Barnacle lifted her head and chirruped at the sight of him. Vee must’ve made her a new cushion—this one was black, embroidered with white thread. Around Barnacle’s curled up form, he could make out the edges of letters, but not enough to read what they said. “Hello, little lady,” he said, crouching and rubbing the top of her head, right between her ears. Her eyes half-closed as a purr rumbled through her.
