The Cat in the Window

Mara found the cat on the fire escape the morning the FBI came. A ragged calico with one ear missing, it watched through her kitchen window as two agents in cheap suits interviewed her about Thomas.

"Your friend, Ms. Peters—did he ever mention working for the State Department?"

Thomas had been many things: her lover, her coworker at the embassy, the man who'd taught her to appreciate baseball statistics as poetry. But a spy? She'd laughed when he'd hinted at secrets, thinking he was being dramatic, trying to make their affair feel more dangerous than it really was.

Now the cat pawed at the glass as Mara told them about Thomas's collection of vintage baseball cards, about how he'd once drunkenly confessed that pitching a perfect game was the closest thing to being a god. She didn't tell them about the nights he'd disappear, returning with expensive wine and explanations that never quite added up. She didn't tell them about the encrypted files she'd seen on his laptop, labeled with baseball player names—Babe, Mantle, Jeter.

The agents left with a warning: "Don't leave town."

Mara opened the window. The cat jumped onto the counter, purring like a small engine, and began eating the expired ham she'd forgotten to throw away. She poured herself coffee, remembering Thomas's voice in her ear: "Everyone's got something to hide, Mara. Even you."

She'd thought he was talking about their relationship. She'd thought they were just two lonely people finding comfort in each other's secrets.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

"Thomas told me you'd know where the files are," a voice said. "Your friend played both sides. He wasn't just ours."

Mara looked at the cat, now curled in a sunbeam, utterly indifferent to the collapse of her life. Outside, children played baseball in the park, their shouts drifting up like ordinary things from another lifetime. She'd never loved baseball, not really. But she'd loved the way Thomas's eyes lit up when he talked about it, the way his passion made him seem younger, less burdened.

"I don't know anything," she said into the phone.

"Liar," the voice said, almost fondly. "That's why he liked you."

The cat stretched, shedding white fur on her dark jacket. Some friend, she thought. Some cat. Some life.