A scratching noise distracted me from my galloping thoughts. I looked around the room but didn’t see anything. I decided to remove the screens on the windows. Now that Mr. O’Donnell was dead, there was no need for them. As I approached a window, I thought I spotted something on the fire escape: a pigeon, a rat? I removed the screen to see what it was. A small, gray-and-white cat, looking very scared, stared at me with large, curious green eyes. We both froze. When I could breathe again, I said, very gently, “Hi, kitty. Come in. It’s okay.” His shyness disappeared and, in one motion, he jumped through the open window and landed on the couch. “Meow,” he said. “Meow.” It occurred to me that perhaps when Mr. O’Donnell had escaped in the spring he had mated with one of the cats in the alley, and this was part of the litter. I leaned forward and offered him my open palm. He sniffed the tips of my fingers and, smelling his father, tapped my hand with his paws before stepping onto it. Bringing the little furry purring machine to my face, I said, “Your name is … Christopher Columbus.” Then I kissed his face. He purred and purred shamelessly, just like his father.
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