The Last Sunbeam

When Liam first messaged me, he sent a single photo: an brown tabby sleeping on a keyboard. ‘That’s Leo,’ he wrote. ‘He passed last month. I work from home now, but the apartment feels like a train station—all echoes.’

Leo had been a rescue. Liam found him as a kitten wedged behind a dumpster. For nine years, the cat guarded his laptop like a tiny sentry, batting at Excel cells when Liam worked too late.

When I shipped the finished piece, Liam texted: ‘He’s back on duty.’ That empty desk finally had a purpose again.