Fetch

It’s dogs, I told him. Dogs fetch things. Not cats. He wouldn’t listen.

That’s pretty like a cat, actually.

At first, he’d bring me my book, or my shoes when I was heading out. Then he ranged farther afield. He brought mail from the post office. He brought my neighbor’s underwear. (That was embarrassing.)

One day he brought back a human hand. I buried it in the backyard.

And now, sitting in my basement, there is a pristine cube of bank-wrapped bills. I did some math. It’s over five million.

He brought travel brochures, too. I hear Brazil is nice.