Excerpts

It was getting colder as evening set in. The faint, wet wind whistled and howled through the cracks in the Factory walls on East 54th Street as the last few candles dripped hot wax to the floor. Outside, a thunderous storm dumped massive buckets of water all over the city. Upstairs, Romeo had awakened from his first death, but had immediately fallen back into a deep and sound sleep. He lay still on two covered, metal lunchboxes, an old t-shirt draped over his body. His breath left his mount in tiny, smoky clouds along with a slight wheezing sound. Underneath the thin, cotton shirt even his wounds from Fidel's rampage had healed and disappeared as they do after a death. Old Mr. Sox sat by his side in the musty medicine room as he waited for Romeo to come again. While he sat watching Romeo begin to twitch, frightening visions of war and revenge swirled through his aged mind, all directed at Fidel and his evil, violent ways.

Down in the rec room, usually a place of enjoyment, the mood was grave. Everyone was too nervous to talk. They were scared. Scared of Fidel, leader of the Alley cats, can his power over them. Scared of more attacks and lost hope. Scared just to be scared. They sat quietly on pillows and listened to the rain tap against the walls, waiting, wondering. It was to be such a happy day for the Sticks, Stick being the name for the domestic, or homebound cats in the city. Graduation from Stick School was always a big event for the proud graduates who had worked so hard in the classroom. Learning to read, write, and survive meant a lot to the life-hungry cars. As for the people of the city, they never knew such a place even existed. The Stick School was located in the Factory, an old worn out umbrella factory that the Sticks took over as their one haven outside home. The Alleys supposedly wouldn't bother then there.

No one could fathom why Fidel and the rest of the Alleys had to go and ruin the big day. Never before had such a bloody scene taken place, at least none that anybody could remember. Not only was it bad enough that little six-month old Romeo lost his first life in the fight, or that beloved Queen Elizabeth, Romeo's mentor, sadly lost her ninth, but Fidel had taken away any fleeting hope that city life could one again be grand and carefree. Enraged, the Sticks were not going to forget so easily. Not this time. Fidel and the rest of the gristly Alleys were sure to pay for what they had done.

A startling voice echoed from the soup shaft. "He's awake! Romeo's awake!" Mr. Sox hollered, lowering himself in the soup pot, the Factory's own makeshift elevator. Although dented and worn, the cats were successful in creating quite a device, equipped with a sophisticated system of levers and pulleys to lift and lower them from floor to floor, just like a real elevator. Mr. Sox tugged and pulled frantically at the ropes using an unheard amount of energy for such an old male. "Come quick!"