“There’s a cat here. I’m petting it. Can you hear it purring?”
“Ignore it. Find the desk.”
“It’s really pretty though. And friendly.”
“We have limited time.”
Some people called him A-Noye-ing. Also not off target.The rope popped and I pulled it up, expecting the cash box, by the weight.
“This is an adding machine,” I said down the hole. “We have nothing to add yet. Get the cash box.”
The next time I pulled up the cat. It let me take it out of the backpack. The cat was pretty – orange and soft. I thought about flinging it off the roof but didn’t want to draw attention. It was easier to go along with Noye at times. I set the cat down on the roof and it rubbed on my legs. What was a cat doing in a restaurant anyway? There ought to be a law. I made a note not to eat there.
The third time it was finally the cash box. Then Noye – me winching like mad and him swimming up the vent.
We divided the cash right there on the roof. It only took a few minutes and saved any misunderstandings. It was enough to keep Noye in airplane glue and me in my apartment for a couple of months. After we got off the roof he went his way, with the cat under his arm, and I went mine, with my gear under mine.

Noye called me two days later.
“The cat is shitting in my closet.”
“What’d you name it?”
“Sally.”
“Show Sally the litter box,” I said.
“I don’t have one.”
“Get one. That’s where cats shit. And some kitty litter. The real problem is piss. Where’s it pissing?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ll smell it. It’s vile.”
“Wait,” I said before I hung up. “What are you feeding it?”
“Hot dogs.”
“Cooked?”
“Boiled in beer and cut up into little pieces.”
“She likes it?”
“I can’t give her enough.”
“Cat food might be healthier.”
“She seems to be doing okay.”
“Does she stare at blank walls a lot?”
“Now that you mention it.”
“Then she’s a normal cat. Make sure she has enough water.”