“THEY’RE NOT GOING TO come home any faster with this drama,” Wally called as I flew by him on the way to the back door.

Still nothing. No sign of my pet or Wally’s.

I whipped back to the front door where my partner was cleaning himself, rubbing his paw over his whiskers repeatedly. Describing Wally as a long-haired cat was an insult to hair, because surely he had enough hair follicles on his rotund body to supply three cats and a small toupee. In the summer, our pets would have to take him in to be shorn like the world’s smallest, toothiest sheep, lest he start running into walls, unable to see through his fringe of Sia-like bangs.

I stood at the front door, glaring at it. “The sun is down, the moon is up, and they’re still not home.”

“Stand down, soldier,” Wally replied, checking the star on his collar for shine. He rubbed his paw over it repeatedly until it sparkled the way it was supposed to. “They probably went on one of those human-only trips. It’s not on my schedule, but they are terrible at updating me on their movements.”

I am a short-haired calico, which, according to Wally, gave me a starting rank of Private. Wally gave me a thorough once-over as I stood at attention every morning. Every whisker and eyebrow hair was analyzed and adjusted to meet his exacting standards. I was pretty sure all promotions were based on growing hair as long and thick as his. So, I was going to be a Private forever.

“Relax, girl. Go read a book or something,” Wally said, turning away and stalking to our shared food dish. “The pets will be home soon.”