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That's the last I see of them.

As I cross the bridge, the cop squints at me.

"What you doing, kid? Not supposed to be walking here."

"I'll be right off. I'm going home,"

I tell him, and he saunters away, twirling his stick.

It's dark by the time I get to the subway, and most of another hour before I'm back in Manhattan and reach Kate's.

I can hear the television going, which is unusual, and I walk in.

No one is watching television.

Mom and Pop are sitting at the table with Kate.

Mom lets loose the tears she has apparently been holding onto for two hours, and Pop starts bellowing: "You fool! You might have got killed jumping out on that parkway!"

Cat drops to the floor with a thud.

I kiss Mom and go to the sink for a long glass of water and drink it all and wipe my mouth.

Over my shoulder, I answer Pop: "Yeah, but if Cat gets killed on the parkway, that's just a big joke, isn't it? You laugh your head off!"

Pop takes off his glasses and scratches his head with them, like he always does when he's thinking.

He looks me in the eye and says, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have laughed."

Then, of all things, he picks up Cat himself.

"Come on. You're one of the family. Let's get on this vacation."

At last we're off.

We came back to the city Labor Day Monday—us and a couple million others—traffic crawling, a hot day, the windows practically closed up tight to keep Cat in.

I sweated, and then cat hairs stuck to me and got up my nose.

Considering everything, Pop acted quite mild.

I met a kid up at the lake in Connecticut who had skin-diving equipment.

He let me use it one day when Mom and Pop were off sight-seeing.

Ch11. Rosh Hashanah at the Fulton Fish Market

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