“Ingrid’s right,” Cooper said. “It doesn’t matter how he got out. All that matters is that he was taken by terrorists.”

He nodded to Welds, “You’re up.”

If Welds was a giant ass, and Ingrid was absolutely certain he was, his knowledge was equally giant when it came to the chess match that was the Middle East and overall terrorism directed at the United States. He listed off a number of different terrorist groups, but he, like everyone else at the table, felt strongly this was the work of ISIS.

He said, “We have to hope and pray these assholes don’t get Sullivan back to Sandland because if they do, there isn’t a chance in hell we’re ever gonna see him again.”

“It isn’t just the President,” Ingrid said. “They have my partner.”

“Right,” Welds said. “Sorry.”

The door opened and the female staffer who dropped off the food earlier, Jessica, walked through. She was a holding a large stack of pizza boxes.

Welds whooped.

For the next hour they ate.

At around 1:00 a.m., like Tasha and a couple others, Ingrid found a slice of the floor and fell asleep.

:05

To most people, February 29th, leap day, is just another day. But for me, it feels like Christmas.

An extra sixty minutes in my year.

Yahoo.

Well, fifty-eight, on account I wake up at 3:02 a.m.

I push myself up.

I’m alone in the basement.

At least, that’s what I think at first.

Lassie has made his way under the blankets, and I can feel him between my legs, which he is prone to do when he feels a little chilly.

I lift the blanket.

Er.

It isn’t Lassie.

It’s Chester.

I watch the tiny Yorkie, who can’t weigh more than five or six pounds, to see if his chest is moving.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Four.

His chest moves.

He is alive.

For now.

I stand up, then bunch the blanket up, and set him in the middle. I head upstairs and find my dad asleep on the living room sofa. Murdock is snuggled up against the side of the couch, my father’s hand resting on his back.

I wonder where Archie and Lassie are.

I head down the hallway and poke my head into the first bedroom. Ingrid’s parents and sister are sharing the bed.

In the master bedroom I find Bonnie, Isabel, and Jorge. Bonnie’s pleasantly plump frame is taking up half the mattress, with Isabel and Jorge squished into the other half.

I also find Archie.

He is snuggled up in Isabel’s arms.

I watch him sleep, savoring each rise and fall of his tiny little chest. After a long minute, I gingerly extract him, careful not to wake Isabel.

“Hi, little guy,” I whisper.

He paws at me, his little whiskers firing like the wings of a hummingbird. I rub his belly with my fingers, and his mouth opens and his eyes close.

Happy kitten.