金玉滿堂・電子版

Our mail carrier knocked on my door and asked if he could say goodbye to my cat before he retired. Cleo is an eight-year-old orange-and-white cat who spends most afternoons on the windowsill facing the street. I work from home and know her routine. At about two, she'd hear the mail truck stop, climb onto the sill, and wait. Our carrier, Frank, would put the mail in the box beside the porch, then glance up and give her a little wave. Cleo usually answered by pressing one paw against the glass. At first, I thought it was funny. Eventually, it became ordinary. Sometimes Frank brought packages to the door. That's how he learned her name. "Where's Cleo today?" he'd ask if she wasn't in the window. When a neighbor closed the curtains during a trip, Frank asked whether Cleo was okay. Last Thursday, he brought a parcel that needed a signature. After I signed, he looked past me toward the window. "Tomorrow's my last day on this route," he said. "I'm retiring." I congratulated him. Then he asked, a little sheepishly, "Would it be alright if I said goodbye to Cleo? She's been my regular for six years." I told him to come by at his normal time.