Meow.
Michael looked over.
The rock sat directly beside the box.
“You were so close.”
Over time, Bruno improved.
Most stones ended up inside.
The shoebox became too heavy to move easily.
Michael replaced it with a larger cardboard carton.
Then a second.
He stopped counting after forty-three.
Some were tiny.
Some weighed nearly a pound.
Bruno seemed to prefer specific ones.
Michael once brought home a decorative stone from outside work and dropped it into the collection to see what happened.
Bruno sniffed it.
Pushed it out of the box.
Michael stared.
“Oh, now we have standards.”
Bruno sat on the rejected stone until Michael removed it.
That was the first moment Michael wondered whether the cat actually recognized something different about the rocks.
He dismissed the idea.
Cats liked smells.
Textures.
Random objects.
Maybe Bruno had found a construction site.
Maybe some mineral smelled like rodents.
Maybe an alley contained stones coated in something interesting.
Michael had larger problems.
His warehouse schedule increased.
Holiday inventory had arrived early.
Ten-hour shifts became twelve.
Then management offered Saturdays at overtime.
Michael took every one.
His alarm rang at 4:50 a.m.
He showered.
Fed Bruno.
Drove twenty-seven minutes.
Clocked in.
Moved boxes.
Scanned pallets.
Wrapped freight.
Loaded trucks.
Unloaded trucks.
Listened to supervisors complain about labor efficiency.
Ate lunch from a vending machine more often than he admitted.
Then returned home after dark.
On Wednesdays, Diane called.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Eating?”
“Yes.”
A lie.
“Sleeping?”
“Mostly.”
Another lie.
“How’s Bruno?”
“Building a quarry.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Then his mother would tell him about Robert.
Blood sugar.
Appointments.
Medication.
The refrigerator making a noise.
The car needing brakes.
Michael listened.
Then sent what he could.
One month, he skipped his own dental cleaning because his father needed new diabetic shoes.
Another month, he paid the electric bill late.
He did not resent his parents.
That almost made the exhaustion worse.
If he had hated the obligation, anger might have given him energy.
He loved them.
Love is often expensive in ways nobody lists on tax forms.
Bruno’s rock collection grew.
Michael’s friend Danny Wu first saw it in October.
Danny worked at an auto-parts distributor nearby.
They had been friends since high school.
Danny was the kind of person who treated entering Michael’s apartment as permission to inspect the refrigerator.
He opened it.
“Dude.”
“What?”
“You have mustard, eggs, and half an onion.”
“I have ramen.”
“That’s not in the fridge.”
“Exactly.”
Danny closed the door.
“You live like someone waiting to be rescued from a shipwreck.”
Michael handed him a beer.
“Drink your free beer quietly.”
They sat on the balcony.
Bruno lay on the windowsill.
Danny asked:
“How’s your dad?”
“Same.”
“That means bad.”
“That means same.”
Danny did not push.
They talked about work.
Football.
A woman Danny had gone on three dates with and already suspected did not like him.
Then Bruno disappeared through the cat door.
Danny looked over.
“He goes out?”
“Every night.”
“Is that safe?”
“He’s twelve and ignores me.”
“Fair.”