One evening, she wandered into the local hardware store. “I’m just—looking,” she muttered, though she had no real purpose to be there. A middle-aged clerk noticed her watery eyes and recognized her from the missing-cat flyers. “You still haven’t found him?” he asked gently.
She shook her head, fighting tears. “It’s been days. I don’t know what to do anymore.” The clerk offered a small flashlight. “Sometimes cats hide in the tightest spaces. Maybe you can check under your house or behind the vents. I’ve had luck that way before.” Though unsure, Eliza thanked him and took the flashlight, feeling a faint glimmer of possibility.