It was a hot, sticky New York summer afternoon, and our studio was very dark and quiet. All the windows were covered up, and no boiling-hot sunlight came through. No crazy traffic noise or festive music rose from the street below. There was only the steady sound of the air conditioner vibrating in the dark and keeping us cool.

Mama and Papa were busy in the studio setting up lights for a photo shoot. As usual, I brought my rolly ball to Papa to play. When he hears my rolly ball drop, he always stops . . .
(To be continued in the book, "Happy Birthday, the Cat")