The voice from before beckoned them on into yet another room of boxes. There wasn’t much space for Alfonzo and Mitchell to maneuver. Besides the boxes, the only thing these hidden inhabitants owned were many large houseplants with nibble-marked leaves. They also had tropical-beach-print towels draped over some larger boxes, creating a network of caves. In some areas of the room the boxes were arranged according to color and size. Their obsessiveness translated into decorative pleasure. The boxes were stamped and marked with icons, logos, and names. Yellow fishes, red foxes, paw prints, beavers and seals, stars and moons. ASTRAL PROJECTION PRESS, said one box. Alfonzo read, BORROWED TIMES, DOCK OF THE BAY, THE OCTOPUS, FISH CHEER, KUDZU, and THE GREAT SPECKLED BIRD. Jostling close in the entryway, he and Mitchell looked around for the body attached to the voice.

Alfonzo hummed to Mitchell, “Are these dudes crazy?”

Mitchell hummed back that they could talk about it later.

Mitchell coughed. “If you’re busy, I can leave some paperwork and come back when it’s more convenient.”

All of a sudden two cats appeared. A black-and-white cat sat on top of a box. Alfonzo hadn’t seen him jump.

Perched on a lower box was a smaller, beautiful Russian blue wearing a floral scarf. Had they been there the whole time? The animals all stared at one another.

Mitchell finally ventured, “Mr. Stan?”

“Mr. Stan was probably my dad,” said the black-and-white cat. “Never met the cat, but I’ve got to assume he would have liked formalities. Please, call me Tuxedo.”

Tuxedo looked adoringly at the Russian blue.

“This is the love of my life, Lipstick Koko.”

The cats hopped down and rubbed their faces against Mitchell and Alfonzo’s legs. They behaved as if there were nothing strange going on, and maybe this was normal for them. Alfonzo liked their soft knee-level brushes.

A thing about cats—Alfonzo always thought—was that they liked mixing signals without acknowledging the tension between warmth and aggression. A cat might spend ten minutes glaring from across the bar, then buy you a drink. Or they’d be all jokes at the bodega only to turn in an instant and streak out the door like the place was on fire. They were delicate.

In college, Alfonzo was housemates with a cat named Norbu, a Siamese from Baltimore who studied linguistics and political science. Nor was a nice cat who’d moved to DC and gotten married after college. Now he had a mortgage, five kittens, and a job with the FCC. But back in college, he and Alfonzo used to smoke catnip together, and when they did they would get into convoluted conversations about animal nature, cat hip-hop, and Egyptian conspiracies.