Max couldn’t figure out if Jerry was pushing the cart or using the cart to prop himself up. Melody needed a healthy mate, not someone who drank from a paper bag and needed a cart to support himself.

Should he ditch this guy?

But he was hungry.

A mother and two kids approached.

“Kitty!” One of the children ran at Max. She was all pink clothes and red cheeks, and he knew her breath would smell like sour milk and Gummy Worms. Mom grabbed her hand and pulled her back, whispering something about a homeless man.

Max’s head shot up. Homeless? Melody had a home, so maybe a homeless man would be a good mate. But something told Max this guy, while having many of the requirements on Max’s list, might not be right for his mistress.

“Coming?” Jerry shouted over his shoulder.

Max followed, his tail with the bump in it pointing skyward, the tip bent in an awkward question mark.

He couldn’t help but notice that they were moving farther away from Max’s kingdom, and that made him nervous. He still had a strong bead on home, but the sensation of vast distance was growing, gnawing nervously at his belly. He had the overwhelming urge to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and make strange noises. He restrained himself, but it was only a matter of time before he began yowling like a baby.

The man didn’t move very fast, barely shuffling along the sidewalk, a smart technique for keeping his feet inside his shoes. Once again Max considered ditching him, but he found it hard to let go of an idea once it took hold. He also had to admit that he felt a little safer wandering around the city now that he’d found a friend. He noticed that people gave Jerry a wide berth, some even crossing to the other side of the street when they saw him coming. Max was impressed.

They turned down an alley where a cluster of people waited at a green door. Above the door were letters, and not for the first time Max wished he could read.

Melody read to him sometimes. Maybe she was reading aloud to herself, but he liked to think she was reading to him, telling him stories like the Cat in the Hat, Alice in Wonderland, and Pippi Longstocking.

“That your cat, Jerry?” The question came from a man who looked a lot like Max’s new friend.

“It’s a kitler,” someone else said.

“Kitler?” Jerry asked.

“A cat with a mustache. Kitler cats are crazy. My mother used to have a kitler and it shredded her furniture.”

Everybody had to get in on the conversation.

“I saw a kitler jump on a dog’s back and ride it like a monkey on a bicycle.”

“My aunt had a kitler, and it stole her baby’s breath,” a woman contributed. “Kid almost died.”

Oh, the garbage people believed. But Max couldn’t deny that many cats were a little high-strung. Truth be told, Max came from a family of weirdasses. When Max was still on the teat, someone told him he was a descendent of Cleopatra’s favorite cat. He didn’t know if it was true. Most of the cats he’d run into claimed the same heritage. Regardless, he and his two surviving littermates were a bit unusual. His sister, a psychic, was living somewhere in Wisconsin, and his brother…well, Max had lost touch with him a long time ago. He’d once told Max that he could read minds, and Max believed it. All things considered, Max was the slacker of the bunch with no real talent.

Before Max knew what was happening, before he could run, Jerry scooped him up and held him against the rough fabric of his baggy coat. “Egyptians worshipped cats.” He looked into Max’s eyes. “Maybe I’ll worship you.”

Okay, this was getting too weird, and Max regretted the time he’d wasted on Jerry.

Max squirmed away, his feet hitting the ground with a thud. He was feeling uncomfortable with all of the attention, when the green door opened. The crowd let out a sound of approval, and people surged forward, cat forgotten.

Max stepped lightly inside the doorway, moving to the left in order to hide behind some stacked boxes. He watched Jerry make his way to a counter where a man with rolled-up sleeves and a white apron smiled and handed out steaming bowls that smelled like chicken. Max licked his lips and felt his stomach growl. If he’d been home, he would have noshed down several small meals by now.

He focused on the man behind the counter. Not as hairy as Jerry. Not as sad. And he was handing out bowls of food. What could be better? Jerry suddenly dropped completely off Max’s radar. This new guy had food. Lots of food.

Food hadn’t even been on his list, and now Max could see the error of his novice, matchmaking ways. And Jerry-well, he’d felt uneasy about Jerry from the beginning, which was days ago in cat time. Food should have been a priority. If this man could feed all of these people, he could easily feed Max and Melody.

Chapter 3

Joe ladled soup into white bowls and handed them to the people filing past the counter. Over half were men, the rest women and children. The children got to him the most. Children and-he did a double take. Cat. Yes, that was a cat. A black-and-white cat with a black mustache, sitting like a statue just inside the door.

A regular named Jerry reached across the counter. “Hey, Joe. How’s it going?”

They shook hands, and when they broke away Joe was left with a folded piece of paper in his palm that he slipped into his pocket. He would read it once the noon shift was over.

Jerry looked over his shoulder at the cat. “I asked him if he was hungry, and he followed me here.”

“Cat’s gotta eat too,” the woman behind him said, nodding.

The low ceiling contained the clatter and voices, making it hard to sort out people from cutlery. A wall of confusing noise, but the cat didn’t seem to mind.

“He looks pretty harmless to me.” Joe spooned a piece of chicken into a bowl and set it aside to cool. “Hungry like everybody else.”

Not all of the people who ate at Gimme Shelter were homeless. Some were simply unable to afford a decent meal. The building slept fifty, and they were seeing more families and turning away more people all the time.

Once the lunch crowd had been fed, Joe scanned the room for the cat. He was still sitting near the door, staring at him with brilliant yellow eyes. Joe picked up the bowl containing the piece of chicken, and slowly approached. The animal didn’t run. “Hungry?” Continuing to move carefully, Joe put the bowl down a couple of feet away.

The animal stepped forward, sniffed the cooked meat, and began eating with gusto. Homeless? Maybe not, because he was wearing a collar. But in this economy some owners were turning their pets loose when they could no longer care for them.

The cat licked its paws and washed its face.

“What’s your story?” Joe reached out to gently pet the animal on the head. He seemed to like that, so Joe got a little bolder and scratched the cat behind the ear, then under his chin. “That’s quite a motor you’ve got.” Joe turned the metal ID tag toward the light so he could make out the engraving. “Max. So your name is Max. That’s a good cat name.”

Below the name was a phone number, along with an address. Joe pulled out his cell phone and keyed in the number only to get a recording stating that it was no longer in service.

Joe straightened and closed the back door so the cat wouldn’t make a run for it.

Jerry shuffled over. “Gonna keep my cat?”

“I’ll drive him to the address on his collar and see if his owners still live there,” Joe said. “Kinda doubt it since the phone number is no longer in service.”

“You could use a cat here. The kids would love it.”

“A lot of people are allergic to cats. A dog would be better. But I hate to see such a nice cat end up in the animal shelter.”

“I heard all the no-kill shelters are full.”

The cat circled back to the door, stood there a moment, then began scratching with both front paws, trying to get out.

“Yeah,” Joe said. “I heard that too.”

The cat seemed frantic now.

“Weird how a little bit of food can turn a tame cat into a wild one,” Jerry said.

Joe had no place to keep the cat, so he put it in the bathroom. Inside, with the door locked, Joe pulled out the small piece of paper Jerry had given him. A name. Just a name. He memorized it and flushed the paper down the toilet.

“Sorry, old boy. Can’t take you home until I get off work.” Joe exited the bathroom. Worried about leaving the cat in the dark, he slipped his hand inside, felt along the wall for the light switch, and turned it on before firmly closing the door.

Two hours later Joe ran to the pet store for cat food. While in the checkout lane, he plucked a bag of catnip from a clip and tossed it on the counter with the canned salmon purchase. He hoped Max would like his selections.

It wasn’t until early evening that Joe could get away from the shelter long enough to pack Max in his car and look up the address on the collar. He easily found the street and house-a tiny bungalow in an area of Saint Paul called Frogtown. Carrying the cat, Joe approached the residence fully expecting to find new tenants or owners in the home.


*

Melody was frantic.

She’d looked through the house twice, checking the closets and cupboards searching for Max. She’d gone over every corner of her tiny backyard. No Max. A few years ago she’d accidentally locked him in a closet for a full day, and she kept hoping that’s what had happened this time. But two more trips through the house failed to turn up even the faintest meow.

People used to say Melody led a charmed life. Once she’d even found the end of a rainbow. It was the oddest thing, because there was nothing there. Nothing. Just a field. She’d never told anybody about it, not anybody but Max. She told Max a lot of things she didn’t tell anyone else. He didn’t understand, but she loved that she could tell him anything and he seemed to listen.

The idea that Max might be gone for good was too much for Melody to contemplate. Suddenly she felt the loss of David all over again, and her head was a mixed-up mess, because somehow Max almost seemed like David. He’d been David’s cat, so that was understandable, and Melody suspected she’d clung to Max even more because of the connection to her old life, her happy life when it had been the three of them. David, cooking eggs and pancakes on a Sunday morning while Melody sat cross-legged on the floor, Max diving under the open newspaper, making them both laugh.

What should she do?

Search the neighborhood. Go door-to-door. Put up fliers. Yes. All of those things.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

A knock at the front door had her running to the porch. Through the screen she saw a man with wavy dark hair standing on the step, Max in his arms. Melody fumbled with the latch, hardly aware that she’d burst into tears. She plucked Max from the man’s arms and buried her face in Max’s fur. Then she held him up to get a good look at him. “Oh, Max! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“He’s fine,” the man said. “Does he do this often? Run off?”

“He disappeared once before. After-” She stopped. No need to tell a stranger about David’s murder. But after David’s death, Max vanished for three days. At first she thought he was afraid of all the people coming and going, but even after things slowed down he remained aloof and skittish. She never found out where he’d been those days, but she’d always figured he’d been hiding in the basement.

Right now Max had kind of a drugged look to his eyes.

“Did you give him catnip?” Melody asked.

“I thought it would be nice. Like offering a guest a glass of wine.”

Now she noticed that Max was heavy and limp.

“I also fed him. Chicken. And canned cat food.” The man’s voice faded, as if he wondered if he’d done the right thing. “I noticed he was fat, so I thought he must have had an owner fairly recently.”

The man was giving her that look. A look she was used to seeing. Yes, she was wearing the Pippi Longstocking costume she wore for story hour, but even when she was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, people sometimes gave her that look. A person had to be what a person had to be. And maybe she’d gotten odder since David’s death. Yes, it was true. She’d admitted that to herself more than once. But when someone died you realized the importance of being true to yourself. Of being honest. The importance of being who you are. And if that meant wearing her Pippi costume home rather than changing before she left the library… well, that was fine. That was who she was. Not Pippi, but someone who wasn’t afraid to be seen in something a bit unusual.

“He’s never left before. He’s never left the backyard.”