liked best. These he gave to the mother with her kittens.
“You’re so good to me, Robie,” the female said, pushing aside what he had brought. “But the other cat’s already brought all the toys we can use. More food, too.”
Robie’s fur rose.
“The other cat?”
“You didn’t think you were the only savior for us in this alley, did you?”
He howled loudly and turned away, angry. Not only did this interloper give food, he also supplied toys and other things that made life just a little better in the alley. Robie found one stray who remained after the feast to bat an empty food can around. He listened to its clanging as it struck a brick wall and rebounded.
“You get food from the other cat?” Robie asked.
“Sure, we all do. Usually better than you get us, but this time, well, you outdid yourself,” the stray said, taking one last sniff at the licked-clean can before strutting off, tail high.
Robie flopped onto his belly and fitfully groomed himself. What was the use of risking his life to get food for the starving when they didn’t care? Worse, they gave all the credit to another cat who furnished even better food.
Looking up at the tall apartment building, Robie felt a surge of determination. He hissed and stood, arching his back. The anger wasn’t at the recipients of his charity or even at the other cat who always trumped his largesse, but at the humans. Forcing decent cats to starve in alleyways was terrible. If any of Robie’s wards-and he had to think of them as such-strayed too far from this alley, Animal Control would swoop down on them. Those few who returned would carry RFIDs to constantly trace them. More than a simple ID implanted beneath their fur, the chips tracked and charted, spied and probably even listened into conversations.
It was the humans’ fault. Cats ought to be free to roam as they chose, climb trees, and daintily pick through garbage unhindered. Robie remembered the last time he had climbed a tree, and snarled. The humans’ park a few blocks away had become a deathtrap for stray cats: Animal Control prowled through it like packs of dogs. He had ventured over there a few months ago and had almost been caught in one of their traps.
Robie wasn’t sure, but he thought that moment when the trap closed prematurely was when he had vowed to never let another cat go hungry if he could help it.
He looked at the picture of the Siamese and batted it about until he got it standing upright against the building wall. It had been so alive when it was in its frame and in 3-D, but it had also shared half with a human. The human had looked at the Siamese as a slave. No matter how fine the prison, that apartment was still a prison.
Refrigerated drinking water!
The thought of such a sweet-smelling Siamese in that pleasure prison caused his tail to ruff. Robie stretched until his back arched high, then he set off again for that apartment with only a quick look back to the picture for inspiration.
He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but at the least he could get more food for the alley strays. There had been all kinds of cans in that pantry, enough for a dozen cats. Robie purred as he thought of actually seeing the Siamese too, even if he had to dodge her human to do it. He threaded his way through the maze getting back into the stairwell. This time he knew better than to waste time in the hall, and went directly to the window leading out onto the ledge that would take him around the building to another open window.
As he stepped out, he inhaled, and froze. The faintest whiff came to him. He was close to the Siamese. Robie turned around and studied the window.
This is an air-conditioned building. The temperature was set a little low for his taste. So why is a window open?