Twin Rivers was a little old town between its namesakes, Copper River and the Horn Rock. The cats out there were about what you'd expect—felines of all colors and stripes who wanted to live life at their own speed, out of the spotlight. The kind of place you'd settle when you've had just a little too much excitement, and want to get back to what mattered in life.

The kind of place that liked to remind you that just because it's small, doesn't mean the earth stops moving under your feet.

Pilot knew when she came there looking for a 'little peace and quiet' that she wouldn't find it for long. The Prince, that white fluffball that attached himself to her tail, couldn't be happier with his new owners. As long as he had his fluffy pillows and his share of tuna, you'd think wherever he lived was heaven on earth.

So why did she choose Twin Rivers? Because there was music in the shadows. The lights glowed like fireflies, and the fireflies danced like the stars. People laughed in the streets while the toads grumbled in the marshes. The smell of fried fish wound from downtown to the scant bungalows that crouched against the wetlands.

Pilot knew that it's only a matter of time until trouble finds you, so you may as well be somewhere with a good view when it does.

For her, it came one July night, when the black-and-white cat had just started to enjoy the daring dance of fireflies bobbing up onto her porch. She hadn't noticed the approach of the neighboring queen until the sound of padded paws on the deck roused her from the light show.

“Excuse me, Miss," said the cat, ducking her head with embarrassment. “You're Pilot, right? Your husband said I should talk to you."

“My—" Pilot wrinkled her whiskers, thinking of the plump ball of fluff no doubt spending the night rolling around in the carpeted den behind her. She laughed at the thought of being paired with the Prince without any care in the world. Of course, the locals would make assumptions, no matter how often they saw him in the company of other toms. “My denmate said that, did he?"

The stranger looked momentarily puzzled by Pilot's response and then moved on as if she'd never spoken the word at all . “He said that you were good at handling problems," she said, and then added with a nervous flick of her tail, “discreetly."

Pilot rolled her claws over the porch rail. On any other day, she would have given the tom a good dressing down for offering services on her behalf.

There was something about this queen, though, that said she'd reached the end of her rope. Her fur, black like waterfalls with a sheen of the deepest night blue, was kept just so despite a trek to the far side of town. This was a cat of meticulous grooming who wasn't in the habit of asking for help.

He knows me too well . Pilot grumbled to herself before slinking down to inspect her new guest. “I can't make any promises," she said, “but I'll hear you out."

“Oh, thank you." The black cat relaxed immediately. Pilot was almost taken aback by her newfound regal air, sitting upon the worn porch as if it were an ancient throne. “You may call me Orchid, but I would ask you not to go spreading my name around town. As you may have gathered, this is a matter of extreme delicacy…"

Pilot flicked her ear, straining as the queen trailed off. Orchid studied her claws, but still watched Pilot out of the corner of her eye.

“Of course," Pilot confirmed. She poked her claws into the wood, masking a thought of Would you kindly get to the point already?

“I should like you to locate Saffron," Orchid went on. “A ginger tom with a black collar, from the house next to the big willow."

Pilot blinked. The trite description of the cat was so little to go on she may well have tried chasing a fancy. If this gal is as desperate as Prince made her out to be, she sure is being cagey about the details.

“I'm going to need more to go on," she said. “You know how many orange cats there are this side of the poke?"

“Like what?" The tips of Orchid's hackles raised ever-slightly.

Pilot sighed. “Look. Orchid, right? I understand that you want to keep things 'quiet.' You got your reasons, and I'm not going to go digging for them. But if you're serious about asking me for help, you've got to give me something to sink my teeth into. Who's the guy prowl around with? What're his haunts? Toms get outside, they like to wander."

“Not Saffron," said Orchid. She folded her ears back, then let out a hiss of a breath. “I'm sorry. I do need your help."

“Go on then," Pilot encouraged. “Tell me what you've got."

“Saffron's not really the… prowling sort. Oh, he gets out of the house but isn't much one for territorial disputes. Won't do you much good to go bothering the gangs. None of them would ever take him in." The queen paused, and then, added through pursed lips, “he's a bit of a scavenger. Loves digging for shiny things and the like."

Pilot nodded. Orchid's disapproval was hard to ignore, but she wasn't going to give up the cause easily. “Do you know who saw him last?"

“Unfortunately, no," Orchid replied. “I was the first one to notice he was missing. You might try the park, though. It's not too far from where he lives. Perhaps they have some leads?"

“Maybe," Pilot agreed. If Orchid didn't have to put all of her stones on the ground, then neither did she.

There were a lot of things that could make a cat disappear, half of them involving their menfolk owners and the other half involving pure tomfoolery. Orchid's refusal to tell the whole story stunk of the latter, but something told Pilot that chasing the orange cat's tail would tell more than the queen ever intended to be revealed.

“I shall return in three days' time," Orchid decided. “I hope you will have found some sign of him by then."

Pilot raised her head. “Where should I find you if it's sooner?"

Orchid paused, licked the bottom of her lip, and shook her head. “Three days, Pilot. That should be more than enough, given your reputation."

My reputation , thought Pilot. And who do I have to thank for that?

But Orchid was not the only one who could keep her thoughts secret. “Three days then. Safe travels, Miss Orchid."

Pilot watched her go, descending the porch with utmost grace. Her tail, draped with fine hairs, swayed in the night until her shimmer of ink-blue dissolved into the darkness.

After she had gone, Prince wriggled his way through the door flap behind her and sniffed the air. He itched a hind leg at his collar, a crisp blue nylon with a gold buckle, and then purred at her. “So, how did it go?"

Pilot sighed and glared back at him. “I'm going to kill you."

The white cat met the threat with a jolly laugh and a thump of his tail. “Delightful! Where are we going first, then?"

* * *

A survey of Saffron's home, while a matter of thoroughness, provided Pilot only a little more information to go off of. The cat appeared to live a life of similar philosophy to Prince – inclined towards comfort and with little concern for pride or dignity. From the window, she could glean that his toys were many, his worries few, and his belly likely overspoiled.

The scents around the property were four, maybe five days old by Pilot's reckoning. To make things worse, Saffron lived alone—Pilot imagined by virtue of taxing his poor owner's budget to its limit—and had no immediate neighbors to speak of his last whereabouts.

At the very least she could discern two things—that his owners had not moved, and liked him too much to get rid of him. He had been missing about as long as Orchid suggested.

Having satisfied her inquiry, Pilot all but pushed Prince away from the stoop. He sulked for a time over a missed opportunity to beg for treats and a good petting, but his spirits brightened with the rising sun as they approached the town park.

“So who are we looking for?" asked Prince. “There can't be a better tracker in this place than you are."

Pilot flicked her ear with annoyance, ducking beneath a shrubbery at the edge of the green. “The town gossip. Keep your eyes peeled, and your mouth shut, would you? Miss Orchid wanted to keep this matter discreet."

It was an order Prince would typically ignore. But, in the case of preserving another cat's well-being, he could be tempted to temper his loose tongue.

“When paw prints fail, information will prevail." The white cat whispered cheerfully, before trotting out into the sprawling green.

Twin Rivers' same-named park, through the efforts of the locals, rose a step above an aggrandized lawn. In one quarter was a contraption of plastic and metal, resting in a bay of sand, filled with the baying of human kits and the frequent reports of dogs. A few of the elder residents guarded the community garden, an enclave behind black wire and wooden panels, that in the warmer months flourished with color and a myriad of floral scents.

Another corner was reserved for the slightly-grown to partake in their sports, and the rest was flat green reserved for, as far as Pilot could tell, a place for the menfolk to remember their meandering over the grasslands for a few shy yards at a time.

Few cats gathered in the park on account of all the unleashed dogs, but there was one who she knew by name – Hermes.

Hermes was something of a local celebrity, for despite his layer upon layer of gray fluff, he managed to charm his way into more than one lap. When not preening himself on one of the benches, he had ears in every corner of the town.

As luck would have it, they found him vacating the lap of an elderly woman who had finished brushing down his back and yielded him to collect her daughter from the park.

“I'll be, is that Pilot I spy?" Hermes called, waving his tail up to greet the advancing cats. “And with your better half, no less."

Pilot bit her lip. “We're not--"

“I'm just pulling your leash!" Hermes laughed. “I'm well aware of your inclinations. Oh, but you're in many ways still a mystery to me."

Pilot merely grunted, standing with stiff legs as they exchanged scents and pleasantries. Prince, for all his chattiness, only trilled in pleasure for the sudden turn of interest their day was taking.

“That mystery will have to wait for another day, I'm afraid," said Pilot. “I was hoping you could help me. No, before you start naming prices, it's a case of a missing cat. I would hope the return of the poor tom would be motivation enough for such a well-reputed informant as yourself."

Hermes fluffed up his pelt. “You certainly don't waste any time. I'll have you know, I would help you regardless of your ability to pay. It's my foremost nature to look after cats in need."

“I'm sure it is." Pilot narrowed her eyes. If the gossip knew her well enough, he wouldn't waste time arguing matters of character. “Do you know a cat by the name of Saffron?"

“Oho!" Hermes's whiskers curled upward. “Who doesn't? It's come to that, then, has it? We've all had the good sense to mind our own business, but, well… if the lady has come calling then there's nothing for it."

Prince's ears shot up and he broke his thin vow of silence. “I thought it was supposed to be a secret?"

“It is a secret," Hermes said. “A quite well-known one, and you'll keep it that way if you value your hide." The old tom cleared his throat. “Now, the matter of Saffron's sudden absence is quite well known. Less so much the facts of the matter."

“If you would be so kind," Pilot pressed, the courtesy forced on her tongue, “to part with what you do know?"

“Of course," Hermes said. He scanned the park for other prying ears, and satisfied that his were the only ones present, reported what he knew. “Ever since the two met, Saffron has been ranging to and from the outskirts on a regular basis. No one knows how they show up in half the places they do. Figure the forest colony has some secret network. Never in the same place at the same time, but you could always see them in each other's eyes. Unmistakable infatuation, that's what it is."

“So it's unlikely that Orchid is a suspect, then."

“Great Mother, no." Hermes shook his head. “Forest cats are not subtle in their wrath. If any of them were to do him in, there would not be so much a 'case' as a gruesome parade."

“Could he be hiding outside of town?"

Hermes scoffed. “Certainly not. If he went through the Row, you'd never hear the end of it from the gangs." The cat kneaded the grass thoughtfully. “If anyone knew where he went, I would have let the poor lass know by now—but my nose tells me you should start with the Collector."

The Collector was another cat known for her peculiarity. Her owners had built an outdoor cage for her, which seemed to content her wanderlust enough, and as her namesake, she was known for her vast collection of odds and ends.

If Saffron had gone to see the Collector, she might have had a better idea of his activities leading up to his disappearance.

“Thank you, Hermes," said Pilot.

“Naturally," said Hermes. “Before you go, a word of warning. Something is stirring under the surface of Twin Rivers. The wild cats and the gangs are getting restless. A foul thing is in the air, Miss Pilot, you better believe it. I'm willing to bet my whiskers your involvement is the only thing that stands between this town and certain calamity."

Pilot's claws poked from their sheaths. “I'll tread lightly," she said.

“Be sure that you do," said Hermes. “I'll be seeing you again before long."

Then he turned, tail high, and bounded off in search of another lap to occupy. Pilot turned before he'd finished his scamper, taking Prince into tow and away from the wide-open grass.

“Not sure what all that superstitious nonsense was about," said Prince, “but if there's saving to do, I know you're the right cat for the job!"

“Whatever's ailing this town, I want nothing to do with it," Pilot replied, lashing her tail. “Let's just find Saffron and call it a day."

Whatever Pilot wanted to believe, she could sense the same thing as Hermes. She'd been in the business of hunting long enough to know that Saffron's disappearance was only the first rumble of a brewing storm.

Today, though, the sky was sapphire blue, and their business was with the Collector.