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Gerald heard the scratching noise as he cleared the table after dinner. He paused, plate in hand, to look at Christina. She stood with her head cocked, trying to locate the source of the sound.

"It sounds like it's coming from your front door," he said.

He followed her to the door. When she opened it, a tabby cat darted in. One ear was scarred and torn. It looked up at them and uttered a plaintive miaow. "Where did you come from?" Christina asked. The cat rubbed against her legs, purring.

Gerald stepped out the door and looked around. The muted roar of a lawnmower throbbed through the dusty evening. At the end of the block, old Mr. Ericson fussed over his lawn. It was the focus of his life, and worth every penny of his water bill, he insisted.

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Any takers?