Much softer than velvet, really. Softer even than the beaver and otter her father trapped along the river. She wished she could pet Little Tom. Even a...ter he became Old Tom, he still would sit in her lap every evening, calming her with his rumbling purr. She knew Old Tom was gone, long gone, but Bill wasn’t. She wished she knew why he never visited her. He used to visit . . . every Sunday . . . and he couldn’t keep his eyes, or his hands, off her. The day he gave her the kitten was the day she. It was a single story with a newly thatched roof. There was a window near the doorway, but no door. She led me inside, the house was immaculate inside with whitewashed walls and a rough stone floor. There was but a single room with a fireplace near the center. The furniture consisted of a rough-hewn bed with rope netting supporting a thin mattress, a small table and two rough wooden chairs. ‘This will be your house, David. I do not think you will spend much time here, though. Mine is right. More

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