“He is quite unique, I must say. I just think he was stressed from escaping from Nancy’s and adjusting to our witty and delightful selves,” Zooey said matter-of-factly.

“Well,” Fritz said, “You got him to calm down and stop destroying everything.” Fritz looked around.

“I’ll go finish cleaning the kitchen,” he called as he walked back down the hall. Zooey made her way over to the window and looked out dreamily, letting the afternoon sun stroke her face. It was a good kind of feeling, a small moment that made everything else feel insignificant.

Zooey dragged herself away from the window and realized she had dried spaghetti sauce on her cheek and frayed bits of tinsel clinging not only to herself, but on Mr. Williamson as well. She picked up the dozing kitten, who clawed and hissed at the thought of being torn from his musical outlet. She drew him a small bath in the bathroom sink, struggling against his unexpected strength as he struggled against the water and cried out for that soft, comforting voice.