"We threw in a flea treatment for free!" the receptionist at the animal clinic said brightly.
Thomas watched her running his credit card for $2,178 and with difficulty discarded his first four mental replies, settling for just saying nothing. He set his new cat carrier on the counter. Earlier today, he had purchased the basic cat starter supplies at a pet store, including a mouse and a jingle ball, though he wondered sadly how long it would be until Jet was playing with them.
"I wanted to ask if you could sedate him heavily for the trip home. From yesterday, I think he's afraid of cars and the sound of a car door opening. That's probably how he was thrown out. He totally panicked getting in the car, even worse than when I grabbed him in the parking lot. He'll know me a lot better by the time he needs a recheck, and we can work on things before then, but for tonight, I'm afraid he'd hurt himself banging around while I was driving him home."
The receptionist took the carrier. "I'm sure we can do that. Poor little guy. I'll ask the vet on duty; she wants to talk to you anyway." She disappeared with the carrier into the back, and Thomas wandered over to the board where business cards and advertisements were posted, reading it. He could never resist anything unread in his vicinity. After a few minutes, he heard footsteps, and he turned around as the vet came out.
This was a different vet from the one he had talked to yesterday on the phone. She was holding a medicine bottle with a dropper top and offered that to him. "We'll give him something for the trip home, and he shouldn't even know it happened. He'll take about a 2-hour very deep nap. Will that work for you?"
"That's fine." He accepted the bottle, reading the label.
"That's a long-acting narcotic. We had Jet on IV pain meds yesterday and last night after the surgery, but he's had this today, and it seems to be working fine. The pain is much less now that the bones are back in place and held together, but we want him to be comfortable. He'll get that every 12 hours, dosage on the label, and we put it in a tuna-flavored base. He'll probably drink it straight; you won't even have to syringe him."
Thomas had had a few experiences of dosing cats in the past, never pleasant memories. "I appreciate that."
"He was pretty out of it yesterday, but he's eating very well today. He's a little underweight. Not being starved, but I don't think he was being fed like a kitten should, either. He has big paws. He'll probably be a large cat eventually."
She shifted gears. "About his leg, this splint is totally encasing it. He's walking on the main metal loop of the splint that goes up and attaches to other pieces around his body. That transfers all the pressure to his torso. The leg itself can't possibly touch the floor, and the joints of it aren't taking any weight while things heal. It's awkward, but he's adjusting well so far today, and he'll adjust even better out of the cage with room to practice moving. He shouldn't be able to shift it, but if you do notice that it's slipping, give us a call, of course. We tried to be careful of his bruised ribs on the other side securing it around him, but there was no way to avoid them totally."
Thomas flinched, thinking of Greg. "He's just bruised along that side," the vet reassured him. "Those aren't broken or even cracked, and we had to keep pressure off the socket of the shoulder joint. But we'll keep him on the pain meds for the next two weeks at least, and his side should be almost healed by then. We need to see him in two weeks for x-rays to make sure everything looks okay and might have to adjust the splint at that time, too. He's growing, and he also should be gaining weight. He's a little nervous when people approach right now but settles down quickly with gentle handling, and he seems to be a total love bug. He does know what a litter box is, but he'll need a low-sided one for a while."
Thomas nodded. "I got a shallow one today."
"That's pretty much it. He should be surprisingly active in a few days when he gets fully adjusted to his splint, but until then, do your best to make sure he doesn't fall off anything. He doesn't need to be climbing or jumping yet, not until his balance is better. Give us a call if you have any questions at all. Somebody is here 24/7." She held out a hand across the counter, and he shook it. "And thank you, Mr. Thornton. It's good to run into people like you, especially right after being reminded of people like his old ones."
"I wish I knew their identity," he said. "I didn't see a car pulling away or anything. Jet was just sitting in the middle of the parking lot trying to lick his paw."
"He wouldn't have traveled far, and he would have been hiding if somebody had already tried to catch him, not sitting in the middle of the pavement. It probably just happened." She sighed. "Anyway, he should do fine now. Things look very good on x-ray. I think in a few months, he won't even know it happened." She turned away. "I'll give him a shot and bring him up for you."
A few minutes later, she returned with the carrier. Thomas looked through the metal grill door. Jet was rolled into a black ball with the splint on top and sticking out; it looked almost as big as he was. The kitten was sleeping peacefully. "Goodbye, little Jet," the vet said. "We'll see you in two weeks."
The evening traffic seemed unusually light this Monday as Thomas drove home, and he made good time. The clinic had asked him to pick up Jet in the very late afternoon, wanting to monitor him all day before releasing him, and it was heading for 6:00 as he entered Princeton. Stopping at a light, he looked over at the sleeping kitten in the carrier in the passenger's seat. Jet hadn't stirred the whole trip.
An idea suddenly occurred to Thomas. Rachel had been persistent in her questions the night before, wanting to meet the kitten, and had been disappointed when Thomas explained that Jet had a lot of adjustments to make after a rough experience and that it would probably be a day or two at least after he got home before he was settled in and ready for visitors. This might be an excellent opportunity to pacify Rachel with a sneak peak in a way that wouldn't add more stress to Jet. He pulled out his cell phone.
"Hi, Thomas." Lisa sounded stressed.
"May I come over for a few minutes?"
"What kind of stupid question is that?" she snapped. "Of course you can come over. You don't have to walk on eggshells just because . . ." She pulled herself up and took a deep breath.
"Tough day?" he asked sympathetically.
"Very." He heard footsteps as she obviously retreated to another room, and her voice was softer when she continued. "Greg had a really tough case come up today, somebody we know, although I can't give you details. I'm worried, and so is he. And it's a challenge medically, not a simple answer. He probably won't be home tonight. You're welcome to come over, Thomas. The girls would like to see you, and you could join all of us for dinner. It might help dealing with Rachel and Abby. They know he has to be working sometimes, but they're young enough that they still get all on edge when he's gone." He heard the longing behind her voice. The girls weren't the only ones on edge the evenings that Greg was gone.
"Your parents are there right now, too?" he asked, reading between the lines.
"Yes. They just got here for the evening."
"I can't stay for dinner. I literally meant for a few minutes; I'm bringing Jet home. He's sedated at the moment and totally out for the trip, and I thought Rachel might like a quick peak at him, but I've got to get on home before he wakes up."
He heard her smile. "She would like that. She's already asked about him once just since I've been home. Okay, come on for a minute. I'll explain to her that you can't stay long."
"I'll see you in about ten minutes." He hung up and drove on, deep in thought. The issues between Lisa and her parents obviously ran deep, and he didn't want to interfere, but she sounded stretched to the limit tonight. He wondered whether it was her parents added to this case or this case added to her parents.
Both girls were waiting eagerly at the front door as he entered with the carrier. "Shhh!" Rachel said immediately. "Jet's asleep." She turned to her sister just to drive the point home. "Shhh, Abby!"
Thomas smiled at her. Such a bundle of open-hearted life, Rachel was. "That's right, Rachel. He's asleep, but I don't think we'll wake him up right now. They gave him some medicine at the clinic." He turned from her to greet the others. "Hello, Abby. Lisa, Robert, Susan." The Cuddys still looked wary, though hiding it, and Lisa looked even more stressed in person than she had sounded on the phone.
Abby, on the other hand, was fascinated. She stood on tiptoe, trying to peer into the cat carrier. "Big Band-Aid," she commented.
"Very big Band-Aid. His leg's all wrapped up. Here, let's go over to the couch, and I'll get him out." He set the carrier down on the cushions and opened the wire door, sliding the kitten out.
The girls pressed in. Rachel was all sympathy, petting Jet's head gently as if afraid even that would hurt him. Abby launched right into an inspection, hands on, of the complicated splint.
"Don't try to move it, Abby," Thomas said. The main piece of the splint was a long wire loop that extended from below the paw to clear up above the shoulder, with Jet's leg tightly encased in the middle of it, wrapped in so firmly that the fur wasn't even visible. The metal loop attached to other pieces around the kitten's torso, transferring weight and pressure when he stood, with webbing around all of it for padding.
"Can he walk?" Abby asked. She was still fingering the splint, though more gently now.
"Yes, he kind of thumps around on it, they say. See, here's the bottom of his paw." He pointed out the indentation in the bandages below the shrouded limb. "The loop goes on below that, and when he stands up, he's standing on it, not his leg."
"Poor Jet." Rachel was still petting his head. Thomas took a moment to inspect his new friend himself, the first real chance he'd had. Jet appropriately seemed to be solid black, unless he had a few white hairs somewhere hidden under the bandages. He did indeed have large paws, as well as a long tail.
A snarl broke into the scene, starting low and then running up like a storm siren, as Belle jumped onto the couch. She looked about twice her normal size, totally puffed out, and she bared her teeth and hissed at the kitten.
Lisa sighed. "She hates other cats. I'd forgotten that. There was once she smelled somebody else's kitten on Greg, and she was barely speaking to him for a few days."
"No! Bad Belle! Be nice!" Rachel told her. Belle ignored the command and approached stiff legged. She stopped almost out of reach as if she might be contaminated by getting any closer and leaned in to inspect the kitten. A deep growl rumbled in her chest.
"He's not going to live here, Belle," Thomas told her. "But he's just a kitten. A poor, hurt kitten. He isn't doing a thing to you." Indeed, Jet was oblivious, which seemed to annoy Belle. The kitten was sleeping peacefully, deaf to the symphony of feline sound effects.
Belle came half a step closer, sniffing. Thomas watched carefully, but he didn't think she'd actually hurt him. Almost all feline interactions he'd seen over the years between adult cats, even offended ones, and kittens had been more dramatic than injurious. Belle sniffed the splint, her ears flattening as she smelled a vet. She hissed again.
"Stop it!" Rachel commanded her. Abby, meanwhile, was watching like she was recording this encounter in a manual of feline behavior.
"Don't let her hurt him, Thomas," Lisa warned.
"I don't think she will." Belle indeed hadn't actually bitten or scratched yet. She sniffed Jet over thoroughly, growling all the while, then came back for another thorough close-up investigation of the splint. Jet still hadn't moved. Belle hissed, but he still didn't respond. She reached out slowly and licked his head, then growled deeply. Interspersed with a constant stream of growls and hisses, she started carefully washing one of his black ears.
"Why does she lick him and grrr him, too?" Abby asked.
"She's a woman," Thomas said, unable to resist.
Robert snorted, fighting back a surprised laugh as Susan glared at him. Lisa rolled her eyes, obviously thinking that Thomas could sound exactly like his son at times.
Abby, of course, got annoyed. "No! Why?" She hated answers she didn't understand.
Thomas relented. "Belle is confused, Abby." The white cat glared at him and growled again. "Jet is a strange cat, and he's in her home. She doesn't like that. She doesn't want him here. But she also realizes that he's a small kitten who is hurt, and that makes her feel like protecting him. So she's feeling two different things at the same time. Have you ever felt two different things at the same time?" Abby considered and nodded.
"Does Belle want a kitten?" Rachel asked.
Lisa stepped in firmly. "No! Belle does not want a kitten. You'd better get him on home before he wakes up, Thomas." Thomas grinned and started to carefully insert Jet back in the carrier.
Lisa's cell phone rang at that moment, and she pulled it out quickly. "Greg? Any progress?" Her face fell. "You'll work it out. Okay, just a minute. Rachel? Abby? Daddy wants to talk to you for a minute. Who wants to go first?" Rachel, hung between the kitten and the call, hesitated a little too long, and her sister beat her to the draw. Lisa handed over the phone. "You'll get your turn in just a minute, Rachel."
Thomas closed the carrier door and moved over, taking Lisa by the elbow and pulling her aside. "He's not coming home tonight?" he asked softly.
She shook her head. "They're still stuck medically. And this one is personal. That makes it harder for him." Her eyes drifted toward her parents slightly before she caught herself.
Thomas gave her arm a squeeze. "I've got to go, but you can call me tonight if you need to talk."
She squared her shoulders, even while giving him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Thomas."
He picked up the carrier as Abby handed the phone off to Rachel, and he left. Once out in the BMW, he sat there in the driver's seat for a moment, replaying looks and tones and overtones from the evening. Finally, he pulled out a notepad that he kept in the glove compartment and wrote firmly.
If you want a real conversation, no holds barred, here's my address. I'm willing, but we aren't going to do it in front of Greg, Lisa, or the girls. Come by Tuesday afternoon some time. Thomas
He added his new address, then folded the paper and slipped back out of the driver's seat. The note was quickly tucked under the windshield wiper of the Cuddys' Rolls. Returning to his own car, he pulled out and headed for home.
Once there, he made a few final kitten preparations, then settled down in his favorite chair with a book and with the sleeping kitten in his lap. His eyes wandered off the page a few times, looking around the living room. Things were almost in place now, just the final touches of unpacking and settling in. A few items had been moved out into the front of the garage now while he was testing their absence, working on figuring out what he would have to get rid of to fit comfortably into his new home.
So many changes. This was a good house, a comfortable-feeling house, but he was still learning to think of it as his. He knew the process would take a while. What with the military, he'd moved many times in life, but his last place in St. Louis for all those decades had been the last place to his mind for so long. He and Emily had never expected to move again.
Well, life had other ideas. He knew well enough by now that life was full of changes. His mind retreated back to that first big change, that spring day long ago that the stability of his world had abruptly shattered with the news of his parents' death.
Determinedly pulling himself out of reliving that childhood turmoil and old grief after a few minutes, he looked down at Jet and once again inspected for any white hairs at all. He could find none. A pure black cat. His memory from yesterday was that the eyes were yellow. They were closed now. Jet slept on, removed at the moment from memories of his own recent upheaval. The changes from now on in his life, at least, would be good.
Not that all of those in Thomas' life had been bad, he reminded himself. He had had a wonderful marriage, a fantastic family, and now, at a point he never would have expected it, he had another family to fit into. He even had grandkids. He smiled, thinking of his granddaughters looking over Jet.
Studying the kitten, he suddenly thought of Ruth Patterson from yesterday. An interesting woman and a good conversationalist. He had enjoyed talking to her over lunch. She had remarkable eyes, too.
Maybe, someday, given time, that might turn into something more. There was a long way to go before approaching that possibility, of course, and he and Emily had been too good of friends for him to accept any lesser foundation for a relationship. But it might happen down the road. He'd have to see what further changes life had left for him, even in his senior years.
It was still painful to think of himself being with anybody except Emily. That much didn't surprise him; what surprised him was that it was possible.
His eyes drifted to the painting of the mountains, hung in a prominent spot that seemed made to order for it on the living room walls. It was the best thing he'd ever done by far, and he knew it. That had been his present to Emily for their 25th wedding anniversary, painted carefully at a friend's house, hiding the work from her. She had loved it, and he had promised her another special painting for their 50th. He remembered that night, the celebration of their love, talking confidently about the future as if they knew what it would bring. They hadn't made it to their 50th, missing by mere months, and he hadn't had physical or mental energy to spare for the whole last year to draw or paint.
He remembered the morning he woke up, as he thought of it, in Europe after her death. He had been obsessed with caring for her to the point of neglecting himself for months before the end, and he was too exhausted and numb to even fully feel the grief when he first fled. He sometimes thought he had slept for the first several months, barely aware of where he was, only aware of where he wasn't.
Then one morning, he had woken up to the sound of a bird singing, and he had looked out the window as if surprised to discover birds and the sun and the other routine things continuing after her death. He was apparently in Switzerland, though he barely remembered arriving there, and outside the hotel room window were the mountains. The beautiful, painful lines of them had taken him straight back to that painting, and for the first time when he was awake and physically present enough to feel the grief fully, he had broken down and cried.
He looked around his new house. She was gone. And he wasn't. Their love was still there, but he knew she would have been glad for him in his new life with Greg and Lisa and the granddaughters. She had always loved black cats. He wondered if she had sent him this one, and his lips quirked as he shot a mental remark heavenward that she might have found a cheaper one if she wanted him to have a pet for company.
Jet stirred and stretched in his lap, and Thomas set the book aside, waiting. He stroked the black fur, and the kitten gave a sleepy purr. Another few minutes, and the eyes opened. Jet looked around him with a vaguely puzzled expression as he took in the completely unfamiliar environment that had suddenly replaced the cage at the clinic. His world had had too many confusing shifts the last day and a half for him to understand. "Hello there, Jet," Thomas said. "We haven't actually been introduced yet, have we?"
Jet looked back at him, leaning into the hand scratching his ears for just a moment before the memory clicked. He tensed up and scrambled backwards, almost falling over, then catching his precarious balance, propped against the metal loop on the splint. He couldn't run, and he realized it. Thomas reached for him, and he hissed.
"Yes, I know. You remember me grabbing you, don't you?" Thomas hated to think what that must have felt like across the unrepaired fracture. He hadn't been able to be gentle at the time, desperate to gain any hold possible in the tight quarters underneath the car as the kitten tried to bolt past him. He'd expected that Jet would remember him as part of the pain at first even though he hadn't been the one to throw him. "Well, I apologize, Jet, but I didn't have any choice. It was for your own good." He scratched the kitten's ears again, then gently picked him up and set him on the floor next to the plate he already had prepared. "Would you accept a can of Fancy Feast as a peace offering?"
Jet quickly decided that he would accept a can of Fancy Feast as a peace offering. He devoured it, clearing the plate like a feline vacuum cleaner and then polishing the surface three times over just to ensure he hadn't missed a morsel. Thomas kept talking to him and petting him throughout while the kitten was busy with his meal.
After he was convinced that the saucer was empty, Jet sat back and tried to wash up, immediately running into difficulties. Face washing required two front paws, one for bracing and one for scrubbing, and he didn't have the trick of balancing against the splint down completely yet.
Thomas retrieved a paper towel and moistened it. "It's all right, Jet. We'll give your mother credit for teaching you to be a proper cat, but you're going to have to have a little help with doing your face for a while. Either that or learn to do it lying down."
Jet didn't like having his face washed off, squirming and trying to pull away, reminding Thomas irresistibly of a human toddler protesting the same parental attention. Once he had finished, Thomas offered Jet a cat treat. The kitten sniffed it, puzzled for the first few seconds. He understood food in a dish, but cat treats were obviously a new concept. His nose quickly passed verdict, and he bolted it down as if afraid it might disappear. Thomas handed him another one, making him take it from his palm that time, like Ember with a carrot.
Jet finished it and looked up at Thomas. "Mow!" he said, half question, half demand, already starting to consider Thomas' qualifications as food dispenser rather than pursuer and seizer of injured kittens. Thomas marveled again at the speed with which animals could forgive and wished that remembered pain could be left behind that easily with humans.
"One more," he said. "Not all the time, Jet." He gave him another treat.
Jet crunched it down, then looked back up at the man. "Mow!" he repeated, less of a question that time.
Thomas chuckled. "Your voice is smaller than you are, even. Not that I'm objecting. No more treats at the moment, but there are other good things in life for you. At least there are now, Jet." He reached down and scratched the black ears, and Jet started to purr. "Definitely have an 8-cylinder engine in there, even if the meow hasn't caught up with it."
He picked the kitten up again, and Jet didn't struggle this time. "Okay, this is your new home, Jet. You'll want to take the grand tour yourself, but let me show you a few areas of interest." He pointed out the official feeding station in the kitchen, and Jet took a few crumbles of Kitten Chow and a lap of water but only after inspecting the (empty) plate and giving him a hopeful look. Thomas laughed. "You'll get the wet food twice a day. That isn't there all the time." He showed the kitten the litter box and then the plush cat bed, keeping up the stream of conversation and using the name Jet as often as possible.
Finally, he set him down again on his three-and-a-half legs. "Feel free to explore for yourself," he told him.
Jet obviously had a healthy share of feline curiosity when not terrorized and in extreme pain. He limped around, sniffing things and inspecting corners, enjoying being out of his cage, and Thomas watched him. The splint didn't seem to be hurting him, just making things awkward. Jet's balance wasn't quite right with it yet, but he was adjusting quickly.
Thomas resumed his current project of hanging pictures. He didn't have a picture wall solidly covered like Blythe's old house, but he had always kept pictures of the family around, and here, for the first time, he was able to display proudly the shots of Greg. Not only that, but Lisa and the grandkids. They were right here sharing walls with Emily, Tim, and the rest of Thomas' family. It felt deeply right. He only wished that all of them could have known each other.
Jet bumped around the house, to the bowl of Kitten Chow, in and out of the litter box. He came back to visit Thomas regularly with a "Mow!" that always produced an ear scratch and once another cat treat, then was off exploring again. Once or twice, he fell over for a power nap briefly before resuming his tour. Thomas found himself smiling as he worked. He'd forgotten how good it felt to have company at home, another being that belonged here and wouldn't be leaving in an hour.
Thomas could tell when the long-acting painkillers Jet was on started to wear off and awkward balance became more tentative. The pain was nothing like yesterday in the parking lot, but it was obviously getting more uncomfortable. Thomas fixed him a saucer of his narcotic tuna juice in the kitchen at the feeding station, and Jet slurped it down.
Once he was finished, Thomas picked him up again and took him to the cat bed, the most softly plush one he had been able to find in the store, hopefully easy on injured spots. "Here you go, Jet. I'm afraid you'll be sleeping at ground level for a little while. Eventually, that will change, but we don't want you to fall off anything trying to jump down." He tucked him in and scratched his ears until the kitten was looking drowsy, then pulled a soft fleece blanket half over him.
Thomas prepared for bed himself. Picking up a book again, he climbed in. He had learned in the first week after Emily's death to never get in bed alone without a book. The chasm on the other side was simply too painful without distraction. His thoughts often wandered back to her instead of the pages, and many evenings, he had no idea what he'd read by the time he turned out the light, but it helped a little.
He settled in under the covers, reading, but after a few pages, his eyes went to the wall. The painting was not there. It had hung in their bedroom all those years, but it was in the living room now in his new house. The walls and layout of this bedroom were different; it wouldn't even look right with the current setup.
"Do you need some more medicine?"
Emily shook her head weakly but firmly. "Not yet." She paused for breath. "It's not that bad yet."
He read the lie in her eyes. "It's okay, love. You don't need to be hurting."
"No, Thomas. I don't want to waste the time. There isn't . . . enough left to waste. Please, not yet."
He gave in and slid into bed beside her, then behind her, pulling her over tenderly into his lap so that she leaned back against him. He could feel the ribs protruding and the roughness of her spine. It was like embracing a shadow.
She leaned back, their bodies fitting together perfectly, adjusting to each other automatically, even now. "You're too thin."
He thought it was his own thought voiced at first before he realized the words were hers. "I'm all right, Em." He knew he wasn't, knew that he was drawing on physical reserves that weren't present. The hospice workers chewed him out regularly for the same thing, but he didn't care. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered except being there for her. He would be there for her, always, every moment. Any time her eyes opened, he would be there for her. That fierce mission had replaced the abandoned quest to find a cure.
"Thomas, you need . . ." She broke off with a cough, and he held her, feeling the spasm wracking his own body. The tumor had metastasized to multiple places, including her lungs. Including the spine whose angles he was so aware of at the moment.
He reached out for the glass of water, grateful for his long arms, and held it for her after the cough had stilled. She took a few sips, and he put it back. He could almost feel the pain, a third and unwanted member of their embrace, but she was being so brave. She wouldn't take the most powerful medicines until she had no choice but to rest. They put her too far out of it, and as she had said, there wasn't much time left. Both Thomas and Emily knew it.
He looked up at the painting. "Emily. Look at the mountains." Her head turned as she followed his thought. "Do you remember that day? The most brilliant blue imaginable in the sky. The mountains looked painted even then. And we could hear the river running. The wind was blowing just enough to play with us, to encourage us along. It was glad for us, too."
Her face was turned away, but he felt her smile. "I remember."
"There was a hawk up above it, soaring. Look, you can see him in the picture. Lazy loops around in the air back and forth. He was so free, could have gone anywhere, but there wasn't any place he'd rather be."
She was relaxing against him as her mind traveled back across the years to a place the cancer and even the pain couldn't follow. He kept recalling the day, painting it all over again in words, and he barely had enough time for gratitude when she fell asleep before his exhausted body followed her.
A squeak and scramble interrupted his thoughts, and Thomas put down his neglected book and looked over the edge into slightly sleepy yellow eyes. The kitten was trying to three-point his way up the side of the bed, advancing slowly but relentlessly. He gave another miniature meow as he saw Thomas, then unhooked his left front and grabbed again a split second later before he could fall, gaining another inch.
Thomas smiled and reached down to lift him the rest of the way, being careful of the splint and the bruised ribs. "Determined little thing, aren't you? Good for you. All right, Jet, you win. You can sleep up here. But be sure to let me know if you want down and don't try to jump yet. You have a limited supply of legs."
Jet settled down next to him, blinking as he listened, and started his motor. He leaned a little more toward Thomas' hand, and Thomas obligingly scratched his ears. "Things are going to be all right, Jet," he said. The kitten laid his head down and closed his eyes, but the outsized purr continued.
Thomas reached over and switched off the light. Jet was tucked against his side, and Thomas hung a mental note for his subconscious not to roll over on him. Fortunately, he was a fairly stable sleeper. The purr filled the room, volume increasing even more as Thomas scratched his ears again.
It wasn't the same. Not the same at all. But even so, the big bed felt less lonely now.