The train pulled in at a station in a huge marsh full of curious-looking trees that stood up above the water on long, stiff roots like stilts. There were so many of them so close together that they were all woven into one another. The air smelled like the ocean.

The station itself was all made of tropical wood, with a hairy-looking thatched roof.

“Where are we?” she said.

“We’re in a mangrove forest,” the fishing cat said.

“How can trees grow like this? In the sea, I mean.”

“Mangroves grow in salt water,” the cat said. “They’re the only trees in the world that can.”

It started to rain, a light, warm rain, but that didn’t seem to bother the fishing cat.

“I’ll probably never see you again,” Kate said.

“I know.”

“It makes me so sad, it feels like I can’t stand it! Don’t animals get sad?”

“Of course we do,” the fishing cat said. “But we try not to brood about it. Animals never think about what might have been, or what should have been. We only ever think about what really is.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” Kate leaned down and gave the cat a kiss on the top of her head. “And I’ll always remember you.”

“I’ll remember you, too, Kate. And I want to tell you something, just to make sure you know it, just in case your parents are too busy to remind you as often as they should: You are special, Kate. You are strong and smart and good, and the world needs you.”

Kate’s eyes were blurry and swimming with tears. It was the one thing she’d always wanted to hear, all her life. If anybody else had said it, she might have had trouble believing it, but she knew she could trust the fishing cat.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome. Ooh—a frog!”

And with that the cat took a running leap into the water and disappeared.

After that, whenever Kate was feeling down—which would always happen, because you’re never too grown up to feel down sometimes—she would think about the fact that somewhere out there in the world, in a mangrove swamp, was a fishing cat who remembered her.

And that was something. It was a lot, really.

In all the excitement Kate had almost forgotten about the polar bear, but of course she was still with them, in her boxcar. They let her off late that night at a station deep in the Arctic, right out onto the pack ice. It was the coldest air Kate had ever felt. The wind whipped snow in through the open doors so hard that she had to scrunch her face up and look away. Before she did, she caught a glimpse of a sign that said simply NORTH POLE.