Pets

Barnaby felt the urge to spin. His tail began a frantic thwack-thwack against the plastic floor. But he remembered Luna. He sat. He tilted his head. He tried to look "soulful," even though his ear kept twitching.

"Humans love mystery," Luna countered, licking a paw. "You look like a caffeinated wind-up toy. Try sitting still. Look soulful." Barnaby felt the urge to spin

Barnaby, a scruffy terrier mix with one ear that permanently saluted the ceiling, didn’t mind the dark. It was the silence he hated. Silence meant no one was talking to him, no one was calling him a "good boy," and—most importantly—no one was looking at his kennel card. He sat

Across the aisle sat Luna, a sleek black cat who acted like she owned the joint. She spent her days lounging on a carpeted perch, watching the humans pass by with a look of bored judgement. "Humans love mystery," Luna countered, licking a paw

"You’re trying too hard," Luna meowed one Tuesday, watching Barnaby perform a frantic series of spins for a young couple.

In the kennel across the way, Luna let out a quiet, approving purr. She knew a "soulmate match" when she saw one.