I stand by the main door and wait. Roseee has this habit of hiding behind flower pots and sneaking inside whenever someone opens the door. I open the door, wait in the foyer, look around. Of course, Roseee cannot come inside, she is no more. Roseee died a few days ago, and I am still waiting for something to tell me there is no need to look behind the flowerpots. “What if she hasn’t died, but only fainted and will come back someday!” Omar is wishful. “I can’t even believe she is dead. She was nicer than most human beings, so gentle and loving,” Zainab is wistful. “We once gave her a bath, remember?” Saif says. We reminisce. It seems yesterday, but it also seems long ago when we befriended Roseee. A stray cat that walked into her home and stole our heart away. She was so unlike a stray cat and behaved as if she had always known us. She was so trusting and loved being touched and held. Zainab is right. Roseee was kinder than most humans. We remember how