Toddman Residence, Velgrado Street, at the intersection with Wilston Avenue. There lived the veterinarian that Cookie was seeking, hoping to secure help for the little raccoon.


    "Stay here, little one," Cookie whispered. "I''ll find the veterinarian to help us."


    The raccoon nodded timidly and disappeared into the overgrown garden, trembling yet obedient.


    With an agile leap, Cookie crossed the street and slipped through the old wooden fence. The paint was worn, and the boards creaked under his weight, but he didn’t stop. He moved across the neglected, grassy yard and climbed the stairs, sniffing the air for any sign of life.


    The house appeared welcoming. The windows were large, the kind that allowed the morning light to pour in, though at that moment they only revealed shadows. Cookie edged along the wall and peered through the first window. It was empty.


    He thought that maybe the veterinarian would be in the kitchen, so he jumped again and clung to the next window frame. Inside, the housekeeper was preparing breakfast, her hands moving with the routine of someone who had repeated the same gestures for years. But there was no sign of Russell.


    "Still asleep?" Cookie thought with irritation as his eyes scanned the interior.


    He leapt once more to the window overlooking the living room. There, at last, he saw him. Russell Toddman was seated in his favorite armchair, the newspaper spread out in his hands. The headline read what everyone feared to see: "The Beast of GreenTown Remains at Large."


    Cookie approached and tapped the window with his right paw—a sharp sound, enough to attract attention.


    Russell looked up, surprised by the visitor. Recognizing him, he calmly stood and opened the window.


    "Cookie... what a surprise. What brings you here so early?" he asked while holding his cup of coffee.


    "I''m here to request your services," Cookie replied bluntly. "I have a little friend who needs your help."


    Russell raised an eyebrow.


    "Really? And where is he?"


    "I left him outside, hidden in the bushes. I didn’t want to bring him in without warning you."


    Russell sighed and took a sip of his coffee.


    "All right... let’s go see him. You caught me right before breakfast, but what can you do... duty calls."


    Russell exited through the front door while Cookie hurried off to find the little one. Upon reaching the bushes, he spoke in a low voice.


    "You can come out, little raccoon. Help is on its way."


    The little one emerged slowly, ears drooping and eyes lost.


    "Oh... thank you very much, Mr. Cat," he whispered. "I really appreciate it."


    "You’re welcome," Cookie replied gently. "My name’s Cookie, in case you’d forgotten."


    "Right... I had forgotten."


    Russell approached, looked at the little one, and knelt down.


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    "So this is our patient," he said softly. "Come on in, little one, I’ll take you inside."


    He took out a small transport cage and placed it before the raccoon, who hesitated for a moment before entering. Cookie nodded reassuringly.


    Once inside, they walked back to the house. The housekeeper had already served breakfast, but Russell asked her to set it aside for later and bring him another cup of coffee.


    "Would you like something, Cookie? Or your little friend?" she asked.


    "If you have any tuna, I’d love some," replied the cat. "And for him... some nuts or berries, if you have any."


    Russell nodded.


    "Bring him the tuna I got from the city," he ordered the housekeeper. "And check in the backyard; there should be some dried fruits stored away."


    The woman left without a word. Russell placed the cage on the table where he usually examined his patients and sat down in front of the little raccoon.


    "How are you feeling, little one?"


    The raccoon looked at him with fear, its ears trembling.


    "Afraid... it’s the first time I’ve spoken with a human. Are they dangerous?"


    The question hit like a stone. Russell opened his mouth, but it was Cookie who answered.


    "They’re as dangerous as any animal," he said without embellishment.


    The little one shrank, almost on the verge of tears. Cookie looked at him and lowered his voice.


    "But they can also be just as kind. That... that always depends on whom you approach."


    The raccoon blinked, confused.


    "How is that possible?"


    Cookie sighed.


    "Because there isn’t much difference between them and us. It’s like asking whether cats are cruel or kind. It will always depend on whom you’re talking to."


    The little one looked at him with a hint of admiration.


    "Are you a good cat, Mr. Cookie?"


    Cookie let out a brief, sad laugh.


    "I don’t know. I’m grey... and nearly everything in this world is. There are good and bad things, places where one prevails over the other."


    The raccoon pondered for a few seconds before speaking again.


    "You’ve been to many places, haven’t you, Mr. Cat? Is this... is this a good place?"


    Cookie hesitated. He looked around and then at Russell, who was silently watching them.


    "It used to be a good place," he admitted. "But lately... something is changing. Maybe it’s becoming dangerous. We don’t know yet. But for animals, it’s still better than the city... unless you’re one of those who were born to live in a house, like me."


    The little one lowered his head, thoughtful.


    "Could I... could I be a pet?"


    Cookie looked at him seriously.


    "I doubt it. I haven’t seen many humans care for a raccoon until the end of its days. Maybe someone... with strange tastes," he paused and reconsidered, "Well... with very peculiar tastes."


    The little raccoon lowered his head, slowly chewing on those words—as if that “peculiar” was just a polite way of saying "no one will ever love you."


    It was then that Russell approached, gently placing his coffee cup on the table.


    "Not everything is as rigid as it seems, Cookie," he said in a calm voice. "Pets are not chosen by species... they are chosen by a bond. And sometimes, you don’t know who you end up caring for until it’s too late."


    The raccoon looked up, surprised by those words. Cookie snorted with a half-smile, as if it were hard for him to accept that the human had a point.


    "What’s your name, little one?" Russell asked, crouching in front of him.


    "I... I don’t have a name, sir."


    Russell paused for a second, then gently patted his head.


    "That needs to be fixed. I can’t heal or care for you if I don’t even know what to call you."


    He thought for a few seconds and smiled slightly.


    "I’ll call you Ash. For your color... and because sometimes, from the ashes comes something worth keeping."


    Ash blinked, as if not entirely understanding the meaning, but he liked the sound of it.


    "Ash?" he repeated softly.


    "Ash," affirmed Russell. "And while you’re here, that’s what you’ll be. A patient... and a friend."


    The housekeeper returned with the tuna and a handful of nuts on a small plate. Cookie moved ahead, sniffing.


    "You’d better hope that name doesn’t condemn you," he joked, though without venom in his voice.


    Russell barely smiled.


    "You brought Ash... so in a way, he’s your responsibility too."


    Cookie stretched, downplaying it.


    "My responsibility ends here. Now I must go... I have a matter to attend to at the precinct. I can’t miss that appointment."


    "Go in peace," Russell agreed. "I’ll take care of him here."


    The cat turned toward the door and, without another word, vanished out the yard, leaving behind the warmth of the kitchen and the unspoken promise that, for a moment, things were in their proper place.


    Russell arranged the little raccoon on a blanket and sat beside him as the house filled with the scent of coffee and freshly served breakfast.


    The morning remained cold in GreenTown, but inside that house, for a while, all was calm.