Act 1, Scene 3

Silence filled the opera house the next morning. The performers and various workers would soon flood into the building, gossiping or cleaning, dancing or singing, basically working on whatever tasks were assigned to them. For now, the expanse of rooms stood empty of human activity, but not empty of feline antics.

Roxanne padded down the hall from Lady’s dressing room. Papers displaying human markings and black-and-white photographs of women in long dresses covered the walls, along with paintings depicting famous human operas. In addition to the photographs, random items hung from the walls, pinned there by the humans for whatever reasons. Roxanne imagined the things pinned to the walls were there for good luck: postcards, long pieces of cloth, and old pointe shoes from past ballets, among other items.

The dressing rooms were located one floor beneath the grand hallway, where Roxanne now headed. She slipped between two large pillars—one stood on either side of the entrance to the dressing rooms—and then gazed at the opera’s entryway.

The parquet floors stretched out before Roxanne, gleaming in the early morning light that filtered through the stained-glass windows of the opera’s front doors. Pillars supported the roof, images of angels intertwined around them in bas-relief. Black and gold art deco leaves stretched toward the ceiling, which sported flowers, birds, and various other creatures that gazed down on those below. The little creatures sent shivers down Roxanne’s spine as if real eyes watched her. She wondered if the humans ever experienced the same eerie sensation. Her gaze drifted to the center of the ceiling. A chandelier dangled there, its golden arms bearing tall candles. In the evenings, electric flames blazed rather than real ones, casting brilliant light throughout the foyer.

The ornate clock above the grand staircase, adorned with the wings of some cherub or other creature, sang the hour. Roxanne stared at it, listening to the number of chimes. She counted six. She some time before the humans arrived. She padded up the marble staircase, the tips of her claws clicking with each step.

Roxanne made her way to one of the boxes on the second floor. She counted the boxes she passed—she wanted the third one—and flicked her tail over her head. The third one, in her opinion, offered the best view of the stage. Once she reached the right box, she snaked her way underneath the heavy red curtain that separated the box from the hallway, then leaped onto the box’s banister.

She sighed at the sight beneath her. An ocean of chairs faced the large stage, which at the moment was hidden under a red velvet curtain. Several boxes lined the theater walls, each with intricate gold patterns decorating their fronts. Roxanne stared at the ceiling. Another large chandelier with electric lights hung above the seats. The ceiling itself displayed a night sky on one half and daytime on the other half, with more angels darting among the clouds. The humans had some preoccupation with artwork depicting themselves with wings. Roxanne thought it rather silly.

Lowering her gaze to the stage, Roxanne imagined Lady screeching on it. She’d seen one of Lady’s performances, and despite thinking Lady sounded the best at screeching, she couldn’t listen to another human opera. It hurt her ears.

“What are you doing here?”

Roxanne spun around. She slipped on the banister and might have fallen if not for the other cat rushing to her rescue and snagging her tail with his claws. The cat dragged her inside the box and to the floor, where Roxanne collapsed in a heap.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the cat said.

“You could have killed me!” Roxanne spat, her fur on end.

The cat sitting across from her shook his round head. His blue eyes twinkled in the dim light. “I don’t think you’d have died. We’re cats. You would have landed on your paws,” the cat said.

“From this height?”

The cat licked his silver and black fur. He seemed unperturbed by the incident.

“I think I must be leaving now,” Roxanne snapped, frustrated at the other cat’s lack of concern for her safety. She rose to her paws and started for the box’s exit.

“Hold on.” The other cat jumped up and followed her. “Where are you going?”

“Does it matter?” Roxanne lifted her nose in the air. “I’ll land on my paws if anything happens to me, won’t I?”

“I’m sorry if I came across as insensitive,” the cat said. “I’ve jumped from that box several times, and I’m still alive.”

Roxanne glared at the cat. He walked with a limp. “Is that why you favor your back leg?” she asked.

The cat grinned, unfazed by Roxanne’s question. “Yeah.”

Roxanne couldn’t understand the cat’s dismissive attitude toward safety until she realized the cat’s status. She lowered her tail. “You’re an alley cat, aren’t you?”

“How’d you guess?”

Roxanne had known he was an alley cat based on his odor: cigarette smoke, fish, dirt, and other things she didn’t want to think about. Also, his jumping from the box wasn’t a feat an Opera Cat would dare do, not out of fear of the jump, but fear of injuring themselves and thus being unable to perform. She chose her next words carefully. “Because you seem very daring. None of the Opera Cats would dream of jumping from such a height. They could injure themselves and then be out for who knows how long.”

“All cats are daring,” the cat countered, “singing cats and alley cats alike. You’d have to be to sing in front of a large group of us, wouldn’t you agree?” His grin grew at his words.

Roxanne’s skin prickled. She wished she were brave in that capacity. She decided not to dwell on her stage fright or mention it to this cat she’d just met. Raising an eyebrow, she instead asked, “You know who I am?”

“Of course. Your name’s Roxanne. You sang last night. I was there.”

“Then why did you ask what I was doing here?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you did. You nearly surprised me to death.”

“I didn’t mean to harm you—”

Roxanne turned and made her way to the stairs, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead. “Yes, I know. I would’ve landed on my paws. I really must be going now.” She had nowhere to go, but she wanted to get away from this strange cat.

“I’ll walk with you,” the cat offered.

“I’m sure you have other places to be. Besides, I don’t even know your name.”

“I'm Harry,” the cat said.

Roxanne stopped. This time she allowed herself to really look at the cat. “Harry? I’ve heard Norb mention a Harry now and again.”

“That would be me.” Harry sat and curled his tail over his paws, his chest puffed out. “I’m an errand cat for Norb. You know, filching human things for operas. Handkerchiefs, hats, gloves, and other small items no one would notice. I also spread the word about upcoming performances. Sometimes I relay messages to the Opera Cats as well.”

The mention of stealing items from the humans made Roxanne think of Olga’s stolen collar. “You don’t take jewelry by any chance, do you?”

Harry shook his head. “I’d be a palooka if I stole jewelry. They’re too valuable to humans. Those are things human police get involved in.”

Roxanne tapped her tail on the smooth floor. He’d admitted to stealing, but not to stealing the jewelry. She refused to believe it was the Ghost Cat, but Harry didn’t seem like the type to lie. Still, she decided to proceed with caution. The last thing she needed was for her collar to go missing, or anything of Lady’s.

Perhaps, Roxanne thought, it would be best to change the topic of conversation. She couldn’t help but ask, “What did you think of my singing last night?”

“Oh, you were the bee’s knees.” Harry’s eyes lit up. “I usually don’t get invested in operas and such, but your voice—what an instrument! I can’t understand why you haven’t had big roles until last night.”

Roxanne’s shoulders sagged. “It was probably the last time you’ll hear me, at least for a little while.”

Cocking his head to one side, Harry asked, “Why do you say that?”

“Norb wants Olga to have the starring roles again,” Roxanne explained. “I don’t think he trusts me in such a capacity. I was insurance, nothing more.”

“I’ll have a talk with Norb about letting you sing more,” Harry grumbled. “How can he not see what a great talent he’s got right under his nose? You’re better than Olga. Any cat can see that.”

“Oh, please don’t talk to Norb about this,” Roxanne pleaded. The last thing she needed was Harry arguing with Norb over her singing. “I don’t want him to become angry at me.”

“He doesn’t need to know we talked.”

“But it won’t do any good,” Roxanne insisted. Thoughts about the conversation she’d had with her teacher from last night surfaced in her head. He’d told her he’d take care of the situation, although Roxanne believed that neither cat would be able to sway Norb’s decision.

Roxanne bit her bottom lip. Sometimes life seemed too hard. Nothing came easy, and if a good thing came, it seemed to disappear quickly and never return. Roxanne sighed and said, “Norb does what he wants, how he wants. I doubt he’d listen to an errand cat. He doesn’t listen to the choreographers or the set cats either when they make suggestions. He barely listens to Cecil, and he’s the conductor.”

“He’ll listen to me; I’ll see to it.” Harry stood and trotted down the hall, away from the stairs, his tail swaying behind him. Despite his limp, he appeared to walk as swiftly as any other cat. He turned around. “Maybe I’ll see you again, huh?”

A small smile formed on Roxanne’s lips. “Maybe.”

She watched Harry disappear in the dark hallway. What had come over her? Why would she see him again? He was an errand cat and an alley cat besides. He’d almost killed her with his stupidity. But he seemed friendly enough, and he liked her voice…

“Silly cat,” Roxanne scolded herself, shaking her head. She needed to focus on her singing, not some random cat she’d just met. Most likely she wouldn’t see him again, which suited her fine.

She thought.