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The cat walked uncertainly about the kitchen, not quite sure of his ground. Then he sat down on his haunches and looked up at them, from one to the next, and chose her. He sat up on his hind feet and stuck out a paw. Dan squatted down and shook hands with him. That ritual taken care of, the cat walked to the refrigerator and scratched on the door. “He’s hungry, poor guy,” Dan said.

She restrained the cat, who wanted to climb inside the refrigerator, while she located the calf liver Dan had bought that day. She placed it on a newspaper, and the cat devoured it as if he hadn’t eaten in a week, the rascal, because from his sleek fur and size she knew he was well fed.

Dan took the perfectly good kitchen towel and dragged it along the floor with the cat sinking his claws and teeth into it, trying to hold it. “I had an old black cat ‘bout half his size when I was a kid,” Dan said. “He was some cat. Me and the kids would play with him by the hour. He went everywhere we did, including the movies. We’d sneak him in, and half through the show he’d get tired and start meowing, and the manager would go up and down the aisle trying to find him, but we’d pass him from row to row.”

Afterwards, they settled down in the living room, and the old routine began. Dan and Sammy played poker, and she read with the cat curled up in her lap. Once Sammy said, . “Thought you were going to bed, Jenkins?”

She never read a word, and when Dan glanced her way once, she remembered to turn a page. Here in her lap she had a communication line to the outside world, if she could only think how to use it. If she had a piece of paper and a pencil, and a moment to write something

.

Then she began casting about for a personal article that anyone finding might associate with her, and eventually the idea came of attaching the watch. Fortunately, it had an ex­pansion-type bracelet. Barely moving her fingers, she slipped the watch from her wrist, her heart pounding so hard she feared it would give her away. She wet her lips, then realized that even such a small act might tip off Dan. He had an in­stinct for reading her thoughts.

Slowly she moved the watch across her lap, inch by slow inch, until she had it near the neck of the dozing cat. And then she hesitated. He might resent having the watch put about him; he might arouse suddenly and resist or meow, and attract the attention of the two men. If he jumped down from her lap in protest, they would see the watch.

She decided on a quick move, one of desperation. She slipped the bracelet around the cat’s neck and rose almost the same instant, holding the cat firmly. She walked swiftly to the back door, which was verboten to her, a door she must never touch under threat of death. The cat struggled violently in her grasp, about to break free, and behind her Sammy shouted her name low and sharp and threateningly, and she heard Dan’s chair being pushed out. She reached the door as Sammy grabbed her, but before he could restrain her she opened it and tossed the cat out.

She turned swiftly to face him. “He had to go out,” she said.

He struck her across the face. “I’ve told you, Jenkins, you get a shot in your guts if you ever touch a door.”

Dan pulled him back. “He had to go out,” she repeated. He held her a second before releasing her. “Okay,” he said, “Get to bed.”

She went through the bedroom, and once inside the bath­room locked the door behind her. This was the only privacy she had. The bathroom had no window and was so small she could scarcely change her clothes. The building was ancient, and this apartment little more than a rabbit hutch, with only the kitchen, living room, the one bedroom, and this inside bath. They had nailed down every window in the place, which left only the kitchen and front-room doors as possible escape avenues.

As she scrubbed her face, she heard Sammy – it was always Sammy, since they had their duties divided between them – winding the alarm clock, which he would set for seven. She had to be up at seven, and dressed by seven-thirty. Sammy then raised the shades, since someone might think it odd if they were always pulled. She was not allowed in the bed­room during the day,

She remembered the first night when she had sat up until dawn, afraid to go to sleep, afraid they would molest her. They had never touched her though, and the realization grew that she was too old to interest them. But still, as the days went by, she feared the age difference might grow less.

At midnight Dan rose from the straight chair in the bed­room doorway and stretched. “Okay, she’s all yours.”

Sammy glanced up in exasperation from the table where he was playing solitaire. He looked back at the cards, and with an angry scoop swept them to the floor. He kicked them as he moved to take up his post. “Let her pick ‘em up,” he said. “Do her good. She needs to squat some.”