“Seriously?”
“Sure. Why not?” Edith asked.
“Well, it’s a pretty dangerous idea.”
Edith shrugged. “Dangerous schm-angerous. Let’s do this thing!”
And with that, Edith wrapped herself around the thick black cable. Stick Cat did the same thing with his back legs and picked the heavy knife up with his front legs.
Before he lifted the knife, Stick Cat made sure of two things. He looked over at the bagel batter pot. It was now nearly full. He could see Hazel’s hair and forehead. He could see part of her arm and the bagel sign. She was almost out. Then he turned to look at Edith. She was wrapped around the cable, her claws dug into its thick rubber casing. She had an excellent grip.
“What are you waiting for?” Edith asked.
And with that, Stick Cat dug his own back claws into the cable.
He raised the knife above his head.
He brought it down as fast and as hard as he could.
He hit the cable perfectly.
SLASH!
There was a half second—or maybe even less—between the time the cable was cut and the time it began to fall. Stick Cat used all of that little bit of time.
He dropped the knife onto the ledge, snatched the now-loose cable with his front claws, closed his eyes—and held on.
The cable fell instantly from the building. They dropped straight down at first and then began to swing toward their own building.
Edith’s and Stick Cat’s claws dug into the cable’s black rubber.
Edith screamed as they fell and swung.
It was not a scream of terror.
It was a scream of delight.
“Wa-hoo!”
Stick Cat opened his eyes.
He had to. Their building approached quickly. Stick Cat didn’t look down. He kept his eyes fixed on the fire escape attached to their building.
“Get ready!” he yelled.
“For what?” Edith yelled back.
“To let go!”
“Do we have to?!”
“Yes!”
Stick Cat knew they only had one chance. If they didn’t let go at exactly the right time—when the downward arc of the cable was nearest the fire escape—they might get really hurt crashing into the fire escape over and over again.
And they couldn’t let go too early. If they did, there was nothing—absolutely nothing—between them and the alley far down below.
He watched as they swung closer and closer to their building.
“Almost there!” he yelled.
The cable lost speed as it reached the end of its arc. It would start swinging back in the other direction after it hit the fire escape. He didn’t want to hold on any longer than he had to.
“Now!” he screamed.
They let go.
Stick Cat and Edith were suspended in the air.
Until they landed.
On the fire escape platform.
Edith skidded a bit and then jumped to the edge of the platform. She put her front paws up on the railing.
“Let’s go again!” she exclaimed.
Stick Cat pressed against the building’s wall as closely as he could. He took comfort in knowing the cable would not be able to swing across again—and he wouldn’t need to stop Edith from jumping for it.
The cable smacked against the fire escape, swung back out a little ways and then slapped against it with less and less force a few more times. It quickly settled to stillness.
Edith saw this happen and muttered in genuine disappointment, “Bummer.”
She then looked up the fire escape steps to find her apartment. While she looked for the window way up above, Stick Cat looked at the alley way down below.
“How many floors down from my apartment are we?” asked Edith.
“Eight or ten, I think,” Stick Cat answered. He had not moved from the wall yet.
“Race you!” Edith yelled, and took off.
Now, fire escape stairs and landings are not like the stairs and landings in our houses and schools.
They’re made out of metal—in this case, rusty metal. They’re rickety and shaky. The fire escape metal has holes in it so rainwater will drain through it. You can see right through them. They are as much air as they are metal.
None of this mattered to Edith. She leaped and jumped and ran up each set of steps as if it was as simple as jumping up to the kitchen sink. She wanted to win the race.
The fire escape’s condition did matter a great deal to Stick Cat, however.
He counted and calculated.
There were ten steps up to each landing. They were about ten floors below Edith’s apartment.
“You can do one hundred steps,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t look down. Just look at the next step. And count. Concentrate on counting.”
Edith yelled from above, “I’m going to beat you!”
“One, two,” Stick Cat whispered as he started his perilous journey.
After a little while, Edith yelled, “I’m getting closer!”
“Fifteen, sixteen . . .”
There was another period of silence, then, “I can see my window!”
“Thirty-two, thirty-three . . .”
Silence.
“I’m almost there!”
“Forty-eight, forty-nine . . .”
Silence.
“I made it! I win!”
“Sixty-one, sixty-two . . .”
“Stick Cat?”
“Seventy, seventy-one . . .”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Seventy-six, seventy-seven . . .”
“Well, are you?”
“Eighty-three, eighty-four . . .”
“Oh, there you are!”
“Eighty-nine, ninety.”
Stick Cat made it. There were nine floors to climb, not ten.
Stick Cat hopped to the ledge next to Edith. He couldn’t wait to get inside Edith’s apartment—to get on firmer, safer footing. But he didn’t go in.
He knew better.
“Edith?” he asked.
“Yes, Stick Cat?”
“Can I come in?”
“How thoughtful of you to ask,” she answered graciously. “Please do.”
“After you,” he said, and waved a paw at the open window.
Then Edith and Stick Cat went in.