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The cat does tricks: sits, lies down, shakes, and even jumps through a hoop for a treat. The strays like her less than yesterday, tails swishing in warning as she leaves home. She returns a stick to a fascinated boy for an ear scratch, but the dogs at the park sniff the exile and growl. It’s the alley dogs who let her pad alongside them until after dark; she is the only one who can slip between thin metal bars to catch a rat or drag a bag of food free from a tall metal can without knocking it over. Offering these as gifts, she sits with the pack, grooming as they eat. What good is she? the stray cats wonder as she scampers home. Traitor! they jeer, turncoat! You don’t act like or smell or belong with us. She hears their insults but thinks them praise.