When Breslin gathers his breakfast and announces that the house is all mine to get ready for the day in private, I wait just long enough for him to close the door before I roll over and use my spare moments of privacy to cry into my pillow. Kota’s tags jingle and the bed depresses as she puts her paws near my shoulder, and laying her head close enough to my face that she can touch me with her nose. She whimpers and I sob into alien goose feathers—or whatever fluffy things plump the pillows—as I remind myself of all the reasons it’s worth going back home.
