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six-figure incomes, trusts, and hedge funds. Their children were one more valuable asset.
    At least my daughter’s safe, Josie thought. I couldn’t raise any ransom money. But Josie had turned worrying into a fine art. She went through the lists of what-ifs:
    What if some lowlife thought Amelia was a rich kid?
    What if the kidnapper hurt my daughter when he—or she—learned the truth?
    What if—?
    “Hi, Mom,” Amelia said, opening the car door. She threw her backpack on the rear seat and flopped down on the front one.
    Josie’s worries were smothered by parental pride. My daughter has grown up in the last year, she thought. Amelia looks so much like her late father, it hurts my heart.
    Josie smoothed her daughter’s dark bangs and kissed her hello. In another year or so, Amelia wouldn’t permit that liberty in public.
    “How are you feeling?” Amelia asked, with one of those spooky flash-forwards to adulthood.
    “I’m fine. Ready to pick out a new cat,” Josie said. “Do you want to check the computer at home again for pictures of adoptable cats?”
    “I printed them out last night.” Amelia reached around and rummaged in her backpack for some folded papers. “Let’s go to the shelter before someone gets my cat. I have my list down to two. I read their biographies on the Web site and looked at their videos. I want the playful one.”
    “Tell me about your picks,” Josie asked.
    Amelia read from the paper in her school essay voice. “ ‘Teddy is two years old,’ ” she said. “ ‘He’s a brown tabby with a white vest. He has a great personality and is very playful. He’s been declawed and has a loving nature.’ ”
    “Declawed?” Josie asked. “He’s got my vote.”
    “Don’t I get one?” Amelia asked.
    “Of course you do, honey. Let’s hear about the other cat.”
    “ ‘ Harry is eight months old,’ ” Amelia read. “ ‘Harry is a domestic shorthair with green eyes and a white vest. His family had to relocate and they brought him back. He’s been neutered. He is very clean and likes people.’ ”
    “Doesn’t sound like the Harry I know,” Josie said.
    “It’s not the cat’s fault he has the same name as your boss,” Amelia said.
    “I’m sure Harry the cat has better manners,” Josie said. “If you get the cat Harry, are you going to change his name?”
    “Maybe. I don’t think I’d like to have my name changed once I got used to it. What if you decided to call me Sarah? Besides, if I pick Harry, he’ll be getting a new home. That’s a lot of change for a little animal.”
    “Very thoughtful.” Josie swallowed a lump in her throat. Her daughter was learning to consider others’ feelings, even cats’.
    “We’re here!” Amelia said. The Macklind Avenue shelter was a restored warehouse. Josie thought the inside was surprisingly clean and bright. She could hear a few meows and barks. The adoptable adult cats lounged in a glass-fronted cattery.
    “Look at that big orange cat,” Amelia said.
    “Your great-grandmother called those marmalade cats,” Josie said, “because they look like orange marmalade.”
    “I like that big fluffy brown one,” Amelia said.
    “I think that’s a Maine coon,” Josie said. “They’re supposed to be gentle.”
    Some cats slept, some curled into balls, and some paced like tiny tigers in a zoo. Others wrestled and chased one another. Josie was relieved to see at least one brown striped tabby rolling around with a toy mouse. She hoped the cat stayed in a playful mood.
    “You can still get a Persian or a Himalayan like Zoe’s,” Josie said.
    “I want a cat like Daddy’s,” Amelia said.
    An adoption counselor asked them questions about cat food, litter boxes, health care, and other pet issues. She looked like the kind of woman you could go to if you were in trouble.
    “Will your cat be indoor, outdoor, or both?” the counselor asked.
    “He’s staying indoors,” Josie said.
    “Good,” the counselor said. “Indoor