The morning started like every other morning.
Frost woke to the sensation of something warm and sprawled across his pillow like a tiny, furry mohawk. Solstice. She’d somehow managed to drape herself directly over his head, belly up, paws stretched in four different directions with the kind of absolute abandon only cats and small children could achieve—a kittyhawk
She stirred when he moved, rolling just enough to yawn directly in his face. Her breath smelled like the dry food she’d crunched at midnight when she thought no one was listening.
“You’re ridiculous,” Frost murmured, but he didn’t move her. Not yet.
Alder was still asleep, buried under covers. Coffey was pressed against Alder’s side, taking up a frankly unreasonable amount of mattress real estate. His tags jingled softly as he readjusted, draping one heavy paw over Alder’s arm. Smoke was curled near the pillows, long and plush with that slight belly flap that made him look like a white teddy bear. Ducati had already vanished—probably under the bed where she felt safest.
Their whole world, contained in one room. Guests in Alder’s mother’s house, where other cats already lived, had first claimed everywhere else. So this was theirs. One bedroom. Three cats, one dog, two humans, and everything they owned.
By the time the sun had properly risen and light filtered through the single window, Solstice had repositioned herself. Now she was on Frost’s chest, front paws pressing rhythmically into his abdomen, making sharp biscuits. Push, release. Push, release. Her claws extended just slightly with each press—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind him she had them.
Frost petted her, running his hand down her back in long, slow strokes. She purred, eyes half-closed in contentment.
“Are you making breakfast, or is she?” Alder’s voice came from under the covers, still thick with sleep.
“She’s helping.”
“Helping or demanding?”
“Both, probably.”
Solstice’s purr intensified. Push, release. Push, release.
Then Ducati emerged from wherever she’d been hiding and added her voice to the morning chorus. A sharp, insistent meow. Smoke squeaked from his spot near the pillows—barely audible, but present.
“I think they’re voting on breakfast,” Frost said.
“Democracy in action.” Alder pulled the covers over their head. “Wake me when it’s ready.”
“You’re supposed to help.”
“Coffey’s still asleep. That means I’m still asleep.”
Frost looked at the dog, who was indeed still pressed against Alder’s side, eyes closed, completely unbothered by the feline chorus around him. Service dog priorities.
“Fair point.”
At 8:30—not a minute earlier, because cats needed to learn patience even if they never actually would—Frost carefully extracted himself from under Solstice and gathered the three empty bowls from inside their carriers. He slipped out of the bedroom, heading for the laundry room where the pet food bins lived, stacked atop the washing machine. He measured out portions in the kitchen, listening to the muffled sounds of anticipation from the other side of the door.
When he came back, bowls in hand, he opened the door carefully.
The race was immediate.
Solstice shot toward the first carrier—the white and grey one—even as Frost was still lowering the bowl into it. She was halfway inside before his hand cleared the opening, diving face-first into her breakfast with single-minded determination.
Ducati tried to squeeze into the same carrier, but Solstice’s tail lashed a warning. The small black cat diverted to the charcoal carrier instead, approaching on her own terms—a brief pause at the threshold before she decided the moment was hers and slipped inside.
Smoke waited. Patient. Polite. A gentleman.
Once his sisters were settled, he padded over to the light blue and black carrier—the last available—and stepped inside with quiet dignity. His long body barely fit, plush fur and belly flap making him look even bigger in the confined space, but he folded himself in anyway and began eating with methodical precision.
Coffey still hadn’t moved from his bed. Wouldn’t, until Alder got up. He was their service dog, after all. His loyalty had a specific direction.
Frost left them to their breakfast and headed to the kitchen. He turned the knob on the stove—click, click, click—until the flame caught under the cast iron pan. He cracked eggs onto the heated surface, sunny-side up, yolks still round and perfect. Salt, pepper. A lid set over them to steam.
Grits in another pot—milk instead of water, parmesan stirred in until it melted into pale, creamy swirls. The smell mixed with coffee still gurgling in the maker.
When everything was ready, he returned to the bedroom.
“Alder. Breakfast.”
A groan from under the covers. “Coffee first.”
In a blink, Coffey’s head shot up. His ears perked forward. His tags jingled as he sat up on the bed, tail starting to wag.
“Coffee’s ready,” Frost continued.
Coffey stood, fully alert now, looking between them expectantly.
“Then I’ll consider getting up,” Alder said.
“Consider harder. Your eggs are getting cold.”
“Eggs don’t have feelings.”
“These ones do. They’re very sensitive.”
“The eggs are wise,” Alder said, finally emerging from under the covers, hair sticking up in three directions.
Coffey realized they were not talking about him at all. His ears drooped. He sat back down with a small huff.
“Sorry, buddy,” Frost said, reaching over to pat the mounds above Coffey’s eyes—his hoobs, the spots he loved having rapped on with firm pats.
Coffey leaned into the pats, tail thumping against the mattress. All was forgiven.
They sat in the kitchen with their bowls. Frost broke his yolk with the edge of his fork, watching the golden liquid bleed into the cheese and grits. He reached for the bottle of chipotle Tabasco sauce and drizzled it over his bowl.
Alder watched him do it. “You know I’m deathly allergic to that, right?”
“I’m aware.”
“So what if I want to make out later?”
“Then I’ll brush my teeth. Thoroughly. And rinse my beard.”
“How thoroughly?”
“Extremely thoroughly.”
“Define extremely.”
“Until you’re satisfied.”
“That could take a while.”
“Then it takes a while.” Frost stirred the red sauce into his grits. “Worth it.”
Alder smiled despite themselves. “I’m holding you to that.”
“This is good,” Alder said after the first bite.
“You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true every time.”
“I use the same recipe every time.”
“Consistency is underrated.” Alder reached for the coffee. “Especially in grits.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Frost said, “We need to leave by ten if we want to beat traffic.”
Alder snorted into their coffee. “We’re not going to beat traffic.”
“We could try.”
“We’re going to Austin. There is no beating Austin traffic. It’s a law of physics.”
“I refuse to accept that.”
“Accept it anyway. Traffic doesn’t care about your feelings.”
“The eggs said the same thing.”
“The eggs are wise.”
Frost smiled despite himself. “So ten-thirty?”
“Ten-fifteen if you’re lucky.”
“I’ll take it.”
They finished eating and rinsed their bowls in the sink. Alder pulled out a metal tumbler—insulated, suitable for keeping ice frozen—and started making an iced coffee for the road. They’d learned the hard way that gas station coffee was both expensive and usually disappointing.
“You want one?” Alder asked.
“I’m good.”
“Your loss.”
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At 9:45, they started getting ready. Alder went to find a cross-stitch to work on during the drive. Frost went to the bedroom to put away laundry in the closet—folding and stacking, trying to make efficient use of the limited space they had.
“We’re leaving Coffey here today,” Alder called from somewhere in the house. “There’s not going to be room in the car.”
“You sure?” Frost called back.
“Yeah. It’s only a few hours till Mom gets home. They’ll be fine.”
When Frost emerged from the closet, Solstice was at the door.
She lay directly in front of it, sprawled across the threshold like a tiny, furry barricade. Not near it. Not beside it. Right in the way.
Frost paused, keys already in his pocket.
“Baby girl, I need to leave.”
She didn’t move. Just looked up at him with those huge golden eyes and chirped.
He’d never seen her do this before. Block a door like this. Like a toddler grabbing their parent’s leg right before they left for work.
“You’re in the way.”
Another chirp. Her tail swished once across the floor.
Any chance to pet her, he took. And she was right there, offering herself.
Frost crouched down. “Okay, fine. You win.”
He scratched under her chin, then moved to her belly—the soft, vulnerable spot she usually guarded but would sometimes offer if she trusted you. His fingers sank into her fur, and she started purring immediately. Deep and rumbly. She rolled slightly, stretching into the touch, exposing more of her stomach.
“You’re ridiculous,” he told her, but he was smiling.
She headbonked his hand. Then his wrist. Then stretched up, trying to reach his face.
“Alright, alright.” He picked her up, careful to support her back legs, and held her close. She immediately pressed her forehead against his cheek. Once. Twice. Three times, each one firm and deliberate.
Her version of “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he murmured into her fur.
With a kiss to her forehead, he set her down gently. She chirped one more time, then padded away toward the scratching post, apparently satisfied.
Frost stood, brushing cat hair off his jeans. Started to leave.
Coffey was sitting on the bed, looking at him with those soulful eyes that somehow conveyed both understanding and mild betrayal. And expectation.
“Right. Sorry, buddy.”
Frost went back, gave Coffey the required goodbye pats. Firm raps on his hoobs, the head boobs, above his eyes, between his ears. Then some smacks along his body—not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to give that tactile sensation Coffey loved. The dog leaned into it, tail thumping.
“Be good,” Frost said. “We’ll be back soon.”
Coffey huffed. Sure.
They left at 10:07. Not bad, all things considered.
The drive to Austin took longer than it should have. Their car—a four-cylinder that strained on hills and took its sweet time getting up to speed—wasn’t built for urgency. Frost kept it on cruise control when he could, trying to stay with the herd of faster cars when necessary, but preferring the speed limit, maybe five over, and letting the car just… go.
“We could go faster,” Frost said at one point.
“We could also get another ticket.”
“That was one time.”
“Four weeks ago.”
“Still one time.”
“One time too many.” Alder stared out the window. “We can’t afford another one right now.”
“I know.” Frost went quiet, adjusted his grip on the wheel.
They both knew. That ticket—Frost’s first in almost twenty years, for an illegal turn at a light he’d sworn was legal—had hit them at precisely the wrong time. When every dollar mattered. When they were guests in someone else’s house, the bedroom the only space that was truly theirs. When the rest of their evicted life sat in two different garages, two different friends, waiting for somewhere to land.
The silence stretched for a few miles. Then Alder said, “Remember when we had our own place?”
“Vaguely.”
“With a garage?”
“That we could park in?”
“Wild concept.”
Frost smiled despite himself. “Complete fantasy.”
They arrived in Austin around 1:00 PM. Their friend’s garage was packed floor to ceiling—boxes and bins and the physical evidence of a life that didn’t fit anywhere anymore. They’d already priced everything at the old house, marked it, and organized it. This was just a retrieval.
“All the cardboard boxes,” Alder said, pointing.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
Frost looked at the pile. Then at the car. “That’s not going to fit.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
“And then you make it fit anyway.”
Frost smiled despite himself. “Maybe.”
They started loading. Hand off boxes. Frost surveyed angles, tested configurations. Some boxes he had to squish to make them fit—cardboard gave when you pushed hard enough. He filled every possible space. Wedged boxes into gaps. Stacked them to the ceiling. Made the trunk so full that opening the hatchback would definitely cause something to spill out.
“See?” Alder said, watching him work. “Expert.”
“I’m concerned about physics.”
“Physics is a suggestion.”
By the time they finished, the car was absolutely packed. Zero space for anything else. Definitely zero space for a sixty-pound dog.
Before they left, Alder had prepared food with their friend—frozen chicken bites shaped like Mickey Mouse, microwaved. Nothing fancy, but it was food. It was shared. It counted.
Frost ate his portion in the driver’s seat during a break from packing, and Alder sat with their friend in the house. Normal. Easy. Just another day with people they cared about.
They didn’t leave Austin until after 7:00 PM.
Halfway home, somewhere between Austin and their new temporary life, Frost noticed headlights in the rearview mirror.
Normal headlights. Regular. Nothing to worry about.
Except they were speeding up to them. He’d even noticed the parked vehicle a few minutes back—completely dark, sitting off to the side of the road in the kind of spot where cops liked to wait. And when they’d passed, Frost had seen those headlights come on eventually.
“We’re being followed,” he said.
Alder turned to look. “How do you know?”
“Because they’ve been behind us for three miles and—”
Red and blue lights flashed.
“Shit,” Frost said, pulling over. His hands were shaking slightly. “Shit shit shit.”
“What did you do?” Alder’s voice had gone tight. Stressed.
“Nothing. I don’t know. I don’t—” Frost tried to think. “I was on cruise control. I wasn’t speeding.”
“Then why are they—”
“I don’t know.”
Alder’s breathing had gone shallow. Fast. The kind of breathing that meant panic was incoming, the kind that Coffey would normally notice and respond to but Coffey was at home and—
“It’s fine,” Frost said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. “It’s going to be fine.”
“We can’t afford another ticket.”
“I know.”
“Frost, we can’t—”
“I know.”
The officer approached. Asked for license and registration. Frost’s hands shook as he handed them over, mind racing through every possible thing he might have done wrong. Illegal turn? No. Speeding? No. Broken taillight? Maybe?
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” the officer asked.
“No, sir.”
“Your passenger side headlight is out.”
“Oh.” Frost’s brain struggled to process. Just a headlight. Not a ticket. Not a fine they couldn’t afford. Just information. “I thought they seemed dim. Or needed cleaning.”
“Probably just needs a new bulb.” The officer handed back the license and registration. “No ticket. Just wanted to let you know. Drive safe.”
“Thank you, officer.”
The officer walked back to his car. Frost sat there for a moment, hands still on the wheel, trying to convince his heart to slow down.
“See?” he said finally. “Fine.”
Alder was crying.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quiet tears running down their face in the passenger seat, breath still coming too fast.
“Hey.” Frost reached over, took their hand. “Hey, we’re okay.”
“I know.”
“No ticket.”
“I know. I just—” Alder wiped their face with their free hand. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep being stressed about every little thing. Every bill. Every ticket. Every—”
“I know.”
They sat there for a moment, pulled over on the side of the highway, holding hands in the dark. Eventually, Alder’s breathing slowed. Eventually, the tears stopped.
“Okay,” Alder said. “Okay. Let’s go home.”
Frost pulled back onto the highway. Neither of them spoke for the rest of the drive.
They got home around 10:00 PM. The garage door opener was clipped to the sun visor—one of those small mercies that made temporary living slightly less temporary. Frost pulled in, and they started unloading the boxes. Cardboard stacked against the wall, out of the way, ready for Monday.
“That’s the last one,” Alder said, setting down a particularly heavy box.
“Thank god.” Frost’s back was already complaining.
They went inside through the garage entrance. The house was quiet. Alder’s mother had already gone to bed—her car was there, which meant she’d come home at some point during the day. Which meant she’d let Coffey out for his potty break. Fed everyone at their normal 8:30 PM time.
Everything handled. Everything fine.
Frost started making dinner while Alder leaned against the counter, watching.
“What are we having?” Alder asked.
“Leftovers.”
“What kind of leftovers?”
“The good kind.”
“That’s not specific.”
“The kind that’s already in the fridge and doesn’t require thinking.”
“Ah. The best kind.”
Frost pulled out containers and began reheating the contents. Alder filled two glasses with water and set them on the small kitchen table.
“You think we’ll make enough on Monday?” Alder asked.
“From the bazaar?”
“Yeah.”
“I think you’ll make whatever you make.” Frost stirred something on the stove. “And it’ll be enough for whatever it needs to be enough for.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer I have.”
Alder was quiet for a moment. “What if it’s not enough?”
“Then we’ll figure it out.” Frost looked over. “We always figure it out.”
“Do we?”
“We’re here, aren’t we?”
“Here” being someone else’s house with all their belongings in someone else’s garage, but it was still here. Still together. Still figuring it out.
Alder smiled despite themselves. “I guess we are.”
They ate at the table. Not talking about money, the bazaar, or stress—just talking about nothing. About the weird rest stop bathroom they’d seen. About a ridiculous Facebook video Alder had shown him earlier of a cat riding a Roomba while wearing a shark costume, chasing a baby duck. About how Coffey probably missed them all day long.
Normal conversation. Normal evening. The mundane that felt like a gift when everything else was chaos.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Alder said when they finished.
“I’ll clean up.”
Frost rinsed the dishes and put away the leftovers. The house was quiet, save for the sound of running water in the bathroom. He dried his hands and headed toward his office—the small space where his computer lived. Where he could watch Netflix or catch up on Critical Role, maybe play a video game.
He’d just settled into his chair, pulled up the browser, when he heard it.
A sound that wasn’t quite a scream. Wasn’t quite a word. Just a raw, animal noise that made his blood go cold.
Frost was up and moving before he consciously decided to move.
He found Alder in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in only a towel, staring at something on the floor near the bed. Their face had gone white. Bloodless.
Coffey was there too, near the door. Whining. That high-pitched, anxious sound he made when something was wrong, when his people needed him but he didn’t know how to help. His tags jingled as he shifted his weight, pacing, ears back.
“What—”
“She’s under the bed,” Alder whispered. “Frost, she’s—”
Frost dropped to his knees, peering into the dark space under the bed frame.
Solstice.
Sprawled on her side in a way that was immediately, viscerally wrong. Too flat. Too still. Covered in something—litter, maybe? Vomit? He couldn’t tell in the dim light.
“No,” he said. “No, no, no.”
He reached under and pulled her out, cradling her carefully in his arms. She was stiff. Cold in a way that living things weren’t supposed to be cold. Her fur was matted. Her mouth slightly open.
Coffey pressed closer, whining louder now, trying to see, trying to understand.
“Coffey, out. Out.” Frost’s voice came out sharper than he intended. Instinct taking over—separate them, figure out what happened, keep the door closed until they knew.
Alder moved on autopilot, guiding Coffey out of the bedroom, shutting the door. The dog’s confused whine echoed from the other side.
“She must’ve eaten something,” Frost said, his voice shaking. “A pill. Something fell—one of the medications from the bedside table. We can take her to the emergency vet. They can pump her stomach. They can—”
He walked toward the table lamp, the one on the bedside table that would give him enough light to see properly. His hands moved on their own, one supporting her small body, the other tapping her stomach. Not quite hitting. Just firm taps. The way you’d try to get a response. The way you’d try to force air out if something was stuck.
Tap tap tap.
“Come on, Sol. Baby girl, come on.”
Nothing.
He tapped harder. More insistent.
Tap tap tap.
He bent down near the lamp, trying to see her eyes in the light. Trying to see if her pupils would react. If there was any sign, any response, any—
Her inner eyelid moved.
Just slightly. Just a flicker.
“There!” Frost’s heart leaped. “She’s—Alder, she’s still in there. We need to—we need to get her to a vet. Now. Right now.”
He kept tapping. Kept trying.
Tap tap tap.
“She’s responding. Did you see that? Her eye—”
“Frost.” Alder’s voice was breaking.
“No, look. Watch. I’ll do it again and—”
Tap tap tap.
The inner eyelid remained still. But it had moved, it had just… It was just her body doing what bodies did even when the soul had already left. Frost knew it. Somewhere deep down, he knew it.
But he kept tapping anyway.
“Come on. Please. Please come back.”
Tap tap tap.
“Please.”
Tap.
His hands slowed. Stopped.
Solstice didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t do anything but lie there in his arms, small and still and gone. Her fur remained soft—still her. But the light behind her golden eyes—the spark that watched him cook, that chirped at closed doors—was gone.
“No,” Frost whispered. “No, you can’t—you were just—”
This morning. She’d been on his pillow just this morning. Making biscuits on his stomach. Blocking the door to say goodbye.
Saying goodbye.
This was their child.
And they weren’t here when she died.
Alder was crying now. Full sobs, the kind that came from somewhere deeper than grief. The kind that came from the marrow. Frost held her small body against his chest and cried like the world was ending.
Because for Solstice, it had.
I am seeking feedback. Please take a moment to answer the following questions, or share anything else you'd like. Thank you.
- Where did you feel your breath catch—or have to pause for a moment?
- What moment made you feel most connected to Frost, Alder, or the animals?
- After finishing the Prologue, what's the first thing you'd tell a friend about this story?