Blanchot tries to occupy his time until his Big Ones come home. A paper bag. An ant crawling on the floor. A butterfly perched on the screen. There are naps. A dog barks on a nearby street. The floor creaks. The wind blows through the crack beneath the door. Outside there are voices that disappear down the street. More naps. Finally, a car door. Footsteps approach the home. But Blanchot does not recognize the gait. A hand on the doorknob. It rattles. No time to think: hide! hide! Behind the sofa. Must be very small. And still. Do not meow. Do not purr. Wait until his Big Ones come home.