She clicked her tongue. Waited. A faint rustling answered somewhere in the brush. Then quiet again. Lisa stood motionless, straining her ears. Could’ve been a squirrel. Or the breeze. Or something else. She called once more and walked the length of the fence, peering under shrubs, behind flowerpots, even up the tree.
But the yard had turned into a still photograph. Too quiet. Too empty. And just like that, Nina was gone. Lisa didn’t panic. Cats disappeared all the time. They slipped into sheds, under porches, behind bushes. They curled up and napped in places you’d never think to look. That’s what she told herself as she walked the yard for the second time, then the third.