Adam was lost. At the usual morning feeding ritual, only old Schmiego and Eva were present. Strange. Where could he be?
P. went upstairs and opened all the doors of the attic.
Five minutes later he came crying down the stairs: “I was all alone. You left me. I was all alone.”
“Adam,” I called. “Come on then, Adam.”
“I was all alone. Where were you?” he answered.
He didn’t care about food. He wanted to talk to us.
“I’m back,” he nuzzled his sister.
“I’m back,” he tried to follow Schmiego, who would have none of it.
“I’m back,” he told me, and daringly climbed onto the table where I was reading the paper.
“Yes, Adam,” I said. “You’re back.”
He is now checking out the familiar places.
Adam is back.