Just below Alexander a small branch stuck out from the tree. Very slowly and carefully, shaking with cold and fear, he loosened his claw-hold and eased himself down till he could sit on the branch where it joined the tree trunk. There he huddled, holding on. He dared not cry for help again. It was black night now, but the snow clouds parted and the half-moon shone through now and then. And there Alexander waited all night long.
As light came into the sky, the birds began to talk softly to each other. They flew about in the trees, but kept well away from Alexander. Desolate and half-frozen, Alexander watched them and thought, "If only I could fly!"
Whenever he tried to look down at the ground again, he grew dizzy, and dug his claws into the branch. He could not make himself climb down. He was afraid.
"Mew," he said in a thin, shaky voice, as the sun rose. "It’s me. Help me, please!"
He looked over the treetops, wondering who could ever find him deep in the forest and high in a tree. He did not know where his home was. As he looked all round for a glimpse of its roof above the trees, he saw a bird flying straight towards him, coming nearer and nearer.
He knew that a cat shouldn’t be afraid of a bird. But last night he had seen the Owl.
Alexander made himself as small as he could, and said nothing.
But the bird kept coming straight at him, looking at him, and its eyes were round and golden, like the Owl’s eyes. Alexander shut his own eyes and tried as hard as he could to look like a pinecone.
The branch jiggled a little.
Alexander opened one eye.
On the very end of the branch sat a strange, black bird. A strange, black bird with whiskers, and four paws, and a long tail. A bird that purred.
"Are you a catbird?" Alexander whispered.
The strange bird looked at him and smiled.
"Who are you?" Alexander asked.
"Me!" said the strange bird.
"My name is Alexander Furby," Alexander said. "I climbed this tree yesterday. I spent the night here. I’m not quite sure which way is the right way down."
The strange bird pointed a paw down at the ground.
"I know," Alexander said. After a while he said, "I’m scared."
The strange bird walked along the branch, sat down right next to him, and began to wash his ear. It felt very warm and pleasant, as if he were home with his little sisters and they were all washing one another and purring and playing chase-tail.
"You’re a cat!" Alexander said.
"Purr, purr," said the stranger.
"But you have wings!"
"Purr, purr," she said, smiling.
"Can’t you talk?"
The stranger lashed her tail a little, looking sad.
"Well," said Alexander, "I can’t fly."
Purr, purr," said the stranger, and washed his other ear with her pink tongue. She looked a little older than Alexander, but she was smaller — a pure black kitten with golden eyes and beautiful, furry black wings.
"I wish I could fly.’’ Alexander said. "Because although I am a wonderful climber up, I am not a wonderful climber down."
The black kitten looked thoughtful. Then, folding her wings, she crept carefully down the tree trunk to the next branch below. As she went, she looked back at Alexander over her shoulder, as if saying, " Watch: see where I put my paws." Then she waited on the lower branch.
Alexander took a deep breath and started down, doing just what she had done. In a few moments he was sitting beside the black kitten on the lower branch, his heart beating wildly.
One branch at a time, step by step and paw by paw, she led him down and down the tree, always showing him the way and waiting for him. At last in a wild scramble they both came down the last bit head first and landed thump! thump! in the moss at the foot of the tree.
They were so pleased with themselves that they had a game of chase-tail right there. But soon Alexander discovered that he was tremendously hungry and thirsty. He followed his new friend, who went halftrotting and half-flying through the bushes to the bank of a little stream. The edges were icy, but Alexander broke the ice with his paw, and both of them had a long drink.
The black kitten sat watching him, as if to say, "Now what?"
"I should go home," Alexander said. "My family will be very upset. I’ve never stayed out all night before. I expect they’ll all be looking for me, and calling, and setting out dishes of milk. My sisters will be crying. They won’t know what to do without me.
The black kitten cocked her head and looked inquiring.
I don’t know just exactly where my house is," Alexander said. "I got turned around while I was exploring. Two huge trucks ran over me. And then some huge dogs hunted me. But I escaped!"
He looked about. There was nothing to see but trees, and trees behind the trees, and snow beginning to fall among the trees.
"I’m lost," he said at last, in a small voice.
"Me!" said the black kitten cheerfully, and pounced on his tail. Then she trotted off through the trees and the falling snow, her wings folded, her tail held high. And, Alexander followed her.
It was late evening again when at last, footsore and starving hungry, the two kittens came in sight of a big old barn. High in the front wall were holes that had been made for pigeons to fly in and out of. Alexander blinked when he saw another winged cat fly out of one of those pigeonholes — and then another — and then two more. The littlest one came swooping towards them, calling to the others, "Look! It’s Jane! She’s walking! With a strange kitten!"
And all four of the winged cats came flying about poor Alexander’s head, until he put his paws over it and flattened himself on the ground.
When he finally looked up, he saw the black kitten joyously flying loop-the-loops over the barn. Then she dived straight down into a bowl of kibbles.
Beside him sat a handsome young tabby cat with tabby wings. "I’m Roger," the cat said, "and we are the Catwings. Don’t be afraid!"
"I’m not afraid," Alexander said fiercely. "I am Alexander Furby."
"I’m glad to know you, Alexander. Will you come and have some dinner with us?" Roger said.
Alexander did not need to be asked twice.
When dinner was over, he was so tired and so full that all he could do was waddle after the black kitten into the barn. On the floor was a pile of sweet dry hay, and in the hay the two kittens curled up together, purred once, and fell last asleep.
The next day, Alexander learned all the Catwings’ names: handsome Roger, thoughtful Thelma, kind James, who limped a little on one wing, small Harriet, and his own special friend, the black kitten, their youngest sister, Jane.
It seemed sad to Alexander that Jane had not been able to tell him her own name. While she was off flying about somewhere, he asked Thelma about her.
"Well, Alexander," Thelma said, "we’re the only cats with wings in all the world, so far as we know. We four older ones were born in the city, underneath a dumpster. Our dear mother, like you, had no wings. But she was very wise, and as soon as we could fly well, she told us to fly far away. She knew that if we were caught, the people of the city would make shows of us, and put us in cages, and we would never have any freedom. By great good fortune we came to this place, where our friends Hank and Susan look after us. They take care that no one knows about us."