“Look, I see you all the time, and I know you must be very busy with your writing, but you work from home, right?” he’d said. “I’m Tupper Paulsen. We’re the Paulsens.” He’d hesitated, as if waiting for Roy to recognize his name. “Elizabeth and Tupper Paulsen. We’re on Kane Street, directly around the corner from you.” It was a bit creepy that he knew where Roy lived, but then again, so did everyone.

“So, what I was wondering,” Tupper had continued nervously, desperately. “Would you mind feeding our cat this weekend? We’re going upstate and our cat sitter isn’t returning our calls and it would really be so easy for you since we’re just around the corner.”

Roy’s response had been slow. This Tupper fellow was asking him to feed his cat. Not Shy or Wendy, but him. He didn’t even like cats. All the same, he appreciated being asked a normal, neighborly thing instead of being stared at, fawned over, or written about in the newspapers.

“Of course, we’d reciprocate when the time comes,” Tupper Paulsen added. “Whatever you need. Elizabeth loves cats.”

“Yes, of course,” Roy agreed, even though he and Wendy and Shy didn’t have a cat, or any pets for that matter. “Happy to help.” Why not?

Thus, Tupper had given him a key and a few neatly handwritten instructions, including the cat’s name. He seemed to be in a hurry, and within a few minutes he started up the pewter-colored vintage Saab parked in front of his house and drove off.

“Catsy?” Roy called when he’d arrived at the Paulsens’ the next morning. Nothing. He went about his business, pouring dry cat food into the bowl and refilling the water dish.

“I have to scoop yer shit,” Roy called out again. “Nobody likes to scoop shit, but you’re obviously used to living in a nice clean house.”

Litter box is upstairs in the bathroom outside the twins’ bedroom, the note on the counter told him. He mounted the stairs, noting how little they creaked, the absence of dust. The Paulsens ran a tight ship. He followed the instructions on the note, looking for the bathroom on the left at the end of the hall. It occurred to him as he made his way across the sunlit parquet floor that he had no idea how many children Tupper and Elizabeth Paulsen had spawned. Just the twins? More? He thought he might have seen Tupper with a tall girl with white-blond hair, pushing a pram.