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.