The back porch learned a new quiet. Birds chirped, trees swayed, and insects whirred—a late spring chorus for a gentle afternoon. Yet the quiet felt vacant, as if something vital had slipped away. Clara stood in the doorway, listening. No thud of paws. No inquiring meow. Not a calico streak weaving around her ankles like ...

Her blue eyes– dispirited. Her ingenuity went down with the sun, but broke the promise that it would return at dawn. And how can one contently sit on their porch and savor their 5:13 A.M. coffee if the East has ceased to shine its rays?   I wondered what the world looked like on her ...