"Ponyboy? Would you take the garbage out before Darry gets home?" Soda called from the kitchen. It was his turn to make dinner, and that meant that the whole room was a mess of pots and pans and just about every other kitchen utensil that my brothers and I owned.

"Sure thing, Soda!" I called back from our bedroom. My homework could wait.

I entered the kitchen, walked right over to the garbage can, and grabbed a tight hold of the bag. It was nearly overflowing as it was—Soda always made a mess of things no matter what meal he was cooking—and there were some more empty butter wrappers and broken eggshells on the flour-dusted counter. I reached for them and shoved them into the bag, then heaved it out of the can. "So what are you making tonight?" I asked. "Other than a mess, of course?"

Soda laughed and smiled back at me as he tossed a large piece of chicken into our deep fryer. The grease hissed and popped back at him, his "Kiss the Cook" apron catching the worst of it. "Some fried chicken and gravy, flaky biscuits, corn on the cob, and some green mashed potatoes," he replied, winking at me. He always had a thing with adding unnecessary color to our meals. It was his trademark.

I eyed the pots that cluttered the stove's cook top and the various bowls that littered the kitchen counter. Thankfully it was just my turn to set and then clear the table tonight—Darry would be responsible for actually washing the dishes. "Is that everything?" I asked. "Is there anything else that has to go out?"

Soda glanced around quickly, not taking too much attention away from what he was doing. "Nope, that's it… Could you put another bag in the can, though, just in case?"

"One step ahead of you, big brother," I replied, as I reached under the sink for a new bag and shoved it into the garbage can.

"Thanks, Pony," he said as I swung open the back screen door and made my way toward the back alley where our garbage cans were kept.

The sun was just starting to set and the air felt crisp and clean. The trees' green leaves were beginning to wear their fall colors as the last few weeks of summer were coming to a close. School had started about a month ago—I was fifteen now and a sophomore—and I was just getting into the swing of things. It finally felt as if my life was headed in the right direction, that things were going to be okay. My brothers and I were getting along better than ever, with no threat of social services splitting us up, and it had been almost a year since we lost Johnny and Dally. Things were different without them, especially for me since Johnny and I used to do everything together, but I actually had the sense that things were starting to take a turn for the better…

I opened the garbage can's metal lid and dropped the bag inside. As I closed it back up I could hear hissing in the distance—just the alley cats going at it again. I walked over to the fence and leaned against it, surveying the area. I often fed the neighborhood strays, leaving them bits of roast beef from dinner or lunch meat from my school sandwiches, so I wondered if it was any of my cats that were caught up in the scramble. In the dusk light I could see the culprits, an old gray striped cat that always hung around the area and one I hadn't seen before—a young black cat that looked as if it had gone through the ringer and back again. I clapped my hands and kicked at the fence, getting their attention and startling them enough to break up the fight. The gray cat ran away, skittish as ever, but the black cat just stood there calmly and looked over at it me.

I stared back at it. It was definitely a young cat, maybe only a year or two by the size of it, but its black coat was scruffy and worn. Its ears weren't pointy anymore, but rather rounded out with little indents up and down the sides from years of fighting and scrounging around for food in dumpsters. It looked wild and feral, as if it hadn't been touched by a human hand in its life, and its icy blue eyes had a cold, hard look to them. I kicked at the fence again and it didn't flinch. It just arched its back as it stretched and puffed out its tail. It wasn't scared of me, that was certain, and I wondered if I would see it again, digging through our trashcans or calling females from our fence. There was something strange about it, and almost familiar, something that I couldn't quite place.

I walked back to the house and up the three steps to the back door. I turned and looked out into the alley again—the black cat had disappeared. I shrugged my shoulders and walked back inside. Darry had come home while I was out back, and I wanted to get the table set and ready before he got out of the shower.