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Louis was always one to be sure that we had fire extinguishers (up to date) and smoke alarms and ways out of buildings for escape. Our first apartment was on the top floor of a row house in Concord Square, once an elegant part of Boston, almost like Beacon Hill, but which had deteriorated into cheap rented rooms There was no fire escape. Louis purchased a rope version and fastened it inside our bay window. He tested it first, settling the harness around his seat and gliding down easily. Then he galloped up the three flights of stairs (three and a half if you counted the front steps to the building) to insist that I practice using it. I lingered on the window sill for a long time, looking down at the bulge of architecture below the outside of the window and at the ground way below. A crowd of curious onlookers was gathering.
Finally, I took the plunge, feeling the rope sling take up my weight, bumping into the bulge of the building, kicking it away and then burning my hands on the rope as I descended. Louis was at the bottom when I landed. He must have galloped down as soon as I began my journey.
"I'm proud of you," he said. The onlookers shook their heads and murmured things, and went on their way. I never tried using the rope fire escape again.
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