Another month passed.
His weight increased steadily.
The hollows along his sides filled.
His coat became glossy black.
The gray I had mistaken for natural coloring disappeared after several baths and healthy shedding.
He developed opinions.
Strong ones.
Breakfast should happen earlier.
The couch belonged to him.
Rain was unacceptable.
The mail carrier required observation.
Bananas were suspicious.
Chicken was not.
And the word “foster” made everyone except Sombra laugh.
People began asking whether he was available for adoption.Get Adoption Help
Each time I gave the same answer.
“Not yet.”
At first, that was medically true.
Then one afternoon Dr. Morris examined him and said, “He’s cleared for normal placement with sensible restrictions.”
I stared at her.
“Placement.”
“Adoption.”
“I know what the word means.”
She smiled.
“Sombra can be adopted.”
I looked down at him.
He was sitting beside my chair.
His body leaned against my leg.
