IAN O'DOWD
The house had never sounded this large before.
Peter stood just inside the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle as it clicked shut behind him. Evening light stretched thinly across the wooden floor, catching in the dust he kept meaning to sweep but never quite noticed until the sun angled low enough to reveal it.
Usually, the moment he stepped inside, he was met with the percussion of claws against timber — the eager scramble, the sharp turn of bodies that couldn’t contain their happiness quickly enough.
Tonight, only two sets of paws greeted him.
Khaleesi lifted her head first, ears pricking as she rose from her bed near the radiator. Jodie followed more slowly, tail already moving in steady welcome.
Peter crouched automatically, letting their weight lean into him.
“Hey, girls,” he murmured.
His voice carried further than it used to.
The third bed remained where it had always been, tucked slightly crooked beside the others.
Empty.
He had thought about moving it earlier. Fold it away. Carry it out to the shed, maybe.
Instead, he had stepped around it that morning as if nothing had changed.
Khaleesi pressed her nose under his chin, warm and insistent.
He obliged her with a scratch behind the ear, fingers sinking into familiar fur.
