The cat looked in the direction of Cob’s grave and his whiskers fell. I knew the leader of his pack. He licked his whiskers, paused, and turned back. Do you remember Cob? He asked the pigeons. The one who was crushed by a car?

Twice, I added and shied away when they started at me as if I didn’t belong there, which was sadly true.

My head turned toward the rotten stinking pile of flesh at the corner of the road and the cat was a spectacle to this. He meowed. That’s him?

Was him, Yes.

He was a good dog. You have my sympathies. The cat said.

And mine; me too; me three! Shank, Fatso, and Shady echoed his words before starting fighting again.

Stop copying me. One said, and the other straight out pecked the thirds head, who cried out in pain.

You stop doing that. The third cooed, and fluttered his wings at the other two. And they all started fighting.

I let out a tired whine. Tiger complained to Shank, but he did nothing to stop the pigeons from flying away.

It’s been getting really hectic lately. Shank said. Do you know anything about that? The humans have gone squirrel crazy. Let me tell you what I saw. Early morning I was doing my business when a squirrel rolled in an eye up the tree; and he started cracking it as if it was a nut. The stupid, rodent—

Tiger finished grooming and stretched his back. The kid’s anxious to find his pack.

Shank cooed, which meant, ‘Really? That’s so sad. Oh yes—’ my heart started beating faster when he got to that part. Finally, we were getting to the good parts.

What happened to the pigeon pen? Did you get everyone out? The pigeon changed the topic. No! We were finally getting to the motive; now we were going to have to start again. It was such a shame.

No. The cat jumped up the tree and sat beside the pigeon. I could see it trying to get away, but Tiger kept inching closer to it. Some crazy dogs found my scent, he continued. And they were not happy to see me.

So you have already found the dogs? Then what about our deal; are you still doing it?

No, Shank. The cat gave me a passing glance. We are talking about different dogs. Do you remember the oldest one around? The one who used to rule the area before cob?

Shank rotated his head upside down; he was confused.

Does it matter? Aren’t they all dogs? He said. he really said that. What did he mean by it?

My legs were getting weak. What the hell were these things? No wonder we didn’t talk to them and always chased them away. They were even worse than the crows. At least they— No, the crows were equally as bad. I no longer had the heart to listen to him and my neck and back hurt from keeping them straight for so long. I was never going to find them, was I? They could have already turned into one of those the screaming, hungry, angry things for all I knew.

I wanted to hear Rusty’s stories, play with Cob, hear the pups growing inside Ginger’s belly, to be in awe of Dimples fearsome; and I wanted Kanti to return. But they were gone, all of them. Truly gone, and I was the only one left.

AWOO! I howled.

I went, raising my head to the sky, the sky that I could not see because of the tree canopy. I let out everything inside my heart.

I was too engrossed in howling and didn’t hear the cat approaching. I did feel the sharpness of his claws when he poked my back with them. I whined in pain as all the air escaped from my chest. And I deflated to the ground.

What happened? He meowed in panic, and then smelled the bandage on my back. He didn’t like the smell of the ointments and jumped backward in fright. Did the humans do this to you? Why?

I waited for the pain to disappear, but something tweeted in the sky before I could get to it.

I looked up. We all did. The other pigeons were returning, following a smaller blackbird. They were happy, extremely so for some reason. Even the cat straightened up his back in her presence. She flew above our heads and circled around the tree as the pigeons took position next to Shank, without fighting this time.

She tweeted again with a voice so sweet, it made me forget my sadness for a second. Then flew past the pigeons as they furled their wings, as if dancing, and then landed ahead of Shank on the branch, and he let her sit there, even though he had fought with fatso over the position.

Oh, Sing-Song!

Hey, sing-song!

Coo-cooo! The pigeons gave her a warm welcome, which she gratefully accepted.

All right, guys, give us some space. Then she turned toward us. The brotherhood told me you two are looking for some dogs. She talked fast, blazingly so. All sweet musical notes. I might know—

I was on my feet and barking at her before she had finished. They both ignored me. The pigeon showed interest, but their interest was as fleeting as a passing breeze.

You do? The cat meowed.

She was unlike the stupid pigeons. She meant business. Yes, but what are you offering in return?

The cat looked back at me. I was still barking and that was good enough for him. I was doing it with or without him.

What do you want?

Free the pigeons. She tweeted and the pigeons cried in happiness.

Why didn’t we think of that? One asked.

Because we are bird-brained. Stink admitted. He was still sitting far from the others. And the condescending way that he spoke made it clear why the others didn’t like him much. He was not stupid like them.

What’s that? Shady asked.

I don’t know. Fatso replied.

But the dog’s sing-song—

The beautiful blackbird shook her long curving feathery tail in annoyance and tweeted, My name is Singer. Don’t call me sing-song, unless you are also bird-brained, like them.

All right… Singer, The cat licked his whiskers. What about the dogs?

You are a cat, started the bird. You can figure that out yourself. And you do have company. I’m sure you’ll work it out.

He looked at me. Well, my stomach growled and it didn’t leave a good impression.

I looked at him: his ears had dropped and he looked to be contemplating. Well, a sweet tweeting tooter called him back.

I’ll help with that. Singer came to the rescue; it was an offer that I graciously accepted before he could chime in.

I need this. I told him and he conceded with a low meow: A warning to the bird. He was unusually vigilant around her, but then we were walking and soon I had forgotten all about it.

Enthusiastic, aren’t you? Tiger asked me. Show us the food. And it better be good, or you are going into my stomach.

No, I’m not.

Yes, you are Sing-Song.

Tweet! She took to the skies and we followed her… to the dairy. Did she want us to eat cow meat?

She flew over the wall, while we chose to enter through the open gate, at least I did. Tiger stopped at the entrance as I walked past the gate, worried about the cows, but only worried, not afraid. Tiger was vigilant, and I was being unusually brazen. In my mind, we only needed to free the pigeons and the difficulty didn’t matter. We had already solved the case as far as I was concerned.

The cows were instantly at my throats, trying to pounce at me to rip me into shreds. Thankfully, no matter how they pulled the chain remained tight around their necks and tied to the walls.

The monsters scared the cat, but the bird freely flew over their heads. It must have been nice to have wings and the open sky to oneself when everything on the land was going crazy. I wished I also had wings, but a growl from my stomach humbled me.

Singer flew over to a large bucket that was just out of range of the cows and sat on it. The cows showed her no reaction but kept their large, scarlet eyes on me.

Don’t be shy, kitty. Come, drink. She tweeted. So close to the cows, Tiger growled at her.

I looked inside the bucket. Though the cows were scary aggressive and intelligence was in staying as far away from them as possible, I could see the white, liquid milk inside and it smelled sour. There were bits and bobs floating over it, but they didn’t deter me. I had eaten the rotting flesh of the screamers. What was a bit of hay, mud, and cow dung?

I had a taste of the milk and found it drinkable.

You better hurry. We haven’t got all day. Singer called, but Tiger refused to approach. So I had my fill and some more. The bucket was almost full in the beginning, and by the time Tiger finally decided to shed his vigilance and approached, stepping silently over the bricked ground, I had drunk most of it.

He meowed, oh so, woefully when he learned that.

He didn’t complain to me, but it was clear from his fallen whiskers that now that he really wanted to drink the milk, too.

I was going to taste the sour milk in my throat for the whole day, but it was worth it. Actually, I would have gotten sick if it wasn’t for my heart and the warmth inside.

I licked my wet whiskers and swung my tail. I was full.

The warmth was growing inside my heart. It was not an instant process, but it was gradually increasing as my body digested it. A bucket of milk wasn’t enough to fill my heart completely, but it was good enough for a few smaller transformations.

So how are you going to do it? Singer asked. How are you going to free the pigeons with the dogs still around?

I’ll distract them. So full of warmth, I was confident, but I was refused.

I made the jump. I retaliated with barks and the cows joined with me.

So?

No dog can make that jump.

That’s true. Tiger contemplated for a while. Finally, he agreed. He had one last glance at the empty bucket, and then we left.