Back home, he closed the door, careful to turn the handle so it wouldn’t make a sound; but his father heard anyway.

“Thomas, is that you back from Giselle’s?” His father came up the stairs toward him. “Did Martin’s mother come pick him up?”

Thomas nodded, hoping it was true.

“While you were gone, Officer Grant came by to…just to check on us…see how we were doing…”

Thomas looked up at his father, who turned away. He was concealing something.

“I said we were fine, of course.”

Thomas waited.

“There is something else. She found a…Well, I should probably just show you. She asked me to keep it. I don’t know why I agreed. It was imprudent of me.” Mr. Moran headed back down the basement stairs.

Dave fluttered his wings. Thomas’s father didn’t keep things for no reason, and he looked so pained when he mentioned it that Thomas was certain this could not be anything good.

Mr. Moran returned with the brown box the Revolutionnaire had been delivered in. It was turned on its side and Thomas could see a big hole had been cut out of what was now the top.

“What is that on the back of your head?” his father asked as Thomas leaned over. “It looks like bird poop.”

Thomas brought his hand to his head.

“Don’t touch it. I’ll get a washcloth.” He set the box on the floor.

Inside the box was a cat. Not a kitten, but not a full-grown cat either. Something in between. Like he was. Stroking the cat’s fur with the back of his finger, Thomas noticed the little cat was all black except for white paws and whiskers.

His father returned with the washcloth; leaning over Thomas, he cleaned his son’s hair. “Someone brought this little guy to the police station. They found him outside—in this weather—and, well, Officer Grant said it wasn’t uncommon for people to drop off animals. The police officers call animal control when that happens, but…”

Thomas focused on petting the cat as Mr. Moran explained. He couldn’t understand why his father had agreed to take the cat, especially when he didn’t want to. Mrs. Sharp said not everything could be saved. But Officer Grant and his father had proven that this cat, at least, could be.

“The shelter is full,” his father explained. “You know, where they try to find lost animals a home. Officer Grant already has four cats. She said her boyfriend…”

Thomas turned around. He wanted to see the look on his father’s face. Other people’s problems didn’t concern them. They had enough problems of their own.

“I…I…She told me it was actually her daughter who suggested it.”

Lily. She makes the butterfly hair clips.

“It occurred to me that it might help. With you. With…the talking.”

Reaching into his back pocket, Thomas pulled out his notepad. “Will you let me visit Mrs. Sharp?” he wrote before holding it up to his father.

“Does it matter what I say?” Thomas’s father kneaded the skin above his eyes. “I’m guessing you were there today helping with the birds.”

Thomas chewed the end of his pen.

“About the talking,” he wrote. “I think I’m getting better and I’m glad you took the cat. We could call him Boots.”

“Okay.” Mr. Moran pushed the hair away from Thomas’s forehead and looked into his son’s eyes, but Thomas couldn’t read his expression.