Dubious hygiene standards in the kitchen attracted so many mice that, although George had been sufficiently amused and inspired by the nocturnal sounds of the building’s scurrying inhabitants to write a charming little Scherzo for Mighty Mice several years back—which had since gained a huge following among music teachers of young children—after too many unamusing rodent-American encounters under his own kitchen sink and on his pantry shelves, George had finally conceded that Rebecca was right, he needed a cat. He had wanted to call the slender orange tiger they picked out at the shelter Milhaud, but Rebecca thought it a laughably pretentious name, despite points for the onomatopoeic element, and after George had rejected Helix the Cat for being completely stupid and pretentious, inexcusable even if Rebecca did work in genetics, they had settled on Joe Green, which suited the dapper little cat perfectly.

“So I spent the day in an amazing laboratory over at NYU,” George said, “and I have to tell you about it for about six reasons, one of which will interest you especially. But Beck, first tell me what’s up with Esther. After I got your message, I called there while I was waiting for you, thinking I might find you, but all Clara told me was that she was sleeping.”

“She’s failing. Her time’s up,” Rebecca said briefly, fighting sudden tears all over again (an intense crying episode on the train had alarmed the businessman next to her; she thought he had gotten off at Westport, but spotting him in the exiting throng when they arrived at Grand Central Station made her realize that he had simply changed seats in Westport to get away from her). She dropped into the corner of the big blue sofa where Joe Green was already stretched out along the top of the cushions. She plucked him from his perfect repose and snuggled him onto her chest, kicking off her shoes and lying back against the end cushion with her legs stretched out. She found the sweet spot under the cat’s jaw and worked it until he began to purr. (Joe Green was a reluctant purrer, so it always felt like a major achievement when he succumbed.)

“She’s not exactly dying at this minute, but Clara thinks the time is now, and I guess she would know. She’s seen it before.”

George sat down across from her at the other end of the sofa and put his feet up, intertwining his legs with hers. “Kind of inevitable, I guess,” he said. “Lucky Joe Green.”

“I’ve been imagining this moment with Esther for the last twenty years, at least,” Rebecca said. “The last thirty years. Maybe all my life. Joe Green is my hero, aren’t you, Mister Verdi Mouse-killer?” She rubbed her nose against his smug little triangular face. He blinked at her and then butted his head up under her chin, which brought on a wave of tenderness that welled up from somewhere deep in her chest. She felt tears rising. “So that’s the story,” she said, her voice breaking a little. George’s steady gaze brought the tears up and over, spilling out now.