Finally, I appeared, bleary-eyed and barefoot, holding a flashlight. “What on earth—”

 The beam landed on the scene: Wick sitting stoically in front of the door like an exasperated supervisor, Tigra crouched nearby ready to pounce, Quigley doing excited circles, and one very stuck raccoon frozen mid-break-in.

 I just sighed. “Again?”

 Wick blinked slowly, as if to say, You see what I deal with?

 It took a broom handle, a bit of coaxing, and one very indignant raccoon wriggling free before peace was restored. The raccoon disappeared into the night, and Quigley barked after him, convinced he’d just made a new best friend.

 Tigra sauntered off, muttering about raccoon stupidity. Wick returned to his chair, flicked his tail once, and closed his eyes.

 By the time I turned off the lights, he was already asleep—his job, as always, done.