Their reaction, however, surprised him. Over the phone, his aunt’s voice brightened almost too quickly. “Of course, Marco. We’d be happy to,” she’d said, sweetness dripping in every syllable. It was as though they’d been waiting for such an opportunity to help him out.
His aunt and uncle loved the cat, or claimed they did, and they understood the temperamental alarm. The arrangement seemed awkward but sensible: feedings, plants, packages. Seven days, perhaps six. He left extra tins, labeled timers, spare batteries, and a neat note reminding them about the stubborn back-door bolt.