From the kitchen there now came the soft chugging of the dishwasher at work; closer, the clink of cup on saucer, a pop from the fireplace or a hiss; even closer, the nearly inaudible purr of Ashcan, who had settled on his lap instantly when he sat down. Outside, silently, the snow was piling up. He sighed again and opened his eyes. Candy was sneaking up on the cream pitcher on the coffee table. Her forequarters were low to the floor, her rear up high, and the white tip of her tail twitched like a semaphore flag. “Ridiculous cat,” Constance said. “That’s how she hunts, signaling, Here I am!” The cat reached the table. “Candy!” Constance said, not raising her voice. Candy now discovered that her right hind leg was filthy and started to wash it. Gretchen laughed. “It was so strange to think of you and Charlie stuck way out in the country, but it’s kind of nice. I like it.” She glanced at her husband and added quickly, “Not for myself, of course.”
