At seven sharp the next morning, the knock came. Sophia wore a dark coat and carried a small suitcase. "Good morning," she said, her voice tighter than usual. "The key. Snowball might hide under the bed or in the closet; he's shy. But the sound of a can opening should draw him out." She meticulously repeated feeding times, portions, even the litter brand. "Trash collection is Thursday morning, if you could put the bags with mine..." I gently interrupted. "Sophia, I have the note. He'll be fine. Focus on your sister."
She took a deep breath and placed the key in my palm. It was cold. "Here's my number. Call anytime, for anything." She offered a card. "Thank you, Michael. Truly." Pulling her suitcase towards the elevator, she glanced back at her door, then at me. "See you in a week." After the elevator doors closed, I examined the key. An ordinary brass thing, yet it felt strangely heavy.
Her Departure
I stood by the kitchen window, watching the street below. A taxi idled. Sophia loaded her suitcase into the trunk and slid inside. The car drove off without pause. I checked my watch. Snowball was alone now. I decided to wait a few hours before my first visit, letting him adjust to the quiet.
I tried to work that morning, but distraction lingered. An elderly woman lived alone across the hall with a cat. That was all. Yet, I recalled her overly precise manner, her fleeting eye contact. Perhaps just her nature. Perhaps her sister was gravely ill. Shaking my head, I tried to dispel irrelevant thoughts. At noon, I picked up the key and crossed the hall.
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