The pencil stopped, quivered, then firmly set back to its sketching again. "I...had a visitor," Abe said carefully, eyes focused on his paper. "I thought she was dead. She thinks I'm insane and doesn't remember what we had together. And I'm starting to wonder if I prefer her story to mine." He tried to hide the pain in his voice but didn't do a very good job of it. Everyone here had their problems and at least he'd been able to talk to her again (even if he hadn't been able to offer much conversation, he'd been so busy flailing that they hadn't actually said much to each other). And he'd felt her mind within his when they'd...

Abe wanted to consider himself lucky but selfishness seemed so much easier. The flowing motions of his arm became less graceful and the new parts of the cat took on a sharp, angular look. Still, the placid look on his face barely flinched.