CHAPTER ELEVEN
An hour or so later, Skip took in the waning rays of twilight filtering onto the slate floor but remained stuck at the kitchen table. Yet again, he thought of his ginger tabby Duffy with those piercing green eyes. And how many of his nine lives he really had left.
In a sense, Skip and Duffy were both strays, a fact underscored by that early evening when he appeared out of the blue when Skip first arrived a few weeks ago, meowing outside the basement flat in Hoboken, asking to come in from the cold. Instead of being aloof at first like most cats, Duffy patrolled the place, rubbing against things to get the layout before he felt safe and established his perch by the front window. It wasn’t long before he sprang up on Skip’s lap when Skip was home musing over his next flight
