Upon occasion, he’d had the misfortune of spending time with cats that cried and begged and generally made fools of themselves. He would never be one of those cats.

With a vague plan in mind, he dove headfirst off the post, the pads of his feet contacting the rough surface of the fence boards, the ground rising to meet him. A fraction of a second later, he was upright in a clump of the neighbor’s yellow flowers.

They smelled heavenly.

He briefly forgot his mission. He touched the tip of his nose to the soft petals and sniffed, the flower’s sweet scent filling his head with the dreamiest of sensations that left him so transported that he collapsed in the deep grass.

His head gradually cleared, his awareness expanding beyond the gently bobbing yellow flowers. Daffodils? Were they daffodils? Melody had mentioned something about spring, but Max hadn’t paid much attention. He’d just been glad he could go outside without freezing his claws off, or without being greeted by a wall of snow and ice. But he had to admit if this was spring it was delightful.

Harsh sounds intruded. Those were followed by new, unpleasant odors. Terror came out of nowhere, and he almost ran back the way he’d come, but he controlled the urge to split.

He hadn’t been prepared for the sensory overload of the world beyond the fence. Foolishly, he’d thought it would be like the backyard, only bigger. But it was nothing like the backyard. Nothing.

He made his way down alleys and across streets. He stopped and sniffed, taking a reading. He could smell Como Zoo to the north. He could smell the eateries and fast-food joints on University Avenue. He could even smell his vet’s office, and, at one point, he almost thought he caught a whiff of his long-lost brother.