Author's notes:

Hi again! I can't even begin to explain how much your feedback means to me. Seeing that you are enjoying the story warms my heart… Thank you MarJan53, Guest and rosayago65 for your comments!

The illustration for this chapter you can either find on my DoodleAddicts account (…/vincentthecat/) or on the story Rooftops of New York that I post on Archive Of Our Own (VincentTheCat).

I hope reading this chapter will bring smiles to your faces. I had a lot of fun writing it. :)

Chapter 3 "Of New Discoveries and Tuna"

"At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face. At present I know partially; then I shall know fully, as I am fully known."
1 Corinthians 13:12 (NABRE)

It is still very early and Neal is the only customer in the small grocery store. After saying good morning to a sleepy looking saleswoman, he makes his way down the aisle. This is a routine he knows only too well. Five steps forward, then turn right, take two steps and there… A shelf packed with all sort of cans. Yawning, Neal puts ten tuna ones into the basket.

He feels restless and full of nervous energy. Oh, he is tired, all right, but he knows that even if he were to lie down, he would not be able to fall asleep. It has been one of those nights. Yawning again, Neal rests his forehead against the middle shelf. He needs to focus.

Milk. Cats like to drink milk too. He needs to get milk. Half-asleep Neal turns right to the next aisle only to stop dead in his tracks.

Gaping at the shelf before him, Neal is floored. The shelf is packed. But it is not packed with regular food like the other shelves. No, no - this one is special. Feeling as if he is dreaming, almost reverently Neal takes in his hands a can that has caught his attention. It has a picture of a dog looking similar to the one he met in the park yesterday. The label reads American Adventure: PREMIUM LOAF. The description tells him it is dog food.

"I had no idea such things existed!" Neal exclaims, then steps back to look at the shelves from a wider perspective. What he sees is food made specifically for dogs. He shakes his head, then has to hold his breath again. "And cat food?! Wow," reaching out to take another can from the shelf, Neal feels surreal. For as long as he can remember he has been feeding cats tuna. And he has been in this store dozens of times and somehow never before has he noticed they have food made specifically for cats.

Without further delay Neal puts ten cans of cat food into his basket already filled to the brim with tuna. He turns to find milk when he realizes something. In his left hand he is still holding the can with the smiling Satchmo The Nameless look alike. Looking down at it, Neal frowns, deep in thought.

He really should put it back. Neither him nor the cats are going to eat it. So why bother? Indecisive, he steps from foot to foot. He does not understand his own indecisiveness. Or maybe he does. He is so terribly tired after all.

Frustrated, rather than into the basket, Neal surreptitiously slips the can into his jacket pocket. There. Problem solved. He is going to smuggle the dog food out of the shop while still paying for the rest of the groceries. This way, the can will provide him with an exercise and so, taking it will make sense. Pleased with himself Neal turns on his heel and goes to grab milk. He takes three bottles, then heads for the cashiers. The lady smiles at him and Neal smiles back. He pays with cash. No one questions the canned dog food sticking out of his pocket. Satisfied, he tells the woman goodbye and then heads out of the shop.

Once outside Neal stretches. He has tuna, he has milk, he has everything the cats may need. Now it is time to head back to the workshop. Taking the canned dog food out of his pocket Neal frowns. Only, now does he realize he has no idea what to do with it next. He tosses the can up in the air, then catches it in one hand. The dog on the can really does look like the stray from the park.

Last night could not have been easy for Satchmo The Nameless. Neal wonders whether or not the dog managed to get any sleep. Or did he, just like Neal, felt too restless to even try closing his eyes for longer than five seconds? A bit absent-mindedly Neal starts walking again. Yesterday has been such a mistake. He should have never conned that dog out of trouble. Now that he thinks about it, the guilt over leaving the poor creature behind is the most likely reason for his insomnia. Neal feels terrible. Today's crew meeting was supposed to be something to look forward to, not dread. And yet, now, he just wants it all to be over. When one is this tired, it is no fun to talk with adults. Kicking the invisible rock before him, he sighs. He does not understand why life is so hard sometimes.

/\_/\
='x'=

The first rays of sunlight are what wakes Satchmo up from his happy dreams. Stretching and yawning he looks around. His tail is wagging until… Until he realizes… The empty alley he fell asleep in does not smell like home at all. He can barely recognize the remnants of the scent of the-missing-one on his fur, not to mention the scents of he-who-smells-of-home and she-who-smells-of-home. With his tail tucked in Satchmo looks around. The pup is still nowhere to be found. Not giving up hope Satch tries to call him again.

He-who-runs-fast!

He-who-gives-best-hugs!

He-who-plays-best!

Just like yesterday there is no answer. Discombobulated, Satchmo sits down. The concrete feels cold. His stomach growls and Satch turns his head to miserably sniff the pile of trash he yesterday made into his nest.

He whines in disappointment. He should know by now that those things just smell like food but that when one tries to find it, there is no food to speak of. Aggravated by the confusing situation Satch whines harder.

Pack!

Pack!

Come back pack!

/\_/\
='x'=

Wait a moment. Where does he think he is going? Stopping mid-step Neal feels confused. This is not the way to the workshop. He really has no idea where he has been going and what he has…

And then he realizes. Dear Vincent! He has just managed to unintentionally retrace his steps back to the place where he left that silly dog yesterday. He can even see the street name now. He left Satchmo The Nameless just around the corner from here.

"What are you doing," turning on his heel Neal mumbles between gritted teeth. Sleep. He needs sleep. Not a crazy dog, not crazy cats, not even the slightly less crazy Vincent The Cat. Why has he left the workshop! Why could he not at least try to lie still for five minutes and see whether or not sleep would come! Why is he always making life harder for himself, why…

Mumbling under his breath some very nasty word that he overheard Mister Keller once use, Neal turns on his heel once again. It probably is just a foolish curiosity that is pushing him onward towards that alley. There is no way the dog is still where he has left him. Just no way. Neal knows that if you are a stray you cannot stay in one place for too long. Otherwise the adults catch you. Satchmo The Nameless must realize that now too. That for a stray like him, there is no place where he can feel safe and…

/\_/\
='x'=

The familiar sounding steps make Satchmo turn around, cock his head and…

Is it possible?! Could it be! The dog runs. He runs at full speed only to stop in disbelief before the little two-leg who must be his two-leg because, because…

Yes! This is his pup! He not only walks like him but also smells like him and…

You're back! You're back! He licks the hands of the pup, then starts to jump around him feeling nothing but happiness. His lost pup got unlost.

He-who-runs-fast! You're back!

He-who-gives-best-hugs! You're back!

He-who-plays-best! Welcome back!

Jumping around the youngest of his pack, Satchmo continues to blissfully sing the-missing-one's many names. His pup is back!

/\_/\
='x'=

In order not to get knocked over by the furry ball of happiness, the stray has become ever since spotting him, Neal rests his back against the cold wall of the building. He can hardly believe his eyes. Just how silly is this dog? Has he really stayed here all night?

Not knowing why, suddenly Neal cannot help but chuckle. Still laughing he slides down the wall onto the pavement. Satchmo takes full advantage of this unexpected opportunity and starts to happily lick Neal's face. Neal feels too tired to protest. Laughing, he finally starts to pet the dog. At that Satchmo momentarily calms down. He rests his big snout against Neal's chest. If Satch were a cat, by now the volume of his purr would have woken all citizens of New York City, Neal bets. Such as things are the dog just meets Neal's eyes happily and tries to lick his face again.

"Dear Vincent," wrapping his hands around the dog Neal mumbles to himself. "What have I gotten myself into this time, huh?"

I want to join your crew. The dog tells him, his expression is deadpan.

"You want to do what now?!"letting Satchmo go, Neal snorts.

Join your crew, Satchmo patiently repeats, his caramel eyes locked with Neal's.

"I do not have a crew," Neal hedges, but it sounds too uncertain. Judging from Satchmo's next words the dog can smell the lie a mile away.

Really? The dog smirks. What about the cats?

"What about them?" Neal asks mildly.

Oh, come on! Everyone knows about your gatherings.

Starting to really get into the game, Neal frowns. He gives Satchmo The Nameless a measuring look. It appears that the rookie may know something after all. "And who exactly is everyone?" he inquires trying to mimic his mentor's disinterested tone of voice.

Satchmo does not answer. Pretending to be Mister Keller, Neal gives the dog a stern look.

"I won't repeat myself. Who is your source?" he demands quoting almost verbatim something he once overheard Mister Keller say to some poor soul. Satchmo remains unmoved. It seems Neal's adult conversation skills need polishing. He scrunches his nose in concentration. What is the dog's angle in all this? Satchmo is the one who started it all, so why go on and on about his supposed crew of cats, only to keep mum when asked all the important questions?

Then it comes to him. Fishing the stolen can of dog food out of his pocket he shows it to the dog. "I know what your angle is," he tells him and smiles as Satchmo visibly falters. "Not so smug anymore, are we? Everyone has a price," Neal yet again quotes his mentor.

Clearly, it is hard for Satchmo to continue his play. Neal sees it in the dog's eyes. The rookie knows he has lost. Neal allows the silence between them to stretch. "We can do it the hard way or the easy way. Your choice," he tells him thinking that this particular quote is truly neat. He wanted to use it for a long time.

Cats talk, Satchmo mumbles. Realizing he truly has broken the dog, Neal tries to keep compassion off his face. He needs to stay indifferent for this to work.

"Which ones?" he asks.

I… I can't tell you, Satchmo stutters.

Frowning Neal goes through the list of the cats who were conspicuously absent during recent gatherings. "Claude The Original," the name comes out sounding like a swear. He knows there was something fishy about him. "I am right, aren't I? It was him." Inside Neal tries not to giggle. His adult conversation skills are truly improving.

Satchmo visibly gulps. I need food and shelter, he pleads.

Pocketing the can of dog food, Neal gazes long at the misfit. Satchmo is looking more pathetic by the second. "I could… Use someone on the inside of Claude's mob," he says at last.

This is the moment when Satchmo decides to launch himself at Neal and try to lick his face. Of course the dog would do that right in the middle of their negotiations! Feeling his resolve crack Neal cannot help but smile, then chuckle.

He really is too tired to continue their game. "What an effective tactic" Neal praises the dog. "How unfortunate it is unusable for those of us who aren't dogs," he quips. As the dog continues to lick away his worries, Neal has no choice but to hug him back.

"Yeah, I know. Life on the streets is hard," he sighs. "How about I let you stay at my place for one night." Looking up at the sky Neal frowns. Or day, he corrects in his thoughts. "Whatever, what I mean is I can give you shelter for just one, um… One cat-, no, dog-allowed-in-workshop unit of time. And I will have you know that dog-hours are much shorter than cat-hours!" His voice turns serious. "After that you will have to go back to learning how to survive on your own."

All right. Looking relieved the dog easily agrees. How long is a dog-hour again?...

"Oh, don't start," Neal pats the dog's head in fond exasperation. "How should I know?"

I remember now! It's―

"No, no! It's up to me! I'm the crew leader here, remember?"

The best one there is! Licking Neal on the nose the dog gushes.

"Mind your cheek, rookie," Neal snorts. Then, only after a slight moment of hesitation, with one swift movement does he do what he should have done the first time he met the dog. After taking off Satchmo The Nameless' collar he throws it into the garbage bin where it belongs. Where it belonged ever since the beginning. The con of the adults is over and now Satchmo The Nameless can really move on and start over.

"Satchmo The Nameless," when Neal puts his hand on the dog's head, his voice is solemn, after all this is a knighting ceremony of a sort. "You, Satchmo The Nameless, are a new dog now. With a new story to paint. Your life with the adults has come to an end and now it is time for the new adventures to begin. Do you understand?" Neal asks trying to impress on the dog the gravity of the situation. He can see understanding in the dog's eyes and when the dog barks in agreement Neal gets up from his knees. He still has to think of a better alias for the stray. The Nameless is too blunt for his tastes, but that… That can wait until after the meeting. Right now he really is too tired to be creative.

"Great. Then let's go back to the workshop," he tells the stray and then, noting the smell coming from Satchmo he grimaces. "Ugh!" Neal exclaims. He has no idea how he has not noticed it earlier. "Hate to break it to you buddy, but you stink! What have you been doing all night, huh?" he reproachfully asks and then looking around at the trash scattered on the street, he thinks he knows the answer to that question. Compared to yesterday the place looks as if a small tornado has smashed through it. He shakes his head at the dog, then points his finger at him. "Just one night Satchmo The Nameless," he reminds him sternly. "Just one."

/\_/\
='x'=

"I'm back!" are the words that make Vincent look up from his favorite spot on his balcony. He does not understand the sound, but he immediately understands its meaning. The hunt has been a success. Food is coming. Stretching Vincent meows which makes Claude, who is sitting next to him, open his yellow eyes. The two of them glue their noses to the window to have a better look inside.

And then, suddenly ― Claude puts his ears flat, then hisses in distress. Vincent feels his pain. Sometimes looking after his second is a chore. Just like right now. Looking at the barking menace that his second, for some unfathomable reason, has brought home, he wonders why he even bothers anymore. The life lessons do not seem to stick no matter how many times he tries to hammer them into his protégé's thick head. Hearing another hissed, rather rude comment from Claude, he has no choice but to admit to his associate that his human is still a work in progress. However, in his humble opinion, Claude's reaction to the whole thing is a definite overreaction. There is no reason to jump off the windowsill and leave in a huff.

After his guest disappears over the edge of the balcony, Vincent turns to observe his batty, headache inducing human. He fancies his disapproving glare should be self-explanatory to his second.

Giving his human time to reevaluate his life choices, Vincent tries to catch every sound coming from inside. The dog, following every step of Vincent's protégé, remains quiet -how wise of him. He hears the familiar sound of the opening tuna can. Then, the steps.

"You waited!" opening the door, his human exclaims. Hearing the cheerful voice, Vincent despairs over his human's inability to read his leader's cues. With the dog safely locked on the other side, Vincent's human starts to look more apologetic.

He places the can of opened tuna between them, then opens the bottle of milk and pours it into a small glass and a bowl. The bribe is obvious.

"So. Shall we begin our meeting?" his human meows an apology and Vincent takes his time to think over this one. He has no intention to go easy on his protégé. There has been enough second chances for him to be lenient.

Has the dog helped during the hunt for tuna? He finally inquires cocking his head at his human.

He really hopes, that despite his protégé's obvious shortcomings, his human knows better than to invest in something that will not bring them tuna.

Listen, this is not a charity. No free tuna-hand-outs here, especially for dogs, Vincent meows locking his eyes with his second, still not acknowledging the tail-wagging fool behind the window. I will only sign off on the menace's continued presence if the dog's skills are properly utilized. Understood?

/\_/\
='x'=

"If you hear a voice within you say you cannot eat, then by all means eat and that voice will be silenced." Amused, Neal misquotes one of Van Gogh's letters by swapping the word paint with eat. Vincent stares back at him unimpressed.

You have brought a pet here, the cat tells him sourly. I thought Mister Keller told you no pets allowed. You want to get in trouble again? Remember how the last time you tried to invite me over ended up being like? We'll both get in trouble and you don't need more trouble. You already have plenty on your plate, don't you think? Already tired half through the lecture that he really, really does not need right now, Neal shakes his head. Then grins.

"I put my heart and soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process," quoting Van Gogh again Neal keeps his smile bright. The cat does not look convinced.

He's trouble, Vincent repeats stubbornly. He's trouble and you know it.

Sipping on his glass of milk, Neal shrugs. "So am I."

That's not the same.

"Oh, just shut up and drink your milk already, will you?" he tells the cat angrily. He does not have time for these discussions. At 12AM he has a meeting to attend. The dog he brought in smells and needs a bath, not to mention food, so, really, why is it taking Vincent so long just to go ahead and dig in…

As the cat takes a step towards the can, and then another one, all Neal's thoughts pause. Come on, buddy, you can do it, he cheers for the cat in his thoughts. Just one more little step and…

Yeah! One good deed for the day finished! He has fed the cat. His mum used to tell him to do something nice for someone every day. Content with himself Neal finishes the milk, then gets up and leaving the cat to its tuna and milk opens the door and disappears inside the workshop. Satchmo The Nameless is all smiles when he looks back at him.

"We really do need to think of a better alias for you," Neal tells him. "I can't imagine your thoughts that well, with you so nameless. I don't know what you would say," he crosses the space to the kitchenette, then opens the can with dog food and places it on the floor in front of Satchmo. The dog starts hungrily eating right away and Neal chuckles. "Well, I mean right now, I kind of know what you would say. It would be - munch, munch, munch!" he laughs and Satchmo, pulling away from his food wags his tail in response. He tries to give Neal a kiss. Shaking his head at the dog, Neal sighs. "But Vincent's right, you know. You are trouble," he adds more quietly to himself and then with a sigh opens the fridge. It's time to get something to eat for himself. Cocking his head at the empty fridge Neal cannot believe his own absentmindedness.

He got the food for the cats, he even stole the dog food for the as of yet non-existent dog and yet somehow he… Forgot to get the food for himself!? "I hate you guys!" closing the door angrily Neal sighs. Then, giving the nine tuna cans lying on the counter a foul look, Neal grimaces. No. No way. No way is he going to be eating tuna again. It would be like what, the tenth time this week?! Fiftieth this month! Millionth in his short twelve years of life! No, there is just no way. He is not that hungry. No way…

A moment later Neal finds himself opening the can of tuna and sitting on the floor next to Satchmo. He digs a fork in the conserve and then grimaces. "Bon appetite," he tells the dog as he looks up at him from his own meal. Satchmo leans over to sniff the can with interest and then - completely forgetting about his wet food, he starts to lick the can Neal's holding. "No, wait, that's mine―"

Scrambling Neal loses his hold on the can and the tuna splatters all over the floor. Satchmo takes advantage of the situation. Neal watches the mess in disbelief, then takes a look at the abandoned dog's food. "Not only does it say especially for dogs but also adventure. I mean, come on bud, it must be way better than some canned tuna fish!" The dog, completely focused on licking the fish off the floor ignores him.

"Huh," Neal cocks his head at the abandoned dog food. It really cannot be worse than tuna, he theorizes. Nothing by this point can. Satchmo simply has no taste buds. Neal picks up the can from the floor, then digs his fork into the glop.

It smells… Well. Not very fancy, that is for sure. Just kind of… Wet and meaty. It also looks wet and meaty. But then again, so do other things people eat. Just cause Satch prefers tuna over it, it does not mean anything. The dog has spent his night in a pile of garbage, after all. He has no style. Despite all that reasoning, still not very convinced, but also feeling morbidly curious, Neal puts a fork with the dog food into his mouth and―

Spitting it onto the floor he starts to cough. "Yuck!" frantically trying to wipe the horrid taste off his tongue Neal exclaims. "And they make you eat this!" agitated, he exclaims. "It's terrible! It's ― dear Vincent, Dog's Adventure, what is this! More like Dog's Adventure in hell I would say!" Grabbing a bottle of milk from the kitchen counter Neal guzzles it dry.

When, after inhaling the whole bottle, he can still taste the disgusting definitely-not-just-meat-taste on his tongue, Neal grimaces. "We're never buying - or stealing - this yucky stuff again, I promise you that," he tells the dog. "Never! From now on Satch we're sticking to the normal food. Human food."

The dog barks in appreciation and Neal, trying to get rid of the taste, brushes his hand over his tongue again. "Yuck," he grimaces again. "Now I don't feel like eating anything anymore," he sighs. His eyes stop on the ten cans of cat food he also bought. He wonders whether or not it would taste as bad or is it just dog food that…

"No! No. Don't even think about it!" standing up from the floor, Neal shakes his head. "No more experiments today, Neal. No more unless you really want that much to puke on someone's shoes during that meeting today," despite the scenario being quite a terrible one, Neal cannot help himself but grin. Now, that would make someone's day a bad one. Still amused Neal turns to Satchmo. "Bathroom, now," he commands him. "We need to get rid of this smell while we still can. Or else I'm going to come back here only to find everything in this apartment smelling like Satchmo The Nameless."

Clearly, not understanding what the problem is, the dog cocks his head at him, but when Neal walks to the bathroom the dog dutifully follows him. When Neal turns on the water, the dog immediately pushes his way through to start to drink it. "You have no manners," Neal tells him but he allows the dog to quench his thirst. Meanwhile he has a chance to take in his own smell and… Well. He decides that after a day spent running with a dog he does not smell like flowers himself either. He guesses it is not just Satchmo who needs that bath.

Taking a nervous glance at the clock on the wall, Neal breaths out a sigh of relief. 9AM. So. There is still a little bit of time left. But dear Vincent, isn't he going to be dead tired at that meeting! But that's just life, Neal concludes. Choices. You make the wrong ones and you end up eating dog food while smelling like garbage.

Lost my mind in the process, indeed, Neal hears Vincent's remark in his usual cat-like manner from his spot on the balcony.

Next: The Franklin Bottle