The day before daughter Kate went home, she and grandson David posed for a portrait, as formal as you can get with three animals. We were walking Shawn and Bob’s dogs while they were away for an impromptu family reunion. That afternoon I sat on the porch reading. David soon came back with Emily, the oldest who doesn’t walk far. The little black and white dog sprawled contentedly on the porch beside me.

I saw Jasmine, the outdoor cat, walk across the lawn. She had something alive in her mouth. You wouldn’t believe how quickly I moved to shut the front door. What if she wanted to present her catch indoors??? She set it down, nudging it first with her right paw and then with the left.

Her prey was dead. She fixed me with a steady gaze, and I received her unspoken message. “My name is JAS; MINE is the victory! Don’t you dare touch it!”

Earlier in the week someone drooled over fudge in the supermarket. I shot down any idea of buying it, because Kate insisted on paying for everything in the cart. Old Miser Me said we shouldn’t buy something we could make ourselves. We were running out of time, so on the eve of her departure, I made fudge. When my arm was tired from beating it, Kate took a turn. She handed the pan to serious Chef Nathaniel for his opinion.

David beat it, too, posing as the frenzied chocoholic waiting for his fix.

We each had a piece, our cravings satisfied.   For the moment.