And all would go as usual as the sun wheeled overhead, hidden by grey clouds. When it was time to leave, though, Zack would not find himself entirely alone.

"Maow."

It was almost more of a squeak than a meow and it came from the throat of a thin, rust-colored cat that was standing in Zack's boot prints on the sidewalk just as he'd finished locking up. The critter was a shorthair, had darker brown socks and an odd-shaped blotch on its back. Or maybe that was just dirt. It was honestly hard to tell.