The two cats meowed about the night of the storm. They described the hours without light or heat as the building swayed and they watched wave after massive wave carry away lawn furniture and scooters. It took away cars and houses. It washed away their neighbors, an old dog they knew and a whole family of goats. They had seen it all out their window. They had no radio, no working phone, and no idea how bad things were in the rest of the city. They thought they would die.

Mitchell again pressed for details. Did their landlord’s abuse get worse after the storm? Did they have documentation? A paper trail?

Tuxedo had a shoebox of files somewhere. “Well, I did write about the mold of course. But it’s not that.”

“Really, the landlord is on a campaign to dispose of us, whole cloth,” Lipstick said.

“He hates us because we’re poor!” Tuxedo meowed.

“Not because we’re poor but because we are onto them!” Lipstick added.

“Has your landlord been transparent? Has he threatened you?”

“He’s not see-through, if that’s what you mean. But no, I kid—he’s too savvy to say anything outright. We know because of the holes.”

“The holes,” Lipstick echoed sadly.

“They’re listening in, because of what we’ve been through. Because of who we know. It’s easier to show you.”

Lipstick and Tuxedo gestured so Mitchell and Alfonzo followed. They threaded back through the boxes. The bedroom had dusty, linty pillows and blankets on top of, in, and around more boxes. But behind the boxes was an open space. Everything had been pushed away from the wall. Across its length hung a bright blue tarp. The cats ceremonially pushed it aside, and Tuxedo sat on the plastic that pooled on the floor so that they could get a clear view. The wall was perforated with many small holes.

“We’ve stuffed them with steel wool and painted over, but new holes keep appearing,” Tuxedo lamented.

“They want us o-u-t because we saw the truth,” Lipstick exclaimed.

Lipstick yowled into a hole, “This is harassment, you monsters!”

Alfonzo wondered if all of Mitchell’s site visits were like this. He tried to catch his friend’s gaze, but Mitchell was taking notes and nodding, as if this were all normal.

“Come,” Tuxedo invited. “Examine a hole.”

“Well, I don’t know if that’s necessary.” Mitchell kept scribbling.

Lipstick and Tuxedo insisted. So, Alfonzo took the initiative and stepped over. The hole was about the size of a mouse’s door, or his own eyeball. Alfonzo bent down and peered in, but all he could see was a bit of plaster, some darkness, and at the far end a pinprick of light. “Take a listen,” Tuxedo encouraged. Alfonzo pressed his ear to the wall.