From the fire, I learned what cops are made of. I learned what panic can do. And I learned that cats really do have nine lives.
The building was renovated: a 6 floor walk-up, a bit too fancy to be called a NYC tenement. Our apartment was on the fifth. On each floor, were two railroad flats running from front to back on either side of the staircase. When I smelled the smoke, I went out into the hall to investigate.
I ran into a neighbor. We agreed he would make the emergency call, while I went through the upper three floors banging on doors to alert anyone who was home. Pretty soon I saw that smoke was leaking out under the door of the apartment below ours. I banged hard and repeatedly on the entrance door. Each apartment had an unused back door, sealed shut, but I knocked hard on that one as well.
When I was sure that no one was home there, I banged on the other 4th floor apartment, then the fifth floor unit opposite ours, then up to the sixth floor. After banging hard to make sure everyone was out, it was time to leave. But as I bounded down the stairs, I came face to face with a cop who was headed up.
I assured him that I had already checked and everyone on the top three floors was out. But he did not know me, and perhaps he was from Missouri. The multiple doors were confusing, so I accompanied him, pointing out which ones were the actual apartment doors.
By now, the smoke coming out of the 4th floor apartment was thick. He banged really hard and long on that door. When no one answered, he turned to the other 4th floor apartment, even though I told him that I had seen those people leave. Then he turned back to the door with the smoke, but again there was no answer to his banging.
Perhaps he thought people inside might be unconscious.
“Is there some way to get on the fire escape?” he asked.
“Yes, through my apartment.”
He followed me up and into my apartment. I showed him the front window which lead to the fire escape. In two seconds he was out the window, heading down the metal steps. but before he got to the fourth floor landing, the window broke out from the 4th floor apartment. Fed air, the fire suddenly roared. Huge flames lept from the window, engulfing the cop.
I don’t think he ran up the stairs, I think he flew. There was no choice now… back into the hall. The stairwell was filling with smoke and I thought we would head down, but no, he had to check the 6th floor.
“But I’ve already checked, “ I said, “There is no one up there.” He ignored me. I followed him. Finally, when he was satisfied that the apartments were empty, we headed down. He was ahead of me and kept going, not realizing that I had stopped on the 5th floor landing.
By that time the smoke was black, totally black. I could not see in front of me. Not being able to see, I panicked. My body would not move, I was paralyzed. I did not know how I would escape.
Then, the cop reappeared. I have no memory of going down the stairs, or of how he got me moving. I just remember being out on the street, and neighbors also being there.
Too late, I realized that Puss-Puss, my fat calico was trapped. Even if she could have gotten out of a window, it was a long way down. While I was trying to warn humans, my cat had perished in the fire.
The next day, when I came back to find out if anything could be salvaged, someone came over carrying a bedraggled Puss-Puss, and handed her to me.
