He said.
“Let him decide.”
Ten minutes.
Louie remained inside.
Eliza eventually reached in.
He let her lift him.
The moment his feet touched the unfamiliar carpet, his body flattened.
Ears back.
Pupils wide.
Tail beneath him.
Eliza had never seen him frightened like that.
“Lou?”
She whispered.
Lionel said:
“He needs time.”
Eliza knew that.
Every foster needed adjustment.
But Louie looked at the front door.
Then at Eliza.
His expression was not human.
She knew better than to assign human thoughts to cats.
Still, the feeling landed.
Don’t leave.
Eliza’s throat tightened.
“I should go.”
She said.
Lionel nodded sympathetically.
“Otherwise he’ll keep focusing on you.”
She stood.
Louie followed.
Eliza walked faster.
At the door, Lionel gently blocked Louie from slipping outside.
The cat cried.
One long sound.
Eliza closed the door.
Then sat inside her car for ten minutes and sobbed.
“This is the job.”
She whispered.
“Love them.”
“Help them.”
“Let them go.”
She repeated it until her breathing steadied.
For nine days, Lionel sent updates.
Day one:
Louie hiding beneath dining table.
Day two:
Still barely eating.
Day three:
Drank water.
Ate three bites.
Day four:
Ate half a meal.
Day six:
Eating normally.
Day seven:
Sat near Lionel for twenty minutes.
That should have reassured Eliza.
Instead, Lionel added:
“He spends most of the day near the front door.”
Day eight:
“He came onto my bed last night.”
Then:
“Left again after five minutes.”
Day nine.
11:08 p.m.
Eliza’s phone rang.
Lionel.
She knew before answering.
“He’s gone.”
Lionel said.
Her stomach dropped.
“How?”
“I stepped outside to collect a package.”
“The vestibule door wasn’t fully closed.”
“He slipped through.”
“How long?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes.”
Eliza was already pulling on jeans.
“It’s eighteen degrees.”
“I know.”
“Did you see which direction?”
“South.”
Toward Eliza.
The thought arrived immediately.
She hated herself for it.
They searched until two in the morning.
Then again at sunrise.
Volunteers checked barns.
Drainage culverts.
Garages.
Fields.
The county road.
A nearby feed store.
Farmhouses.
Louie’s photograph appeared in every local community group.
LOST GRAY CAT.
MICROCHIPPED.
GREEN EYES.
DO NOT CHASE.
CALL IMMEDIATELY.
No sightings.
Three days.
Five.
One week.
Snow fell.
Not much.
Enough.
Eliza drove the route between Lionel’s house and hers repeatedly.
Eight miles by road.
Possibly six cross-country.
Creek.
Fields.
Woods.
Two-lane highway.
Fences.
Frozen ground.
It seemed impossible.