“My cat hurt her paw,” he finally says. I blink into the darkness. “What?” “My cat,” he says again, slower this time. “Builín. She hurt her paw.” “You have a cat?” “Yes.” He nods. “I told you I take care of the strays.” “Taking care of the strays is different from I have a cat.” “Not to me.” He pauses. “They’re the only company I can keep. I want to make sure they’re doing well.” Well, that’s . . .cute.
