Why had Harry stared at her like that? Roxanne thought as she tapped her tail against the railing. Inside the apartment, she listened to Lady screech to herself as she put on her bedtime clothes. It was a task Lady performed every night before sleeping, a task Roxanne barely understood. One set of clothing seemed just as good as another.
Roxanne turned her attention toward the city again. Stars blinked down at her, and the night air grew chilly. Beneath her, the lights of the city blazed to life, shining so bright Roxanne imagined they’d be seen from the moon. Such thoughts made her dizzy, so she slid to the balcony floor. Moments such as this one made Roxanne feel small and worthless, making her wonder if her singing truly was as important as she thought it to be.
“Roxanne,” Lady cooed.
Her tail high over her head, Roxanne strutted into the tiny room and jumped onto Lady’s small bed, the brass headboard knocking against the wall as she did so. Everything in the apartment was small. The bed, the room, the furniture. But Lady had decorated it beautifully, with paintings of flowers adorning the walls, thick carpets on the floor, and statues of animals frozen in motion here and there. Roxanne’s favorite statue was that of a long jaguar stalking some invisible prey. This piece sat on the dresser, with a white doily beneath its strong paws. Next to it stood photographs of Lady’s mother and father, humans Roxanne barely remembered. Lady hadn’t visited them in such a long time, making Roxanne wonder if Lady even remembered them. Perhaps she did, for every morning Lady blew the photographs kisses. The man glared straight at the viewer while the woman stared over her bare shoulder, a demure smile printed on her heart-shaped face. She resembled Lady so closely one might think the photograph was of Lady herself.
Roxanne rested her head on her paws. Lady smoothed her fur for a few seconds, and then her hand stilled, warm and heavy. Soft breathing filled the room. Lady had fallen asleep.
As Roxanne closed her eyes, a voice sang out in the night, sailing over the din of New York City.
“Roxanne.”
Roxanne flicked her ears toward the balcony. Lady had left the doors open, and Roxanne wondered if it had been her imagination.
“Roxanne!”
No, it hadn’t been her imagination. Silently, Roxanne padded toward the edge of the bed and then leaped out to the balcony.
“Roxanne!”
The voice, insistent, drifted to her room from across the street. Roxanne recognized the voice—it was her teacher’s.
#
Harry yawned. He’d been watching Roxanne’s apartment for a half hour, and nothing had happened. Why was he watching it? No answer came to mind, but his fur prickled with apprehension. Something was going to happen.
Or was happening. Harry lifted his head. A dark form slid down the drainpipe from the top balcony before landing on the sidewalk. The form scurried to the road, where cars zipped by now and then. The street wasn’t as busy as other New York streets at night, and Harry had crossed those many times. This street was an easy one to traverse. But the form on the sidewalk seemed timid and wouldn’t cross the street until there were absolutely no automobiles in sight.
Whoever the cat was, he or she seemed to also avoid the streetlights. Harry squinted at the form and sat up when he recognized it.
Roxanne trotted down the street, her head and tail low, her eyes darting at any slight movement around her.
“What are you doing out here alone at night?” Harry quietly asked, watching her trot faster. He leaped off the table and followed the nervous cat.
Harry deduced by Roxanne’s swift, nervous pace that this nighttime stroll wasn’t typical for her. She didn’t live in as grand a house as Norb, but she was no alley cat. Her demeanor showed obvious fear. But she still trotted on, as if drawn by some force influencing only her.
They reached the Shelley Opera House.
“Why are you here?” Harry whispered.
He watched Roxanne sniff a drainpipe on the side of the building, then clamber up, gaining speed the higher she went. The roof seemed to be her destination. The drainpipe was an unusual method to reach the roof, but the route proved useful if a cat found himself or herself in a hurry. Harry followed, not wanting to lose sight of Roxanne.
Ahead of him, Roxanne leaped to the ledge of the roof, hooking her claws in the brickwork. She hoisted herself up and out of sight.
“And she was worried about falling off the second floor,” Harry muttered to himself with a shake of his head. He then repeated what Roxanne had done to get to the rooftop.
Once on the rooftop, Harry trotted toward a nearby statue. The statue was twice as large as a human, its arms outstretched to the sky, its hands imploring some unseen entity. The statue—a woman—gazed at the stars, her tangle of bronze hair flowing behind her. Harry slid under her prancing legs.
Harry’s eyes roved the rooftop. In a pool of moonlight stood Roxanne, her ears pricked as if listening to something only she could hear.
A voice wafted from somewhere, nowhere, everywhere, enveloping Harry. Evidently, Roxanne heard it too, for she stood on the tips of her paws and gazed at the stars, much like the statue.
The voice soon took on a thunderous fury. Harry hunkered farther down, squeezing his eyes shut. He wondered if Roxanne did the same, and prying one eye open, he saw she had vanished.
The singing stopped.
Harry crept out from under the statue. Ahead of him, where Roxanne had stood, two balls of fire bored into Harry’s eyes. A piercing shriek tore through the night air, causing Harry to leap in fright. The other cat’s wails—if it truly was a cat, which Harry had his doubts—burned Harry’s ears. He fought the urge to cover them with his paws. Instead, he swung his head, yowling, the scream jumbling his thoughts. Unable to take much more of the horrid sound, Harry spun around and flung himself from the roof. He had to get as far away as possible from that torturous scream.
Fortunately for Harry, he had flung himself with so much force he’d sailed over the alley below and onto the opera house’s next-door neighbor, a ritzy restaurant that the humans of the opera frequented often. Harry slid across the roof, and when he came to a stop, he shuddered. His entire body ached from the hard landing, and his ears rang from the piercing shriek.
Harry closed his eyes and passed out.