It's the ninja cat skirting the shadows, hesitating, then moving on a silent path, leaving no trace. Or the gangly boy who's always drawing dragons in the back row of class, much too skinny but dragons in flight, breathing fire. The one puppy in the litter who sits like the Buddha, full eye contact in the middle of a howling chaos of mushy kibble and poop and torn newspaper, unblinking. That woman with a bad haircut who talks to herself, a bottle goat in the passenger seat and her truck floorboards covered with halters and leashes and ropes, just in case. The spotted donkey standing guard under thick brows; watching for intruders but hoping the mare will walk off the hay soon. A crooked man climbs the front steps, pulling off boots on the porch of a dark house. The kitchen light, then one egg cracked in the pan; the yolk soft on dry toast, as a black cat settles to a companionable place on the table.