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1
How It All Began
During the icy blue days of winter and the spongy green mornings of spring and the steamy white heat of a summer afternoon, Marco had not especially wanted. But now that September was here, the air was dry and the sun still bright as it poured through the picture window, Marco wanted. It began as mild discomfort within his chest, settled into a faint flutter somewhere back in his throat, and emerged at last, an acute longing to be out.
"I'm going," he said from the velveteen basket.
"You say that every night," Polo complained, "and here we are, same as always."
"I used to mean someday; now I mean soon," Marco told him.
It never occurred to Mr. and Mrs. Neal that their cats could talk. Not only could they talk, but they spoke the English language. What other language would they