“You have an idea to help Hazel?!” Stick Cat asked. He was obviously surprised that Edith had already come up with an alley-crossing rescue plan.
“You betcha,” Edith said.
“Okay, then,” Stick Cat said. “What do we do?”
“We use parachutes.”
“Parachutes?”
“Parachutes.”
Now, Stick Cat didn’t know quite how to address this idea. He knew what parachutes were—big pieces of material that caught air beneath them and allowed the user to float down to the ground with a soft landing.
But Stick Cat also knew a couple of other things about parachutes. First, they tended to float down, not across. If he and Edith used parachutes they would likely drift down to the alley—or, even worse, down and out a bit into the city traffic.
Even more important, Stick Cat knew one vital fact.
Do you know what it was?
I’ll tell you.
Stick Cat knew they didn’t have any parachutes.
“Great idea, Edith,” Stick Cat said after thinking about his response for a moment. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any parachutes.”
“Oh, Stick Cat,” Edith said, and sighed. “Do I have to do everything? Do I have to come up with the excellent idea to get across the alley and get some lox—I mean, umm, try to help Hazel? And do I also have to come up with the supplies to execute my excellent plan? Can’t you do that part at least?”
“I’m sorry, Edith,” Stick Cat answered. “I forgot to bring parachutes with me today.”
Edith said nothing as she stared down at the windowsill. “It’s okay, Stick Cat,” Edith said. “I’ll take care of it.”
And with that, Edith hopped down from the sill and began padding her way across the living room to the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
Edith didn’t even look back when she answered, “To get some parachutes.”
Stick Cat was dumbfounded as he watched Edith disappear into the kitchen.
Could Edith actually have parachutes in the kitchen? It seemed impossible. But she had answered with such complete confidence. He almost believed she would emerge from the kitchen doorway with two parachutes in tow.
He waited.
And waited.
“Edith?” he called.
No answer.
He called louder. “Edith!”
“Yes?” she called back. Her voice sounded kind of mumbly or something.
“Are you coming back?”
“In a minute.”
“With parachutes?”
“In a minute.”
Stick Cat decided to investigate. He hopped quietly down to the carpet and moved across the living room. When he got to the kitchen doorway, Stick Cat stopped and peeked around its edge.
He could see Edith.
Well, he could see most of Edith.
Her four legs straddled the kitchen sink. Her head was out of sight—bent low into the sink. Stick Cat cocked his head a bit to listen. He could hear the distinct sound of a feline’s rough-textured tongue lapping against a dish in the sink.
“Edith?”
She snapped her head up and out of the sink. Stick Cat could see donut crumbs on her lips and scattered about in her whiskers. She must have found some more on the plates in the sink.
“Hi,” was all Edith said when she saw Stick Cat.
Stick Cat tried hard not to smile. Edith looked so guilty. He knew he had to hurry her out of the kitchen and find some way—any way—across the alley to help Hazel.
But this thing with Edith at the sink, he just had to inquire about it for a few seconds.
He asked, “What are you doing in the sink?”
“Umm,” Edith said, and paused. She looked down into the sink. She discreetly licked a crumb from her whiskers—flicking her tongue in and out of her mouth quickly.
“What?”
“The sink,” Stick Cat said, and stepped into the kitchen. “What are you doing in there?”
He could tell Edith was having trouble coming up with an answer—or an answer she wanted to share with Stick Cat anyway.
“Speak up, Stick Cat,” she said. She seemed to be stalling for time. “I can’t hear you.”
Stick Cat knew what Edith was up to. He didn’t care. He actually found it amusing. He stepped even closer—and spoke even louder. “What are you doing in the sink?”
Edith looked away. She held perfectly still for three seconds and then her shoulders twitched. Stick Cat could tell that she suddenly had an answer for him.
“I was looking for donut crumbs to give you, Stick Cat,” she said. Edith grinned and licked her lips. “But there weren’t any in here.”
“None?”
“None.”
“Zero?”
“Zero.”
Stick Cat smiled. It would have been fun, he knew, to continue the conversation.
He wasn’t even hungry and he didn’t mind at all that Edith had not shared her crumbs with him. But the vision of Hazel’s pale, frail hands gripping the rim of that bagel-batter pot kept dancing in his mind. He had to get over there. He had to help.
“Well, thanks for checking for donut crumbs for me, Edith,” he said. “That was very kind of you.”
Edith exhaled. She was visibly relieved. Without even noticing she did it, Edith licked the final crumb from her whiskers and said, “Well, I’m all about kindness, Stick Cat.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, and walked closer. “Didn’t you come in here to get a couple of parachutes?”
“Yes,” Edith answered. She pulled herself slowly and delicately from the sink. She might have thought if she went slowly Stick Cat would forget she was in the sink in the first place.
“Where are they?”
“Where are what?”
“The parachutes.”
Edith continued to move in that slow, purposeful way. She took three steps away from the sink, reached below the counter, and pulled a small drawer open. “They’re right here,” she said. “That’s the reason—the only reason—I came up on the counter.”
Stick Cat needed to keep things moving. He said, “Great! Let’s see them.”
And with that Edith reached into that small drawer and pulled out two square pieces of cloth. She dropped them down to the kitchen floor.
“Those are, umm, napkins,” Stick Cat said.
“They are napkins if you wipe your face with them,” Edith said. She hopped down from the counter. “They’re parachutes if you hold them above your head and jump out the window.”
Stick Cat tilted his head just a bit. He stared at Edith. She sensed his confusion and tried to explain things more clearly to him.
“I think the trick,” Edith said, “is to catch some air beneath the parachute before you jump.”
“How do you do that?” Stick Cat asked. He didn’t think the napkin would work as a parachute. In fact, he was absolutely positive about it. But he thought it would be polite to listen.
“It’s simple, really,” answered Edith. She sounded completely sure of herself. “You hold a corner in one paw and then sort of toss it gently over to the other paw.”
She demonstrated this technique a few times. The napkin did actually catch a little air beneath it.
“As soon as you catch that other end,” Edith went on, “you jump. As you fall, even more air gets trapped and you settle—ever so gently—to the ground.”
“Umm,” Stick Cat said. He could truly think of nothing else to say.
“Here, let’s test it,” Edith said with casual confidence. There was no doubt in her mind whatsoever. She picked up one of the napkins with her mouth and padded briskly to the living room.
Stick Cat held his position there in the kitchen for several seconds. He looked down at the remaining napkin on the floor. Did Edith really think these flimsy squares of material could somehow suspend them in the air as they floated across the alley to help Hazel? The whole notion—the whole idea—was preposterous. He knew that they were way too heavy. He knew they would instantly plummet to the alley twenty-three floors below.
Stick Cat reached down and picked up the napkin. He hustled out to the living room to catch up to Edith. He figured she was up on the couch preparing to test her parachute theory.
When he exited the kitchen and entered the living room, he could see Edith clearly.
She wasn’t on the couch.
The window was wide open. She was outside on the fire escape railing. She balanced there on her hind legs.
She bent her rear legs a bit and looked back over her shoulder at Stick Cat. She held a corner of the napkin in one paw and flicked it up into the air. She called just one thing to him.
“Watch this!”
And then Edith jumped.
