WhiskersHadley Yeager was old and widowed and miserable. She hadn’t always been that way. She used to be younger and in possession of a breathing husband. Actually she had been the possession. And the misery had been constant and enduring. Now Hadley couldn’t find her grocery money. She had hidden it because she was worried about that dark boy breaking in and robbing her. But she couldn’t remember where she’d hidden it. Hadley was hungry, and if she didn’t find the money soon things wouldn’t be pleasant. Not that they were, generally.Hadley sat in the kitchen and cried. Her stomach ached with hunger. Briefly she wished she owned a cat. Franklin (or Soopy, or Mrs. Pussyfoot, or Mr. Whiskers) would rub against her leg and purr and be a comfort. But there would also be the horrid droppings and the sofa shredded, and probably Franklin would make her sneeze. Then she remember Franklin was the name of her husband (even his name sometimes drifted away from her), and she determined to put the whole idea out of her mind.Hadley started to stand up and a wave of dizziness swelled through her.
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