Cats like me. I don’t know why, but they do. Back in my old neighborhood they’d follow me, slinkin’ along ten yards behind me like little spies. I’d coax them in with empty tuna cans and then sit and stroke them over and over and over. Something about the flick of their tails. And their fur, so soft and smooth. And the way they nuzzle in for a rub when they’re done scouring tuna. Yes, sir. Me and cats get along fine.

Ma said she was beat-up tired from her long week at Brookside and went to bed early. I was so happy to not be at Brookside or school that I sure didn’t want to waste free time sleeping. Besides, I needed to get back to my story. Lucas was still on the roof with a killer after him, and I couldn’t just leave him there. How was he going to escape? The killer was determined! And could fling a knife with the speed and aim of an arrow!

So I got back to writing and followed Lucas to a point where he was considerin’ leaping from the roof to escape the killer. He couldn’t go down the way he’d come up—that’s where the killer was! But jumping would be mighty painful. It was a long way down, and if he broke bones, he’d be crumpled and crippled—a sitting duck! The killer would laugh at him—bwa-ha-ha—from the rooftop, then send the wicked point of a knife flying straight through his heart.

Jumping seemed the only choice, but just as Lucas was fixin’ to do it, a cat appeared on the rooftop. It was a silver cat, silent as snow, with emerald eyes and abalone claws, and it ran straight for the killer, whose head had just appeared over the roofline.

The cat hissed at the villain, its mouth wide and fierce.

“Nice kitty, good kitty,” the killer said as he yanked a knife from the side of the cabin. But before the villain could strike, lightning claws slashed across his face. “Aaargh!” he cried, and then down, down, down he fell.

“Well, hey there,” Lucas said, crouching beside the cat. And as they both looked over the edge at the crumpled killer below, he added, “Thank you.”

“Mrow,” the cat said back, then nuzzled Lucas’s leg, finding the pocket where a tuna sandwich had been a few hours before.

The story wrapped up great after that, and even though it was really late when I finally wrote The End, I wasn’t tired. I was too happy to be tired. The bad guy was defeated! And I really liked the cat. I even changed the name of the story to “The Silver Cat,” and I started thinking maybe I’d write more stories about him. There was something cool and mysterious about him. Pretty soon I started imagining what it would be like if the Silver Cat had some sort of telepathy.

What if he could read Lucas’s mind?

I fell asleep thinking about the Silver Cat. And when the smell and sizzle of sausages cooking woke me up, it was from a dream about the Silver Cat. I don’t remember much about it except for purring. That was enough, though. The Silver Cat was happy being in my dream.

Ma seemed recharged, even hummin’ a little as she fixed breakfast. And I was all for her being in a good mood. There’s nothing like grits and eggs and sausage to start a day off right.

“Thanks, Ma,” I told her after I was stuffed to the gills.

She smiled at me and said, “I have a hunch you’re gonna need the fortification.”

Sounded like trouble to me. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“Carol Graves. Our neighbor.”

“Why does having a neighbor take fortification? What does that even mean?”

“It means you’ll be needing your strength.”

“Uh…why?”

“Because I’ve been thinking,” she said, clearing plates.

“Uh-oh,” I said under my breath.

“We’ve been living here nearly three months, and the whole time we’ve had no idea she was in there. Who’s taking out the garbage? Who’s doin’ the laundry? Who’s cleaning the cat box?”

“Not me!” I said, twisting around in my chair.

“My guess is she’s old.”

“Old?” Nowhere on my wish list was getting to know another old person.

“Applesauce, oatmeal, cranberry juice, soups…nothing solid. I’m guessin’ she’s old, has trouble with her teeth, and could probably use a little help.”

“Ma, no! Don’t we help enough old folks every single day?”

“We?” She gave me the steely-eye. “And it’s not every single day.”

“But today’s Saturday. Can’t we get away from old folks on our one day off?”

“Lincoln,” she warned. “I don’t know what the situation next door is, but you’re coming with me, and if some trash needs taking out, you’re volunteerin’ to do it.” She frowned. “And right now, I’d like you to volunteer to do the dishes.”

I didn’t say what I was thinking—that volunteering was not the same as being ordered around. I just frowned right back and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

But while I was doing the dishes, I started wondering if the cat next door was silver. And if its eyes were green. And if it had claws like abalone shells.

Maybe that’s why the Silver Cat had popped into my story. Maybe he did have telepathy!

I got so deep into picturing the cat and how it was going to purr, and feel so soft, and maybe read my mind, that by the time Ma was ready to go, I was all for taking out the neighbor’s trash.

“Here,” Ma said, handing me a Shop-Wise grocery bag. “You take one, I’ll take the other. That way it’ll seem like we’re both there for a reason, not just nosing into her business.”

It seemed a surprising thing for her to say. “So we’re going over to nose into her business?”

Ma eyed me. “I’m pretty sure her business needs some nosing.”

“But nobody wants their business nosed into. I sure don’t want her nosing into ours!”

“Well, hers needs it. Ours doesn’t.”

“But…how do you know?”

“Oh, hush, Lincoln,” she said, closing our door and leading me down the hallway. “Just trust me.”