Still, Boogie’s head was held alert, ears and tail twitching with concern. Her pupils were enormous and unmoving, staring toward the large picture window that faced the front yard. Cooper followed her gaze, half expecting to see someone standing, watching, but of course there was no one there.

“What is it, killer?” he whispered to Boogie. Worryingly, she didn’t even react to his voice. Cooper turned off the small lamp by the couch, tipping the room into darkness. He made his way over to the window and carefully pulled back the curtain to peek outside.

Nothing. Porch, driveway, yard—empty. The only movement was one of Park’s two pitiful attempts at the “common man’s” holiday decor: a hideous plastic skeleton hanging from the porch eave, shifting slightly in the wind.

Cooper relaxed against the sill with a sigh. Boogie wasn’t the only one having a hard time adjusting to a home outside the city. It was so quiet here, interrupted by sounds louder and more brutal than anything he’d ever heard in DC. At least it seemed that way in their unfamiliarity. Cooper had grown up in the suburbs, but it had been almost twenty years and he had long since forgotten the screaming, screeching sounds of the cycle of life coming to a bloody end—or a bloody beginning—just outside his window, and the way a squirrel suddenly possessed the weight and gait of a full-grown man when it found its way into your attic. They’d only been moved into the house for less than a month and Cooper was still waking up most nights positive they were under siege, only to have Park roll over, still half asleep, and identify the “attackers” for him.

Jus’ a fox.

Same owl as last night. Come back to bed.

Frogs. Yes, I’m positive. Yes, that one, too.

Cooper didn’t remember nature being this loud. Partly it must have something to do with being in a new house he hadn’t quite relaxed in yet. The numerous large windows and wood floors seemed to complain noisily whether someone was touching them or not—relatable—and while it was nothing like the temples of greed Park had first taken him touring, the house was still too large for one man and his cat alone at night.

Cooper shouldn’t complain. Overall, they were both happy about some things, unhappy with others. They’d mostly landed on the place for the property. A half hour out of DC, the house was set back from the road and nestled on the edge of an animal preserve, ensuring lots of privacy for Park to run around in fur. Cooper was the one who had championed the house itself.

“A unique labor of love,” the Realtor had called it.