Morning came with a heavy ache. She forced herself into a routine—shower, coffee, quick breakfast—each step mechanical. Even putting on her shoes felt like a monumental effort. At her front door, she hesitated, scanning the porch. No gray cat. She left once more to search the neighborhood, though she’d walked the same routes countless times.
On the third day, she ventured to Maplewood’s outskirts where older barns and abandoned sheds stood. She posted more flyers, calling Orion’s name into every hollow structure she could find. Wind rustled hay and kicked up dust motes in the beams of afternoon light. She spotted a few stray cats but not Orion.