Neil watches the cats gather. It is the kind of night where people take to their beds. Children cower beneath covers, animals burrow beneath the earth, dogs howl at hidden moons and birds huddle in their nests. But cats, cats open their eyes. Cats, like cities, come alive at night.
Neil thinks of a folktale from his childhood. A man, travelling at night toward his brother’s house sees four cats carrying a small coffin, topped by a golden crown. As he passes the cemetery, a cat sticks its head through the railings and says, "Tell Balgeary that Balgury is dead."
When the man reaches his brother’s house he says. “I know you’ll not believe me. But I swear to you, and I am sober as a babe, tonight I saw four cats carrying a coffin, on top was a small golden crown. Then, as I was a-walking by the graveyard, a cat says to me, ‘Tell Balgeary that Balgury is dead.’”