Although by this point in time, it definitely would have to be one of Hamburger’s descendants sharing the couch with me. Which would have to mean that Hamburger met a mate once she escaped. Maybe she got lucky at PerfectHamsterMatch.com? I hoped so.

I rolled over, pulled the frayed sheets and scratchy blanket I’d grabbed from the upstairs linen closet up a little higher. I’d fed the cats while John was in the bathroom, given Horatio a treat, grabbed my sleep T-shirt off the mattress on the floor. I’d moved fast and managed to avoid bumping into John on my way to the living room.

I rolled over again, tried to force myself to relax enough to fall sleep. I heard a door close softly upstairs. I waited for the sound of the wood floors creaking as Polly walked along the hallway to the upstairs bathroom.

Instead, I heard footsteps coming softly down the stairs. One person. Wearing shoes. Definitely a man.

Not my business, I said to myself.

The footsteps continued along the center hallway and into the kitchen.

Not my business, I said to myself. Not my business, not my business.

The kitchen door opened, then closed softly.

I counted to ten. Then I counted backwards from ten. Then I counted to ten in French and in Spanish, which was about the sum total of my proficiency in both languages.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I jumped up, wrapped the afghan around my shoulders, sprinted through the hallway to the kitchen.

By the time I opened the kitchen door, there was nothing out there but darkness.

Conflict always makes me hungry. I hate that. I mean, why couldn’t I be one of those delicate flowers who forget to eat and begin to waste away the minute they hit a few bumps in the road?

I decided that was the least of my problems, so I stopped to pick up breakfast on the way to work. Morning Glories is just short of hip, a delightfully overgrown hodgepodge of sun-streaked greenery, white lattice, and round button tables with mismatched iron chairs. The coffee is strong and the baked goods fresh and scrumptious.

The early morning take-out line would be backed up from the counter to the door soon, but for once in my life I was early.

The woman who took my order had shoe polish-black hair and a pretty smile. She was wearing a bright blue Morning Glories T-shirt and a nametag that said JANEY.

I ordered a large coffee plus a spinach and brie breakfast sandwich. I briefly considered doubling the order and swinging by to drop off breakfast for John. Maybe we could cut to the chase and get this stupid fight over with.