Song 11: "A Matter of Trust"

The first thing that hit him was the noise. Inside the mansion, Oliver only heard car horns and tire screeches as a muffled blur, but out here, in the middle of it all… he forgot how loud New York was. At first, he panicked and imagined he was wet, but he took a deep breath.

Adena barely noticed the rush of sound and happily strode down Fifth Avenue. "Okay there, Ollie?" She grinned at the awe in his eyes. "You get used to it after a while."

She cut across the sidewalk into a narrow alley. Oliver wasn't keen to follow her — he remembered fleeing from crazed street dogs — but he wouldn't lose her. "Wait up!"

"Geez, Ollie." She poked out from another alley "You've been off the streets too long."

"I could learn a thing or two from you. You're a pro."

"Heh, thanks." Now the calico looked at her paws. "I've kinda lived on the streets my whole life. Never had a home. Never had a mansion like yours."

Oliver squirmed, heart thumping, feeling guilty for no reason. "I got lucky. Jenny gave me a home." Then he brushed against her gently. "If you wanted, I'm sure the Foxworths — "

"No, Ollie," she immediately said, almost hissed. "Don't offer again."

His stomach dropped out of his chest as he felt her tense. Oliver wasn't sure how dates were supposed to go, since this was his first, but he gathered this was going poorly. "Let's not be so serious," he said. "It's New Year's Eve. We should be having fun."

"Oh? And what did you have in mind?" It was good to hear her laugh.

"Hoe about food? If there's one thing I've learned from Dodger, it's how to steal dinner."

"Way ahead of you." Adena dashed into the nearest crowd of pedestrians.

But Oliver beat her to it, spotting a couple in furs and scarves sitting down for dinner at an outside table. Their waiter brought out their smoked, cedar plank salmon. It smelled far too good for humans. Oliver leapt from the fence to their table, grabbed the salmon, and ran away while the couple screamed furiously and the waiter cursed the city's "stray problem."

The two cats escaped into another alley, laughing with delight. Oliver's lightheaded thrill reminded him of the time he'd spent with the Company — that single day when he'd owned the streets of gold — and as much as he loved the Foxworths, that day would stay with him forever.

Adena devoured half the salmon and saved the rest for him. She licked a small piece of fish off Oliver's nose, and in return, he licked her cheek tenderly. "Ollie… this is nice, but…"

"But what? We're having a great time. I mean, I'm having a great time… aren't you?"

"You know what?" She raised her head, eyes glistening. "I am having a good time." Adena's voice was tearful, though he didn't understand why. "Let's go watch the ball drop."

Adena walked a few more blocks and he followed her loyally; she stopped on a corner to wait for a city bus, which was turning onto the street the next stop down. People began to gather on their corner. "That one goes to Times Square," she whispered to Oliver as he caught up.

"Wow, a bus ride! Dodger likes to ride on top of cars."

"Trust me, this is a safer way to get around."

When the bus rolled to their corner, stopping with a great heave and a smoke cloud from the exhaust pipe, opening the doors, old riders stepped off and new riders climbed on. With the last few, Adena and Oliver snuck aboard and quickly took cover behind someone's legs.

They rode for fifteen, twenty minutes or so until the bus chugged to a stop and Adena declared that they had arrived. When the doors opened, they were the first to depart, and this time people took notice. Some laughed and some shrieked as their surprise passengers.

"So this is Times Square!" Olive gasped at all the people. They were everywhere, crammed into every nook and cranny of the great plaza.

It was the middle of the night and the air was freezing, but with half of New York crowded in a few blocks, they were warm indeed. "Soon it'll be a brand new year," Adena chuckled, gazing at the shiny metal ball that hung from a building above.

"So they drop that ball, and that makes it a new year? Humans are so weird."

Adena laughed, and it sounded more genuine than any laugh he'd heard from her before. Then her eyes grew wet again. Her eyes moved from the Times Square billboards to the night sky above; with the bright skyscrapers, it was impossible to see the stars.

They climbed onto a fire escape, safely above the crowd. Suddenly a giant sign began to display a countdown. Oliver and Adena watched the number winding down, finally getting to ten, nine, eight, seven. The people below started counting down. Six, five, four. Couples drew closer. Three, two, one. Lips met. Cheers exploded. The ball dropped.

"Happy New Year's, Adena." Oliver licked her cheek and purred.

But again, she pulled away from him. His face fell. He didn't understand.

"I'm sorry… Do you not want me to? If you don't, then I won't."

"Oliver, you're such a gentleman," she sniffed. "You're so kind."

"Well, sure. Are cats and dogs not usually kind?"

She gave no answer. Adena leapt down from the fire escape, onto a trash can, and back to the concrete ground; she beckoned for him to follow her down, and he did. Instead of returning to the street, she faced into the alley. It seemed to go on forever, an endless dark corridor.

"Follow me, Ollie," she whispered. "I have a surprise for you."

Away from the city lights and noisy crowds, the alley seemed a different city altogether. He could see in the dark, as all cats could, but he felt uneasy. Oliver tried to keep on her tail, but she was walking fast, jumping over dumpsters and squeezing under fences. "Adena?"

"Over here, Ollie." He saw her face for a second before she disappeared again.

He ran to where she'd vanished, a hole in the wall that led into a building. Oliver entered, heart shaking, startling at squeaks and scurries. It was pitch black. Cockroaches scuttled under a fridge and he smelled decaying food. Oliver realized this was a condemned restaurant. The back door was ajar, and he just glimpsed her going outside.

They were in a back alley, all the lights out overhead. There was crude graffiti sprayed on the walls and piles of garbage spilled on the ground. He felt sick. "Adena! Where are you?"

She didn't show, but someone else did. Several canine someones.

"Aren't you a little far from home… Oliver?"

It was a tremendous dog, a German Shepherd with bloodshot eyes who was missing an ear. Another dog came out of the darkness, a growling Pit Bull, who blocked the entrance back to the kitchen. "Where's ya pal, Dodger?" the Shepherd laughed. "Not here to protect ya?"

"You're the Purebreds…" Oliver was barely breathing, "...aren't you?"

Two more snarling dogs emerged, and their breeding confirmed his fears. Oliver remembered being cornered by two savage Dobermans, but now he faced twice that number.

The final dog made five. The black, bristled fur, the enormous muzzle, and the cold, yellow eyes. It was Sykes' personal attack dog, straight from his worst nightmares.

"Oliver. I'm so pleased to meet you. I've heard so much."

The only word Oliver could get out was, "Ros — Roscoe?"

"Ruscoe, actually. Roscoe was my father. I know, I know, Dodger was shocked too."

Dodger warned him about their old enemy's son, but it hadn't seemed possible — not until he was standing in front of him. A dog with a damaged reputation to make right.

"Now, I haven't seen Dodger since I pushed him off the Brooklyn Bridge. Thought he was a goner." Ruscoe sneered, beginning to circle the poor cat. "That was until I learned he was all cozy in a Fifth Avenue mansion, alive and well… and you'll never guess who told us."

Out of the shadows stepped Adena. The calico was looking at her paws, not saying a word, and finally raised her head to meet his gaze. "Surprise."

The word held no malice, no emotion at all. Her serpent green eyes had lost their beauty and charm, replaced by two things he'd never seen in her before: fear and shame.

"Tell him ya story, pussycat!" the German Shepherd barked.

"Tell him how ya been working with tha Purebreds for months, spying on mutts, telling us where to find tha mangy mongrels," a Boxer grinned, "and run them outta town."

"Tell him that when ya found out Dodger was living in that mansion, ya came straight to us with tha news!" the Pit Bull called out, slobber on his chin.

"Nah, she should skip to tha punchline and tell him how she's been playing with his feelings for weeks now, gaining his trust, all to lure him into the city for us to kidnap." Ruscoe wore a wide grin, wicked with glee. "That's my favorite part."

Oliver faced her in horror, and he wanted to ask if it was true, but he didn't have to.

"You can't kidnap me! I'll — I'll fight you and you — you'll have to kill me!"

"That would certainly be easier. But no, we're not killing you today," Ruscoe admitted, much to his hungry gang's disappointment. "You're bait to lure Dodger, obviously."

Oliver made a sudden, wild attempt to run away, but he only got two feet. Ruscoe leapt forward and swatted him like a fly. The cat was thrown against a wall, hitting his head on the bricks. Oliver slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"Let's go, boys," Ruscoe barked and picked up Oliver by the scruff of his neck.

"Ruscoe, wait… please." Adena's eyes were fixed on his motionless body. "Please don't hurt him. Lure Dodger, kill Dodger, but please… let Oliver go afterwards."

"That's not your call, pussycat. Your job is done, so follow us or get lost."

He left the alley with Oliver in his jaws. Adena sniffed back tears and followed.


In the year and a half he'd been on his own, before meeting Fagin, Dodger had explored every inch of the Five Boroughs. He'd once snuck into the Empire State Building and taken the elevator up to the observatory deck. At the top, he'd gazed upon his steel kingdom.

He'd also felt dizzy, suspended thousands of feet above the sidewalks he knew. Dodger had been in the clouds, and he'd felt like he was losing air, like he was falling.

That's how he felt now. No matter how many car rides he took, hotdogs he stole, or blocks he walked, he couldn't forget the sound of his mother's last breaths.

"Like I'm free-falling," Dodger said, curled atop a parked taxi cab. He didn't know what he wanted, what could erase his hurt — then he spied a stray cat across the street.

He was young, a black-and-white tuxedo cat, licking a hamburger wrapper.

"Oliver." The dog couldn't help smiling. "I gotta see tha kid. He'll cheer me up."

Dodger was near a subway station, and it was a simple matter of trotting down the stairs and slipping through the revolving gate. He easily snuck aboard the train.

A few stops later the doors opened, passengers flooded out, and Dodger with them. He'd been around New York long enough to know the metro; this was the Central Park stop, right next to Fifth Avenue, and soon the familiar Foxworth mansion was in his sights.

He paused at the exterior, admiring the yellow bricks and window flowers. Dodger hated this place when he first saw it — they'd kidnapped the kid, and the Company had to rescue him, or so they thought — but when he looked at it now… this was home.

"Kiddo?" Dodger leapt onto the window ledge and crawled into the library, getting dirt on the cushions — Mrs. Foxworth would surely make a fuss — but no answer. The cat loved napping in the library at this time of day. "Hello?"

"Dodger," called a sweet voice. It was his Nancy babe, beautiful and golden-furred. "Oh, it's so good to see you. Thank goodness you're here. Something… Something is wrong."

"What?" he frowned. "What could be wrong?" He followed Nancy through the halls and into the living room, where the entire Foxworth family was gathered: David, May, Jenny, their butler Winston, and even Georgette. But someone was missing.

"Jen, honey, I'm sure he's in the house somewhere," her father said.

"But we've looked everywhere!" the girl cried, burying her face in her hands. "This isn't like Oliver, he never goes outside… It's just like before. When I came home and he was… he'd been… taken." Jenny sobbed and sobbed. "He's been kidnapped again… like I was…"

"Oh, my darling." Her mother, usually the picture of elegance, dropped to her knees and embraced her daughter. "Don't go there. It will all be okay. We're going to find him."

"We'll put up posters. We'll phone animal services," Winston offered.

It was a sorrowful scene, her parents hugging her and Winston's arm on her shoulder. Even Georgette, who firmly maintained that the cat was a nuisance, shed a tear. Dodger and Nancy watched from the entrance, and the family hadn't seen them yet — but the prizewinning poodle did. Georgette caught Dodger's gaze and held it in silence.

All this time, they had never understood each other. They were marble and concrete, silk and cotton, Fifth Avenue and the Bronx. Now they set aside their differences — his eyes asked her if it was true, if Oliver was nowhere to be found, and her eyes confirmed it. Georgette bowed her head. Dodger left without greeting the Foxworths.

"Where are you going?" asked Nancy, following him down the hall. They returned to the library and its open window. Dodger climbed onto the windowsill.

"Where else?" His voice trembled. "I'm gonna find my little bro."

"Good," Nancy said. "I'm coming too. Two noses are better than one."

Dodger licked her cheek, nuzzled her neck — he didn't want to put her in danger, but it was a big city and he couldn't search it alone — so he nodded and exited the same way he'd entered. Nancy followed him out of the mansion, out of safety, into danger.

"There's something else you should know." Nancy ran alongside him down the street. "Last night, I saw him in the back patio… and he went out with someone."

"Who was it?" Dodger suspected he already knew.

"I don't know her name," Nancy said, "but it was a cat. A calico cat."


Oliver woke up to a drop of water splashing his nose. He looked up and saw an old pipe was beginning to leak, as if his cramped quarters weren't bad enough. Sometimes the ceiling rumbled, like a crowd of hundreds was stampeding overhead.

"Is anyone there?" Oliver meowed, pawing at the door. "Could you move me to a more comfortable closet? This one has a leaky pipe. Shouldn't your hostage be comfortable?"

No response. He'd been the Purebreds' prisoner for a day now, or two — it was hard to keep track of time in the dark. They'd given him no food, no water, which told him that their plan to lure Dodger would happen soon. If they'd wanted him dead, he'd be dead.

The water had accumulated a small puddle that he drank from, but it tasted metallic.

He heard the creak of a door being pushed open and the movement of light paws, someone with a small stature. He caught her scent from under the door and scowled.

"I know it's you, Adena. Why are you here?"

"Oliver, I… I don't know what — "

"You don't know what to do?" he huffed, flopping down with his back to the door. "Why don't you befriend another cat and lure him into a trap? It was so funny the first time."

"I didn't want to give you to them."

"Well, you did. Dodger was right about you. I should've listened."

"I guess he was." Adena's voice cracked. "Why didn't you listen?"

"Because I was dumb enough to like you. I thought you were the coolest. The prettiest."

"I don't suppose…" she mumbled, "…you still think I'm cool and pretty?"

"Of course I do. The trouble is, now I think you're a backstabbing liar, too."

He felt her press her face and body against the door. He could hear her frantic heartbeat. "Would you believe me if I said that I — I don't want to be in the Purebreds. I have no choice. I stay with them out of fear. They saved my life, fed me, and now they won't let me — "

"Let you leave? You have no choice?" Now his heart was racing as fast as hers, pity and rage and hurt all mixed up inside him. "You always have a choice. How many mutts have you spied on and sold out to the Purebreds? You're an accomplice."

They were both silent for a time, and the only sound was the occasional drip and the rumble of people above. Suddenly there came the ringing of a clock, a loud chime, followed by the distant steam hiss of a train. He wondered where he was being held hostage.

He wished, more than anything, that he was back home in Jenny's bed. He cuddled with her every night, licking her cheek to make her giggle, snuggling on the pillow. When she used to catch a whiff of her father's late-night cigar, wafting from downstairs, she'd start breathing faster, trembling. Before he'd thrown them out. When Jenny panicked, Oliver nuzzled her.

He didn't know what she'd do without him. Or him without her.

Finally, under his breath, "Could you please go away?"

"I can't — I'll get in trouble. I have to guard you."

"Then can you not speak to me for the rest of the night?"

She let a tear slip down her cheek, but Adena did as he asked.


"Say goodbye, fellas," Fagin said in a hollow voice. He didn't bother flipping the lights on or off — electricity hadn't been paid in two months — but there was little left to look at in the apartment, anyways. "We gotta be out by noon."

The patchwork couch from Goodwill, he left. The stained mattress, he left. The TV that only picked up eight channels, he left. The radio Tito loved, he left. The recliner chair he'd had for years, his favorite, he left. That was the only furniture he'd ever acquired.

He'd stuffed three changes of clothes, some nonperishable food, a couple bags of kibble, and all the blankets he could fit into a few garbage bags. The bags were loaded into the basket of his motorbike-shopping cart contraption, the only vehicle he owned. The pockets of his ragged green trench coat were stuffed with dog biscuits, a pair of socks, a switchblade, three packs of cigarettes and a lighter, and a few dollar bills and coins totaling $18.38.

Fagin made space in his cart, between the bags, to stuff a blanket where Annie's three pups could be warm. Tito was small enough to fit with them. Rita, Einstein, Francis, and Charlie had no choice but to walk alongside their master as he rolled, not drove, his motor cart.

"Keep together, guys," Fagin mumbled at the steps, "for warmth."

The Company looked back at the apartment complex, with its boarded windows and cracked bricks — the best home they'd ever had — then they departed for good.

They walked for hours that day. Fagin wanted to get out of the Bronx; he'd picked a few pockets too many and had the local cops watching him. The problem was, he didn't know where to go next. The city was dangerous at night; if you went to the wrong part of Brooklyn or Staten Island, you could walk into an alley and never walk out.

Fagin didn't know where to take his dogs, didn't have any connections left. He was afraid to stay in the homeless alleys, in case of trouble, but he couldn't go near the wealthy areas. They were stuck navigating the in-between, offbeat alleys where they could go unnoticed.

"Shoulda never left tha boat," Fagin mumbled, hiding behind a dumpster. "We woulda still had a home. That's what I get for trying… trying to do better." He ran his fingers through clumps of red hair going gray. "Ya can't do it. Can't move up in this world."

They made a makeshift campsite, blankets and newspaper strewn on the ground, so the dogs could rest their weary paws. Rita and Charlie curled up with the puppies. Francis saw Tito shivering and beckoned him over. "Come here, you rat," the Bulldog sighed, pulling the Chihuahua towards him. "I have enough fat for the both of us." Tito snuggled in his arms.

Einstein was the last to slump into the alley; he had lagged behind the others, and his breathing was heavy. He laid his gray head in Fagin's lap, and the man threw a blanket over him. "Hey, old boy," Fagin whispered to the Great Dane, "hang on just a bit longer."

Fagin pulled his pack of cigarettes and lighter from his pocket, a little haphazard, but he got it lit and took a long drag. Daylight was running out — they'd have to rest here.

A couple in fine winter coats paused at the entrance of the alley. The woman pointed out to her boyfriend that there was a funny man behind the dumpster with no less than eight dogs.

"He shouldn't have so many if he can't take care of them," she scoffed.

"Is he smoking? What a money drain." The man stuck his hands in his lavish pea coat, to guard his wallet. "That's the problem with the poor: no sense of money management."

"All they want is government handouts. If they won't work for it, they don't deserve it."

"Exactly, my dear." The man pinched his girlfriend's cheeks. "Exactly."

The Company rested a few hours. When Rita opened her eyes, it was much later at night — the weather had turned even colder — and she saw that her black-and-white collie had stood up, looking out the other end of the alley. "Charlie?" her teeth chattered.

"We can't stay here, babe," Charlie whispered. "We'll freeze by morning."

"What are we supposed to do? The fellas are exhausted."

"Wake them up. I know where we are now — and I got an idea."

Rita did so, licking everyone's cheeks until they were awake. The dogs mumbled annoyances, for they'd barely slept. Fagin yawned and blinked his eyes. "What is it, girl?"

Charlie barked until she had their attention. Rita pushed everyone to their feet, pushed them to follow Charlie out of the alley. "Ya got someplace better to go?" Fagin asked. Charlie couldn't tell him with words, so she had to use her eyes. The man saw determination, resolve. "Okay, girl. We're trusting ya." Fagin loaded their bags and blankets back in the cart.

They left the alley and returned to the streets, the only light coming from street lamps and Fagin's faintly-glowing cigarette. The Company followed Charlie through the darkness. When he saw a street sign by lamplight, Fagin realized they'd wandered all the way into Harlem.

Charlie barked beside a stairway entrance to a subway station. There was yellow caution tape marking the station as condemned, but Charlie vanished under it without a second thought. Fagin shrugged and followed her down the stairs.

"Charlie… this is perfect." He gave the collie a tight hug when he saw the station by flickering ceiling light. There was graffiti and garbage, but the station was underground and warmer than the streets. "I think ya just saved our lives."

Fagin gave her a dog biscuit from his coat. The Company settled into their new home, happy to be out of the cold. Fagin laid out the blankets and the eight dogs made themselves comfortable under the benches. The best part was, they had the abandoned station to themselves.

"This is where Nancy, Noah, and I lived for months," Charlie explained to the gang. "I realized we were close by… better than an alley, huh?"

"Much better." Rita licked her partner's cheek. "Thanks, love."

"I ditched ya guys when Sykes showed. This is tha least I can do."

"That's all in the past." Rita gave a weary smile. "We're safe now."