Over the top of my laptop screen, across the little room, Nicholas snoozes in a pile of blankets on the futon bed. His eyes blink open and he's looking at me.
Those eyes are a tractor beam, pulling me up from my chair. I cross to him. A brief moment to slip my hand under his covers and scratch his warm fur.
One thing about this pandemic. It's a golden age for dogs.
"Do you even remember," I ask him out loud, "when I used to leave the house for nine hours almost every day?"
Nicholas makes a soft sleepy snorty sound and closes his eyes.