“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said. “I have to leave suddenly for work. Could you possibly watch my cat, Jasper, for a few days?”
Something about him felt fragile.
“Of course,” I said gently. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
“Yes,” he insisted. “Just sudden.”
He admitted he had no family to help.
That detail hit me. I’d been adopted as a baby, and though I had parents, there had always been questions about what I didn’t know.
So I agreed.
A taxi pulled up behind him. He handed me Jasper’s carrier and a bag of food, thanked me quietly, and left.
Three days passed.
Then four.
Then a week.
His phone went straight to voicemail. Jasper wasn’t settling. He sat by the window constantly, staring at the empty house.
Two weeks later, I called the police.
