The cat purred.
When they reached her apartment building, Margaret held Tessa’s hand through the open window.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Margaret looked toward the cat.
“He used to sleep right here.”
She touched her own chest.
“Every night.”
Tessa swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
Margaret nodded.
Then she left.
Tessa watched her enter the building.
When she turned back, the cat had returned to the passenger seat.
“You know something I don’t?”
He looked at her.
The afternoon continued.
Not everyone loved him.
A woman in running clothes asked whether the car was sanitary.
Tessa offered another taxi.
The woman decided to stay but sat as far from the cat as possible.
She tipped nothing.
A college student spent twenty minutes recording videos and nearly forgot his backpack.
A mother with twins had to physically restrain both children from trying to carry the cat home.
Then, shortly after three, Tessa picked up an older man with a cane.
His name was Walter.
He entered slowly.
He did not acknowledge the cat.
He did not acknowledge Tessa beyond confirming the destination.
He sat behind the passenger seat and looked through the window.
Tessa drove.
Traffic was slow.
She checked the mirror occasionally.
At some point, the cat disappeared from the front seat.
She glanced back.
He was sitting beside Walter.
The old man’s right hand rested on the cat’s back.
His face remained turned toward the window.
Tears ran down both cheeks.
Tessa immediately looked away.
Some moments did not need witnesses.
They finished the ride in silence.
At the destination, Walter paid.
Then pressed a folded twenty-dollar bill into Tessa’s hand.
The fare was only eleven.
“You don’t need to…”
He closed her fingers around it.
“Thank you.”
His voice was rough.
That was all.
He walked away.
Tessa sat watching him until he disappeared inside the building.
Fourteen fares.
Three passengers had cried.
Several had laughed.
Five tipped extra.
Two asked whether the cat was available for adoption.
One teenager invented a business model.
And Tessa still did not know his name.
At 5:21 p.m., she signed out early.
Ray called.
“Cat still there?”
“Yes.”
“Take it home.”
“That’s the plan.”
“You mean to the address.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Not your apartment.”
Tessa smiled.
“Good night, Ray.”
“Tessa.”
She hung up.
Rush hour turned the forty-minute drive into nearly an hour.
The cat became more alert as they moved south.
At first, Tessa thought she imagined it.
Then they turned onto Fairview Road.
The cat sat upright.
His ears moved forward.
His tail flicked.
Tessa looked at him.
“You know this?”
No response.
She turned onto Fairview Lane.
The neighborhood was older.
Small houses.
Mature trees.
Narrow driveways.
Numbers appeared.
Tessa slowed.
The GPS announced:
Your destination is on the right.