He does his best to get Rosie to pay attention to him, to get her to sit up straight and tell him that he’s a good boy, say his name, Shadow. He loves the sound of that soft sibilant expression. He pokes at her with his nose and then his forepaw. He stands over his bowl and pretends that he hasn’t already eaten. He leans his chin on the table and breathes in the scent of the old book, the one that reminds him of another time, another woman. Another solitary. Finally through the hand on his back, he feels the agitation begin to ebb.