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When she faced him again he realized she wasn't a kitten at all, only a very small, sturdy, short-coupled
tabby cat with white socks on each stubby front foot. Symmetrical black marks curled like flames all down
her ribby sides. Her face was square. A white patch under the chin gave her a pink nose and made her head
look as if it was always tilted a little to one side, listening for a voice no one else could hear. Her eyes were a
tawny yellow. She was all eyes. They were direct; they were full of laughter. But there was something strange
in them too. To begin with, Tag thought it was something missing. Then he wondered if it might in fact be
something extra— another color, one he couldn't quite see, some fleck in the bright tapestry of the iris.

"My name's Cy," she said. "What's yours?"