When Sammy passed, the silence in the house was heavy. Tigra waited at windows and doorways, ears twitching, always listening for tiny paws that never came. 

Then came Quigley. 

One pound of determined fluff and absolute delusion—Quigley marched in like he owned the place. Tail wagging, eyes bright, convinced that everyone, including the regal feline glaring at him, was his new best friend. 

Tigra wasn’t having it.