“Hello, you.”
He climbed into her lap.
A week later, an envelope arrived at the station.
Inside was a photograph and a note.
In the photograph, Oliver lay across Ruth’s legs, one front paw stretched toward the camera. His eyes were half closed in the comfortable expression of an animal who had no intention of moving.
The note was short.
Ruth thanked the crew.
Then, beneath her signature, she had added another sentence.
He’s scratching at the bedroom door again.
Daniel read it aloud to Mara.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then Mara laughed softly.
“Good.”
Daniel looked at the photograph.
“Yes,” he said. “Good.”
That night, in the spare room, Ruth woke to a familiar sound.
A scrape against wood.
A pause.
Another scrape, more insistent.
She switched on the lamp.
Oliver stood beside the closed bedroom door, looking back at her with his tail raised. Somewhere beyond it, her sister was moving around the kitchen.
He had decided the household should begin its morning early.
Ruth crossed the room and opened the door.
Oliver slipped through the gap, brushed against her ankle, and continued down the hallway.
She stood there listening to his paws.
Then she followed him toward the light.
