The bedroom looked as though someone had fought the furniture.
The nightstand had been dragged sideways. A chair was overturned near the door. There were fresh marks along the closet frame.
And Gus, who disappeared when a delivery driver knocked, had been sitting in plain sight.
By afternoon, the officer called with an update.
A specialist had looked at the photographs.
They wanted clearer pictures of Gus’s face, ears, and body.
I took them while he sat on the windowsill, watching the yard.
He tolerated my attention for about thirty seconds before turning his back.
The following day, the answer came.
Gus was a Pallas’s cat.
A manul.
A wild cat.
I sat with the phone against my ear, looking at the gray shape curled beside the radiator.
The specialist explained the features I had spent years treating as funny little quirks: his broad head, low rounded ears, dense coat, and unusual build.
