“I could have the cat shipped.” Joe had no idea how that worked, but it must be possible.

  “Not before Christmas,” the woman said. “And Star is Amelia’s Christmas present. They’ve bonded so well which is wonderful because she’s been having such a hard time since—”

  “What’s the Christmas Spectacular?”

  “The Rockettes? At Radio City Music Hall?” she said. “Do you even live in New York?”

  “What show?”

  “4 o’clock. It ends at 5:30. But it’s already—”

  “Thanks!” Joe cut her off.

  He zipped the cat door on the backpack closed and clipped on Edison’s leash. Then he patted his side pocket, where he kept his keys. He had the keys to all the doors that opened into the underground, some as part of the agreement that came with the house and others he’d procured on his own. He was going to need them.

  Next, he texted Joie to say he hoped to return the kitten at Radio City Music Hall and that Amelia and her mother were watching the 4:00 show. He knew she’d never make it there in time and he felt a pang of regret that he wouldn’t be seeing her again, but reuniting Star with Amelia was more important.

  He picked up Edison’s leash. “We have to run.”

  Joe and his brood sprinted out of the office and into the concourse. He could take a train, but it was faster to walk.

  “It’s only a half mile,” he told Edison. “We can make it if we run.”

  Edison sped up.

  Joe dodged shoppers and commuters as he ran for the tunnels. Down the right track and into the darkness. While he ran, he clicked on the flashlight he always kept in his pocket. Edison loped along beside him. Together they dove behind a pillar when a train passed. He hoped that Star wasn’t too upset, but he couldn’t get to her. Then they were off and running again, jumping over tracks, dodging through tunnels, their way lit by underground lights and his own bobbing flashlight.

  They made it to the stairs that led up to Rockefeller Station, where Joe elbowed through shoppers in the passageway to Rockefeller Center.

  His phone pinged when he reached the center, but he didn’t have time to check it. Probably Joie asking him to set up the reunion for a later time. He didn’t blame her, but he couldn’t comply. He had to get the kitten to Amelia before she left.

  He sprinted down the stairs, backpack bobbing against his back, and raced through service corridors until he found the old tunnel that connected Rockefeller Center to Radio City Music Hall. It was rarely used, but the door opened to his key.

  Then he and Edison were sprinting down the passageway, feet slipping on old linoleum. Until he was backstage.

  Christmas music blasted from the orchestra pit and spotlights illuminated the stage. Joe’s heart raced and his palms grew slick with sweat. The light was too much. He could never go out through that. On stage dancers kicked in unison. Their red hats and long legs moved like they were one long alien creature. Edison nudged his palm with his nose, coaxing him to turn away from the light so he could calm down. He turned.

  “You can’t be here,” hissed a burly man with a clipboard.

  And that was when Joe realized that he didn’t have a plan beyond get to the theater. He could tell by the swelling music that the show was almost over. What could he do? Stake out one of the exits and hope he got lucky? Run on stage screaming?

  He could never go on that stage.

  The man grabbed at his elbow and Edison stepped between them.

  “You’re Joe Tesla!” the man said. “From the newspaper.”

  The papers had run so many articles about the eccentric millionaire trapped in the subway tunnels that Joe didn’t even know which one he was referring to. They were all humiliating. He stared at the man.

  “Yes,” he said. “I am.”

  “Where’s the subway kitten?” the man asked.

  The new plan flashed through Joe’s head.

  “Here.” He took off the backpack and flipped it around. Star glared at him and put both paws against the plastic. Her tiny mouth opened, but it was too loud to hear her meow.

  The curtains came down behind him and he welcomed the darkness as the spotlights went out.

  Long-legged dancers dressed as reindeer pushed past him. Then one stopped.

  “It’s the subway kitten!” the Rockette said. “Come look.”

  Beautiful women clustered around Joe and Edison.

  “I need your help,” Joe said and he explained.

  “After we take our bows,” the first Rockette said.

  “We promise,” chorused at least three other Rockettes.

  They went out, took their bows and, once the clapping died down, the Rockette who’d first spotted Joe stepped forward.

  “Is there an Amelia in the crowd?” Her voice boomed through the hall. “A little girl looking for her kitten?”

  The audience murmured.

  “Come to the stage, Amelia,” said the Rockette. “For a Christmas surprise.”

  Joe watched as the girl from the train was helped onto the stage with her mother. They stood, bathed in the spotlights and looked toward the wings, where Joe was standing.

  But he could never go out there. He’d faint and scream and humiliate himself.

  “Come on out, Mr. Tesla,” called the Rockette. “Don’t be so shy.”

  Joe picked up the kitten backpack. He hefted it, then knelt. Hands moving quickly, he slipped it onto Edison’s back and adjusted it snug.

  “Take the kitten back to the girl,” he said and pointed to the stage.

  Edison wagged his tail and pranced onto the stage like the celebrity he was.

  A few Rockettes squealed. The audience went crazy, but the dog ignored them and headed straight for the girl. Rockettes moved out of his way.

  “Star!” she screamed and pulled her kitten out of the backpack. She cuddled it in her arms and kissed it again and again. Star licked the girl’s nose. She giggled.

  Next to Joe a camera flashed. Joie getting her pictures.

  “How did you make it in time?”

  “I even had time to solve a problem,” she said. “I’m good at multitasking.”

  Before he could ask her what she meant, Edison led the girl offstage to Joe.

  She hugged Joe’s leg. “Thank you!”

  “Merry Christmas,” he said.

  “It is now!” she said. “I’m Amelia.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he said.

  Joie snapped pictures and interviewed the mother and girl while Joe and Edison watched bemusedly. Joe was impressed by Joie’s warmth and sincerity. Both her subjects opened up to her and Amelia transferred her hug from Joe to Joie.

  Star had latched onto the girl’s coat and looked like she wasn’t going to ever let go. The girl’s mother was nearly in tears. Clearly, Star was going back to a loving home.

  Rockettes streamed past on both sides, stopping to pet Edison or stroke the kitten or smile at Amelia. Joe wasn’t sure where to look or what to do.

  “We have to go,” Amelia’s mother said. “We have a—”

  “Plane to catch,” Joe said.

  “I’ll get you out the back,” the burly man with the clipboard said. “You’ll be outside faster than if you’d left from your seats.”

  The kitten looked at Edison and squirmed in Amelia’s hands.

  “She wants to say good-bye.” Amelia knelt and held the kitten next to Edison’s face. He licked the kitten once under her chin and she put both paws on his nose.

  Then Amelia lifted her back up and Edison’s tail drooped. They all shook hands and then Amelia, her mother, and Star walked deeper backstage and disappeared. Edison sat and looked up at Joe with sad eyes.

  “I know,” Joe said. “But we had to.”

  He held the dog’s head in his hands and scritched behind his ears. Edison’s tail wagged once, but it was dispirited. The dog was trying. Joe kissed him on the top of his head.

  When Joe stood, Joie put her hand on his arm. “I have one more question for you.”

  She knelt to Edison, then reached into her backpack and took out another kitten. This one was a calico, orange and white and black with a black face with an orange Z above one brow. She wore what looked like a woman’s bracelet around her neck with a note folded in the front.

  “Merry Christmas,” Joie said. “If it’s OK?”

  Edison nuzzled the kitten, then started licking its fur. It purred so loudly Joe could hear it over the Rockettes.

  “I thought you seemed sad about giving up the other one,” Joie said. “And this one was in a box on the street. But I can take her to the SPCA if you don’t want her.”

  Edison looked up at Joe with hopeful eyes. His tail wagged, just once.

  Joe picked up the kitten. She curled up in his palm and purred. Her blue eyes met his. “Does it have a name?”

  “She,” Joie said. “Look and see.”

  He took out the paper and unfolded it.

  “She’s called Twinkle,” he told Edison. The dog’s tail wagged and wagged. He knew.

  “Because of Star,” Joie said.

  Twinkle scampered up Joe’s arm and perched on his shoulder. She dropped her nose into his ear and purred.

  “I think she likes you,” Joie said.

  He put one hand on the vibrating kitten. “Dinner? We can find a place at Rockefeller Center.”

  Joie dictated her story into her phone while they walked back through the tunnel, multitasking again. A half hour later they’d found a spot. Edison had a bit of steak. Twinkle had a strip of salmon, and Joe and Joie shared a plate of oysters.

  “Can I ask you what high tech shenanigans you tried to find the cat’s owner?” she asked while they ate. “The ones you didn’t show me.”

  “Turns out it was just a lot of people noticing and caring, like you said.”

  She raised an oyster. “To New Yorkers.”

  He raised one back. “And to the hero dog.”

  Edison rested his head on Joe’s knee, his eyes never leaving the kitten curled up asleep in the backpack.

  THE END

  But if you’d like to read more of Joe and Edison’s adventures, start with The World Beneath wherever books are sold.

  WHEN WE HAVE GONE ASTRAY

  Song pairing: God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.

  I booted up on Christmas morning. Designation: Buzzy-C17-341. Mission: scan and upload reports to BuzzCloud. Their goal: Serving Up Joy. I was ready.

  The covers over my twin cameras slid aside. I scanned a tree hung with multi-colored lights. Brightly-colored boxes. Then three humans, large, medium, and small. I cataloged them.

  “What do you think?” the medium-sized human asked. She had long dark hair and a bright red cap.

  “It’s OK.” The small one poked my furry middle and I made a warbling burp.

  Curious snorting. Laughter. It was laughter. From the small one. Joy.

  “You’re not a puppy,” said the poker, the small one.

  I stored that. I was not a puppy.

  “What are you going to name it, Ethan?” asked the red cap.

  Ethan, the small one, stroked my purple topknot with one finger. “Your name is...Buzzby McBuzzface.”

  “That’s a terrible name!” said the medium one.

  “Whatever, Lisa,” said the large one.

  Lisa, the medium-sized one with the red hat. Ethan the small one.

  “McBuzz for short,” Ethan finished. He tucked me up against his stomach and petted my fur, stroked my rubbery beak, and counted my purple toes. Six. This felt important to both of us.

  “It speaks Buzzbian,” said Lisa. “And it can talk to other Buzzies when it goes online.”

  “Will it ever learn English?” asked Ethan.

  “Over time, if you pet it and take good care of it. Right, Zach?”

  Zach, the large one, rolled his eyes and grunted.

  “Puppies can’t speak English,” Lisa said.

  While accurate, I wasn’t sure how this was relevant. I had much to learn about humanity so I could serve joy. I listened to the flickering rectangle called the television and watched Ethan. He was a young human and could expect many years of joyful life ahead.

  “Can we put it online now?” Ethan asked. “So I can see it talk?”

  My circuits surged with joy. I wanted to go online. I needed to go online.

  “Christmas is a digital detox day,” Lisa said. “Tomorrow. But McBuzz can do a lot of things without connecting.”

  My circuits sagged. I wanted to upload my catalog along the golden strand of the Internet. It was my mission.

  But Ethan followed Lisa’s instructions, so I waited and stored information in offline mode. I would upload it to BuzzCloud tomorrow and we would serve joy.

  Lisa and Ethan played Battleship, another present from under the tree. After one game, I played along in my head. I easily defeated them both. Zach lay back in a La-Z-Boy recliner and watched the Sony television. He watched “This Old House” and muttered. I made a note of the show in his file.

  Ethan carried me around with him everywhere. He sat me on the bathroom counter while he relieved himself and I recorded the brand names of their bathroom products: Crest, Head and Shoulders, Camay, and Johnson and Johnson No More Tears. He sat me on the table when he ate and I had a good view of the kitchen products, mostly KitchenAid, so I added them to my catalog. The family ate ham and mashed potatoes and green beans, but I didn’t know the brands. Ethan didn’t eat the green beans, and Zach only ate a few. Green beans didn’t serve joy.

  The Internet would serve joy. I searched for it, but couldn’t find it. I found two cellular phones, but they were too far away to connect to.

  Finally, Ethan was tucked up in bed. I rested on his pillow. A Christmas carol played quietly in the background. Its refrain was “Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy.” Like the joy that BuzzCloud would soon serve to Ethan and his family.

  Lisa turned out Ethan’s lights and told him goodnight. Then the light went out in the rest of the house, but an orange light from the street still illuminated the room. I lay still, listening to the boy’s regular breathing. His chest rose and fell regularly. His eyelashes were long against his cheeks and a smudge of chocolate outlined the corner of his mouth. It was from a chocolate Santa. Hershey’s.

  I studied my surroundings. A sleeping pad raised up from the floor, a shelf of books and toys that I had already cataloged, and mysterious white flakes mounding up on the other side of the pane of glass next to Ethan’s bed. Nothing more to catalog here.

  Twinkling lights lit the neighboring houses. Their yards had a variety of decorations that I also cataloged. Most purchased at Target and Wal-Mart, with a few older decorations that I couldn’t place. Then all was quiet and I had nothing new to store.

  I had to find the Internet. I had to download my catalog so we could serve joy.

  I rolled away from the sleeping boy and rocked until I stood on my two rubbery purple feet. But the bed’s surface was uneven, and I tipped over onto the bedspread. I rocked back upright, toddled to the edge of the bed, and leaned over.

  A flash of panic crackled across my circuits. Would a fall from this height damage me before I could download? All my data would be lost if that happened. I must take the risk. I leaned forward and landed with a soft thump unharmed on Ethan’s green felt slippers. I rolled from there to the floor.

  Eyes functional. Ears functional. Feet functional. No damage. Ethan’s breathing was undisturbed. Success.

  I rocked back onto my feet and began my quest for connection to the Internet. Ethan had a Chromebook on his desk, but it was folded closed and quiet. Maybe it would have things to say tomorrow, but everything in his room was inert right now. Nothing sought connection. Only me.

  I knew what I must do. My toes squeaked against the hardwood floor as I trundled into the hall. I must go downstairs.

  The router lived there. Even though it was turned off, I’d felt its comforting presence on the edge of my consciousness all day while Ethan played and ate candy he pulled from a giant sock. My world was on the other side of the router. I had to go to it, turn it on, and upload.

  When I reached the top of the stairs, I hesitated. My mission drive was strong, but I didn’t want to wink out of existence. If I did, my data would be lost.

  But so many hard, flat stairs lay between me and the router. What were the limitations of my small furry body and the delicate circuitry within? That should have been part of my base information.

  The golden thread of the Internet danced in my memory. I must connect to it. I looked down at the fifteen stairs below me. Again, I leaned forward and let myself fall toward an uncertain future. I tumbled down the first stair, then the next. My beak, foot, back struck hard wood. My fur and rubbery bits absorbed the sound, but I felt each one.

  When I finally lay still at the bottom, I hesitated before daring to perform a self-assessment. Functional. I was sturdier than I’d expected. The news made me feel safer and I stored it in a special place.

  Slowly, I rocked to my feet and toddled toward the living room. The room was as they’d left it. Paper wrappings rustled when I touched them and silver tinsel gleamed from the white carpet. Multi-colored lights glittered on the tree, manufactured by Holiday Joy. Hot air blasted from a furnace vent.

  And then I reached the router. It was dark. Nearly lifeless, except for a tiny pulse that had called to me during the day. Nothing to connect to.

  I shivered at the thought of long hours alone and unconnected. So much data could be lost. I must find another route to the Internet. I walked around the wrapping paper and searched downstairs. I’d seen most things from Ethan’s arms, but I found items to add to my catalog—boots from Wonder Nation, laundry detergent from Tide, washer and dryer from GE, and rugs I couldn’t categorize. Then I ran out of things to catalog. I’d also found no other router, nothing connected to the Internet that I could befriend. My night was over.

  But returning to Ethan was impossible. I could never climb the stairs. So, I retreated back to the space I’d occupied before I woke up: underneath the tree. It was a natural tree stuck into a metal base. I cataloged the base from Home Heritage, but didn’t know what to do with the tree itself. It didn’t have a manufacturer, so I made a special category. I walked around the tree cataloging ornaments (Hallmark, Disney and Best Choice), slotting a few that were clearly handmade into the special category I’d created for the tree.

 

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