"She stopped. There were three seconds of absolute stillness. She could see orange fur in the deep shadow behind the trash can pressed against the wall. The cat had been there long enough for its body heat to equalize with the ambient temperature of the alley, long enough for its breathing to slow to eight breaths per minute, and long enough for the bell on its red collar to go completely silent. The cat had learned through repetition and hunger that stillness silenced the bell. Silence was the difference between a meal and an empty morning. Its eyes found her. She was already moving. That was an excerpt from my short story, Concrete Canyon, part of short stories for busy people, volume four. The links are in my bio."