Summer Rainault sat on the steps of her apartment building, watching the world go by and wondering what in the world had possessed her to move to New York City. An abandoned brush lay by the stream of hair spread over her knees, the ends stirring lightly in the wind.
The small black cat seemed to materialise out of no-where. He was hardly bigger than a kitten, with one white rear paw and a white tip on his bushy tail. He sprang up the bottom step, and then clambered up on the next—heading straight for the girl seated there.
“Hello, kitty,” Summer said, leaning over and tapping her hands together. “Are you a people kitty? Do you have humans? Come here.” She held out one extended finger, stretching toward the little black thing.
The little cat came to her eagerly with a high pitched little comment, tail up jauntily. He was wearing a little green collar, though there were no tags which might indicate name or home.
She swooped him up, scritching behind his ears. “Someone’s friendly,” she cooed. “Your humans must be very good to you.” Petting down his back, she turned the collar round a few times. “Do you have a microchip, little man? Your collar doesn’t have any tags.”