Koko

Becca’s got three kittens and somehow one of them has become ours. Not officially yet, but the plan is that when we move out, Koko comes with us. She’s the one who figured everything out first—eating, the box, the whole logistics of being a kitten. The other two are still kind of bumbling, and Koko’s just already sorted. There’s something you respect about that right from the start.

She’s sweet in a way that doesn’t feel like an act. She lets you hold her. She remembers you. Cats do this thing where they’re always calculating something about you, and with Koko it’s obvious. When we’re over at Becca’s, I watch her watch us, just taking stock. It’s hard to explain but it means something.

The future arrangement is pretty clear: she comes with us. Not borrowed affection or some arrangement that works for now. Just actually ours. I think about that sometimes when I’m visiting—not about missing her someday, but about knowing we won’t have to.

There’s also Apple, though I’m still figuring out where that fits into things.