Layla

The store had been closed for four years. When the new owner took over the lease, he knew what he was inheriting. The basement was overrun. Not a mouse here and there. A full takeover.

He brought Layla in. Within three days, the mice were gone. He has not seen one since.

When the contractor came to start the remodel, he asked what color tile the owner wanted for the floor. The owner thought about it for a moment. Then he pointed at his cat.

"If she is staying," he said, "the place should match."

She had only been there three weeks.

Layla works at a bodega on Maiden Lane in the Financial District. She sits on a cat tree pushed up against the front window, watching the foot traffic pass. Her eyes are pale. Almost white depending on the light. Pedestrians stop outside just to look for her through the glass.

The owner is from Yemen. Layla means "night" in Arabic. He named her before he knew what she would do for the store. Before the mice disappeared. Before the floor matched her coat. He just liked the name.

There is a shelf near the register now. It is not for sale. It holds the things customers have bought specifically for her. Treats. Toys. A small blanket someone brought in one morning without being asked.

The morning worker knows her routine by heart. The commuters come first. Then the construction crews from the nearby site. Then the kids cutting through on their way to school. Layla watches all of them from her spot by the window. She does not leave it often.

The store had been empty for four years. The basement had mice. The owner brought in Layla, watched the problem disappear, and then told the contractor to match the floor to her coat.

Layla spends most of her day by the window, above the shelf of gifts customers bought for her.

The floor is the same shade as her fur. If you did not know the story, you might not notice. You might think it was a coincidence.

It was not.

She had been there three weeks when he made the decision. Now the floor still matches the cat.