Act 2, Scene 1

Over the top of her pink nose, Olga watched frantic humans scurry around Star. Her human, who she knew was a star and thus the reason for her name, carried her in her thin arms throughout the opera house. That morning Olga had made sure her long white, black, and orange fur was smoothed down as soft and glossy as possible. She had stared in the mirror for an hour at her golden eyes, stunned at her beauty. She’d puffed the tiny poof that was her short tail until it looked as fluffy as that of a rabbit’s. Star had tied a large pink ribbon around her neck, much to Olga’s dismay. She’d hoped her emerald collar would have been found for her to wear for her glorious return to the opera, but such luck was not to be. She had to make do with a simple ribbon.

Star strutted into her dressing room, where she slammed the door shut and began arranging her things for that night’s practice. Practically every flower New York City had to offer filled Star’s room, stuffed in corners or covering the vanity, others lining the walls, and some placed on the sofa. So many people had missed Star while she’d been ill. It pleased Olga that the humans adored Star as much as she did.

Olga thought about the look of dismay on Lady’s face when they had passed her in the hall. It had sent a wave of happiness through Olga to see such a dismal sight. That plain little human had enjoyed her time in the spotlight; now it was Star’s spotlight once again, as it should be. Olga detested the humans screeching their heads off during their operas, but if they had to do it, then Star should do it the most. It was only right.

Purring, Olga leaped from Star’s arms and scurried out of the room via a secret space behind a large bust of some human Olga didn’t recognize or care about. She picked her way through the dark passage, and down, down, down she went. She hated using this route, but it was necessary. The humans couldn’t know where the Opera Cats met for their practices.

Once she reached the fifth level in the opera basement, she stopped at the third door down the hall. She nosed at the door standing slightly ajar, and it creaked open a few inches more. Olga trotted into a dimly lit room.

The entire Opera Cat Company was there, busy at work. The cats in charge of singing were clustered together in a tight circle, figuring out the melodies for the upcoming opera. The choreographers bounded and scurried on an old sofa, deciding how the dances should proceed. The set dressers organized feathers, pebbles, scraps of fabric, and other items, determining what they needed for the new opera.

Olga sniffed. The room smelled musty. Discarded items from past operas cluttered the room. Sofas, chairs, tables, statues, taxidermies, books, huge set backdrops—anything and everything one could imagine was stored in the basement. Olga snorted before leaping onto a brown velvet sofa with a huge hole in it, gobs of stuffing poking out and tickling her paws. Why they couldn’t practice in a prettier, less odiferous room, she had no idea.

“Olga!”

Olga turned. The insufferable kitten Maggie clawed her way up the sofa, her fur standing on end, giving her the look of having been electrocuted.

“You’re back!” Maggie squeaked.

“But of course,” Olga said, lifting her head to stare down at the kitten.

“Did you tell Norb?”

“What is it to you, you little slug?” Olga shoved Maggie to the floor. The kitten squealed. It was such a nice sound.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is the outstanding Olga gracing our presence again?”

Smiling and purring, Olga turned to her left. A long black cat with huge ears dwarfing his small head slid beside her on the sofa, his yellow eyes shining in the gloom.

“It’s pleasant to see you again, Olga,” the cat said as he wrapped his tail around his paws. He sat up straight, a whole two heads taller than Olga.

“Thank you, Alfredo. It’s good to be back,” Olga said, wrinkling her nose. Alfredo’s human owned a perfume shop, an expensive one he claimed, but the perfumes smelled awful to Olga. The only perfume she enjoyed happened to be the fancy French lavender scent Star used. She lifted her chin to survey the room. “But where is dear Roxanne?” She couldn’t help sneering as she said the name.

Alfredo stretched his neck even more, appearing more like a rat than a cat. “I saw her earlier—perhaps she’s left the room for a second.”

“Tell me, Alfredo.” Olga leaned closer to the other cat. “How was her performance last night?”

“Her voice transported me to another realm,” Alfredo said with a sigh. Olga grimaced. Alfredo continued speaking, oblivious to Olga’s reaction. “Truly, I wasn’t aware of her talents. I’m sure being your understudy lent itself to her success.”

“Of course,” Olga agreed. She’d never admit that she hadn’t given Roxanne any tips, lessons, or tricks to improve her voice. The less assistance Roxanne received, the better for Olga.

Alfredo pricked his ears forward. “Ah-ha! There she is!” he exclaimed. He thrust his long snout toward the center of the room. Olga followed it to where a red, short-haired cat sat amid the Opera Cat Company. Roxanne reminded Olga of one of those hideous stuffed cats she’d seen in the toy stores she often passed by with Star: stiff and uncomfortable. Olga snorted. She didn’t see what was so special about Roxanne.

Elsewhere, a large silver and black tabby limped along, threading his way through the crowd of cats toward the table. He leaped onto the table and sat beside Norb. Olga recognized the tabby as the smelly alley cat who delivered opera messages to her. Harry or Henry, whoever he was. Norb exchanged words with the tabby, and after a few seconds, Norb stopped his pacing to address the crowd once more.

“Silence!” Norb shouted. “Stop whatever tasks you are doing and look up here, dagnabbit!”

The choreographers stopped mid-leap, thumping to the floor. The set dressers ceased pawing their various items. Those singing shut their mouths. Everyone stared expectantly at Norb.

“That’s more like it,” Norb grumbled. “Our next operetta—The Dream Girl, or The Dream Cat—requires fourteen roles. We’ll also incorporate dancing where possible. I’m sure our composer and choreographers can figure out the details. The female lead, Malena, will go to Olga—”

Olga wiggled. Something had hissed cold air down her neck. Her fur stood on end.

“The role of Ken will go to Alfredo—”

“EEP!”

The last thing Olga noticed pertained to the sea of cats beneath her turning their shining eyes on her. The most awful, hideous, stomach-churning stench had swept over Olga, engulfing her in its nastiness. It made her want to empty the contents from her stomach. To rid herself of the odor, Olga rolled from one end of the sofa to the next. She churned her paws in the air, sending puffs of stuffing to the floor. 

Why were those fools doing nothing? Could no one save her from whatever terror had befallen her?

“Help me-e-e-e-e!” Olga yowled, clawing the air.

Olga heard Norb order someone to snap her out of it. His voice sounded muffled, as if it emanated from the opposite end of a long tunnel.  

THWACK. Something large and heavy struck Olga’s head, flattening her to the sofa. Her eyes wide, Olga slowly batted the pillow away—someone had slapped her with the musty thing. It fell to the floor with a muffled thud. Her mouth open in a slit and her front paws splayed, Olga stared unblinkingly at nothing. She simply hoped her usually perfect fur still looked perfect.

“What was that about?” Norb demanded.

“Someone… I felt… there was this awful, rank breath. It overwhelmed me with its iciness…” Olga muttered.

Norb shook his head. “Stuff and nonsense! Is smelly breath upsetting you these days? Alfredo probably sneezed on you—”

From his spot on the sofa’s armrest, Alfredo exclaimed, “I assure you, sir, I didn’t even breathe on her.” Under his breath he muttered, “My breath is not odiferous.”

“A rat could have been lurking behind the sofa—”

“No, sir. There are no rats here. We’d smell them,” Alfredo grumbled.

The crowd of cats murmured about the Ghost Cat. Olga flattened her ears and glared at Roxanne. That prissy feline must have had something to do with it. Roxanne gulped before averting her eyes. 

“Silence, everyone!” Norb exclaimed. “That was no Ghost Cat!” Despite his words, his eyes darted every which way as if a spectral cat might descend on him at any second.

“AH!”

The cat who’d screamed pointed a paw at the corner of the ceiling, where the other cats directed their attention.

The same cat who pointed his paw, a wiry yellow creature, wailed, “I saw it! I saw the Ghost Cat’s eyes!”

The cats began talking excitedly.

“What did the eyes look like?”

“Where’d he go?”

“Poo! I didn’t see them!”

“This is giving me the heebie-jeebies—”

Norb stood. “Hush, you lot,” he muttered.

“I saw two burning flames! They were his eyes!” the yellow cat insisted.

One cat meowed, “I thought he had no eyes?”

Maggie lifted her paw from her face. “I thought he was invisible?”

The yellow cat stared at the ceiling and said, “Well, I didn’t see a body, so—”

Norb extended his claws, scraping the table. He bounded to a dilapidated shelf where a bell sat, which he used for occasions such as this. He clamped the handle of the bell between his teeth, then shook his head. The clanging drew the cats’ attention, and they settled down and stared at Norb once again.

Norb returned the bell to its spot. He shouted, “We have business to conduct, practice to begin! No Ghost Cat breathed on Olga—” Olga winced. “—and there were no eyes!”

“But I saw them!” the yellow cat insisted.

This statement elicited more excited whispers.

This time, Olga heard what Harry-Henry-Whoever said when he spoke to Norb.

“They’re all riled up, sir,” Harry meowed, craning his neck to stare at Norb. “They’re not going to work until this matter is resolved.”

“Norb’s taking advice from an alley cat,” Olga sneered, leaning closer to Alfredo. “We have such a wise director!”

“Now, now, Olga,” Alfredo said, a hint of annoyance creeping into his words, “Harry is a true asset to our company. It doesn’t matter whether he is from the alley or lives with a rich human.”

Olga snorted. “If you say so.”

As they spoke, Norb rang the bell again. Silence descended on the cats within seconds. “I will send two cats up there to investigate where the eyes were seen,” Norb began. “Once they report their findings, will you all be satisfied?”

Some cats nodded, while others murmured that no evidence pointing either way would be found. Others simply remained silent. Maggie crawled underneath Roxanne. Roxanne stared at the ceiling with wide eyes. Olga sniffed.

Norb called, “Spot! Stripe!”

A brown cat with spots and an identical-looking cat with stripes weaved their way through the throng of cats to the shelves. “Yes?” they asked in unison.

“Go after those… eyes,” Norb said as he rolled his own. Yet he shivered. “See what you can find.”

“Yes, sir!” The two cats leaped on the surrounding furniture and set pieces toward the ceiling. They disappeared into the dark corner where the eyes had supposedly been, their paw steps scuttling down the passage. After a few seconds, their paw steps fell silent.

Norb surveyed the crowd. “While they are gone, I suggest we continue our work.”

The cats set to their tasks, though not with the same enthusiasm as before.

Alfredo stared at Olga’s back. “It was probably a draft, Olga. You know this room isn’t maintained by the humans very well,” he reminded her.

“It was no draft. I can tell the difference between a draft and some creepy cat’s heavy breathing,” Olga hissed. Under her breath, she muttered, “Idiot.”