Friends drifted.
Relationships began and ended.
Money disappeared.
Bills multiplied.
Bruno remained.
Every evening, when Michael returned from the warehouse smelling like cardboard, dust, and diesel exhaust, Bruno waited near the door.
Sometimes he meowed.
Sometimes he simply walked after Michael from room to room.
On particularly difficult nights, Michael lay on the couch with Bruno curled against his ribs.
He would stroke the cat’s back and say things no person ever heard.
“I’m tired, buddy.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep doing this.”
“I think Dad’s getting worse.”
“I wish Mom would stop pretending she isn’t scared.”
Bruno purred.
Cats do not solve problems.
Sometimes not being asked to solve them is useful.
The first stone lay beside Michael’s shoe when he woke that Tuesday.
Dark gray.
Rough.
About two inches long.
Mud clung to one side.
Michael picked it up.
“Bruno?”
The cat sat near the door.
Proud.
“What is this?”
Bruno meowed.
Michael looked at the stone.
Then at the cat.
“You brought me a rock.”
Bruno blinked.
“Very thoughtful.”
Michael opened the door and tossed it into the small patch of grass beside the walkway.
“Please don’t decorate.”
Bruno’s tail flicked.
The next morning, another stone appeared.
Different shape.
Same dark color.
Michael sighed.
“No.”
He picked it up.
Bruno followed.
Michael threw it outside.
“No rocks.”
Bruno stared through the door.
“You’re a cat.”
“Act like one.”
That evening, the same stone was back beside Michael’s couch.
Michael recognized it because one corner had a pale streak.
He looked at Bruno.
Bruno sat beside it.
“How did you even know which one?”
The cat purred.
Michael threw it farther away.
The next morning, Bruno brought a new one.
Then another.
Then two in one night.
The pattern developed quickly.
Bruno went outside through the cat flap after sunset.
He disappeared for twenty minutes.
Sometimes forty.
Then Michael heard the flap swing.
A small thump followed.
Stone on laminate flooring.
Bruno would announce himself with one loud meow.
Michael began recognizing the sequence without looking.
Flap.
Thump.
Meow.
“Bruno.”
Meow.
“No.”
The cat ignored him.
Michael tried removing the flap.
Bruno scratched the door for an hour.
At 2:15 in the morning, Michael reinstalled it.
“You win.”
Bruno walked outside immediately.
He returned thirty-seven minutes later.
Thump.
Michael stared at the ceiling.
“I hate you.”
Bruno jumped onto the bed.
He did not appear wounded.
The rocks were strange, but not obviously valuable.
Most were dark brown or nearly black.
Some had patches of reddish oxidation.
Others looked slightly metallic where mud had rubbed away.
Michael had seen landscaping stone that looked more interesting.
For almost two weeks, he threw every piece outside.
Bruno retrieved many of them.
Michael discovered the cat digging through the apartment complex trash once because Michael had dropped three rocks into the garbage.
Bruno climbed into the bin.
Michael found him with his head poking out through a torn grocery bag.
“You cannot be serious.”
Bruno had one of the stones in his mouth.
Michael lifted him out.
Bruno immediately carried the stone inside.
“Fine.”
Michael found an old shoebox.
He placed it near the door.
“If you insist on being a geologist, rocks go here.”
Bruno sniffed the box.
Then sat beside it.
The next evening:
Flap.
Thump.