The first thing Caleb Ortiz noticed about the cat was not that she was beautiful.
It was that she was in his way.
At 3:47 on a quiet Thursday afternoon in Cincinnati, Caleb had exactly thirty-six packages left in his delivery van, two hours and thirteen minutes remaining on his route, and a supervisor who had already sent him three messages asking why his average stop time had increased.
The alley behind Hawthorne Avenue was supposed to be easy.
Four apartment deliveries.
One bakery.
One small bookstore.
Back in the van.
Three minutes, maybe four.
Instead, a small gray tabby cat sat directly beside the rear wheel of his truck as though she had been waiting specifically for him.
“Move.”
The cat looked up.
She had pale green eyes, a white patch beneath her chin, and four white paws that looked almost too clean for an animal sitting in an alley.
A narrow blue collar circled her neck.
A round brass tag hung beneath it.
LUMI.
Caleb pointed toward a stack of milk crates beside the bakery door.
“Lumi, apparently.”
The cat blinked.
“I need you over there.”
She remained exactly where she was.
Caleb sighed.
He was thirty-five years old.
He had delivered packages for six years.
During that time, he had learned that every city block contained at least one obstacle no route-planning system could anticipate.
Broken elevators.
Locked gates.
Loose dogs.
Customers who entered apartment numbers incorrectly.
Construction crews blocking loading zones.
People who ordered furniture and then seemed surprised when it arrived.
Cats, however, were usually easier.
They moved when engines started.
Lumi apparently had not received that information.
Caleb reached toward the van.
The cat stood.
“Good.”
Then she walked directly toward him.
“No.”
Lumi rubbed once against his left boot.
Caleb stepped around her.
He opened the back doors of the van.
Rows of packages filled the cargo area.
He found the first box for number 1147.
Then another for the bookstore.
His handheld scanner beeped.
Lumi jumped onto the bumper.
“Absolutely not.”
Caleb lowered the box.
“You do not work here.”
The cat looked into the van.
“No benefits.”
Lumi sat.
“No dental.”
Nothing.
“You are wasting your time.”
She yawned.
Caleb almost smiled.
Almost.
Then his scanner vibrated.
ROUTE STATUS: 7 MINUTES BEHIND TARGET.
The smile disappeared.
“See?”
He held the screen toward Lumi.
“I’m already in trouble.”
The cat looked unimpressed.
Caleb carried three packages toward the apartment entrance.
The alley was narrow and old.
Brick buildings rose on both sides.
Fire escapes zigzagged above dumpsters and back doors.
A few weeds pushed through cracks in the pavement.
The bakery vent filled the air with warm bread and cinnamon.
Somewhere above, a radio played softly through an open window.
It was the kind of place Caleb normally liked.
Not today.
His daughter Sofia had a school presentation at six-thirty.
She had reminded him twice that morning.
“Dad, six-thirty means six-thirty.”
“I know what time means.”
“You were late to the winter concert.”
“Traffic.”
“You were late to parent night.”
“Work.”
“Exactly.”
Caleb had promised.
Tonight he would be there.
No excuses.
That promise had followed him through every stop since lunchtime.
So when Lumi trotted behind him toward the apartment entrance, Caleb barely noticed.
He scanned the first package.
Placed it beneath the covered landing.
Photographed it.
The second went next door.
The third belonged to the bakery.
The owner, June Park, pushed open the rear door before Caleb could knock.
“You’re late.”
“I know.”
June smiled.
“I’m kidding.”
“I’m not.”
He handed her a flat box.
“Sign here.”
She signed.
Then looked past him.
“Lumi.”
The cat was sitting near the van again.
Caleb glanced over.
“She yours?”
“No.”
“She belongs to Nora at the bookstore.”
June pointed toward the next building.
“Sort of.”
“What does sort of mean?”
“She belongs to herself.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“Nora would disagree.”
Lumi turned her head sharply toward the far end of the alley.
Her ears rose.
June noticed.
“What’s she looking at?”
Caleb checked his scanner.
“Hopefully another cat she can bother.”
He walked toward the bookstore door.
Lantern Books occupied the ground floor of an old three-story brick building.
The front entrance faced Hawthorne Avenue, but deliveries went through the rear.
Caleb knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
“Delivery.”
Still nothing.