He turned and sat with his back to me until I headed for the door. I attached the leash to his harness, locked the door behind us, and set off down the stairs and out the back door. I wanted to pick up the book, but first I had to put Diesel in the car. Hawksworth was one of the few places I couldn’t take him. A couple of staff members had complained that his presence was too disruptive, because invariably students clustered around him, wanting to pet him. They made too much noise, according to the complainants.

So, into the car Diesel went. The day was cool, and I cracked the front windows enough to allow air to circulate—but not enough for a large and enterprising cat to squeeze through.

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” I told him, but I could tell he wasn’t happy at being left behind. He never was.

Inside the library, I went straight to the circulation desk. While I waited for the student worker to find my book, a recent study of the late antiquity and the early Middle Ages, I listened idly to a conversation at the nearby reference desk. Willie Clark was on duty and being his usual charming self while helping a female student.

“No, we haven’t received that issue yet. Can’t you read the screen? Do you see any mention of volume thirty-three, issue ten?”

I watched as Willie tapped the computer screen in front of him while the student, red-faced, mumbled something.

“Then you’d better go back and check your citation again. You probably wrote it down wrong.” The disgust in his voice was obvious.

Head down, the student scurried away. She was probably a freshman. Older female students learned to avoid the reference desk when Willie sat behind it. He could be gruff with male students as well, but his voice had a particular edge to it whenever he talked to a woman.

Not surprising, then, that he had never married. He wasn’t gay either, as far as I knew. Too crabby, in my experience, for a partner of either sex to put up with long enough to establish a relationship.

Willie caught me looking at him, my expression no doubt critical. He scowled at me and turned away.

Book in hand, I left the library and went back to my car. Diesel complained nonstop to me on the short drive home, and I scratched his head a couple of times in apology for having abandoned him in the car.

The moment I opened the kitchen door appetizing smells tickled my nostrils. Diesel sniffed appreciatively too, though he was bound to be disappointed. I tried not to feed him from the table, though he often sat nearby and stared hard, as if hoping to bend me to his will.