A Place Beside Me

Ziggy had found an excellent place to sit.

The porch bench had a cushion, a blanket, and a view of the biscuit plate.

There were, he felt, very few improvements a bench could reasonably make.

Inside Bamboo Corner, someone laughed. Cups clinked. Quill was explaining why a biscuit count could not include biscuits that had already been eaten.

Bam was disagreeing.

Ziggy reached for a biscuit.

Then he noticed someone beyond the porch light.

They stood beside the bamboo gate, one paw resting on the latch.

Enormous colorful ears. Teal glasses. Headphones. A tail that looked as though a sunset had gotten pleasantly tangled in it.

They were looking toward the cottage.

Every time the laughter grew louder, they smiled.

But they didn’t come closer.

Ziggy lowered his biscuit.

“Hello.”

The stranger’s ears lifted.

“Oh. Hello.”

“Are you looking for someone?”

“Not exactly.”

Ziggy considered that. He had looked for not-exactly before. It could take ages.

“I’m Ziggy.”

“Remy.”

“Would you like to sit down?”

Remy glanced through the open doorway.

“You’ve got company.”

“Yes,” said Ziggy. “They’re very good at it.”

Inside, Bam announced that crumbs were not evidence.

Remy laughed softly.

“I don’t want to interrupt.”

Ziggy looked at the bench.

His blanket occupied one end. The biscuit plate occupied the middle. He occupied considerably more cushion than a panda his size strictly required.

“One moment.”

He gathered the blanket. Moved the plate. Shuffled sideways.

A biscuit rolled toward the edge.

He caught it.

That was fortunate. Welcoming someone should not require unnecessary losses.

Then he patted the cushion beside him.

“There.”

Remy stayed by the gate.

“Is someone sitting there?”

“Yes,” said Ziggy.

Their smile faltered.

“You,” he added.

For a moment, Remy didn’t say anything.

Then they opened the gate.

Up close, their glasses were the blue-green of the stream where the bamboo shadows fell. One headphone leaked a tiny rhythm.

Ziggy’s foot began tapping.

Remy noticed.

“Too loud?”

“No. My foot likes it.”

They sat down carefully, gathering their magnificent tail out of the biscuit plate.

Ziggy offered them the one he had rescued.

“This nearly escaped.”

“Thank you.”

They sat quietly for a while.

The music hummed. The bamboo rustled. Inside, Quill asked who had put a napkin over his clipboard.

Neither of them hurried to fill the silence.

At last Remy said, “I wasn’t sure there was room.”

Ziggy looked at the blanket piled in his lap.

“There wasn’t,” he admitted. “I had to move some things.”

Remy turned toward him.

Then they smiled—a proper smile this time—and took a bite of biscuit.

Bam appeared in the doorway.

“Oh,” he said. “You found the good bench.”

“Remy found it,” Ziggy told him.

“Excellent. Does Remy like tea?”

“They’re right here,” said Quill from behind him. “You may ask them.”

Bam turned politely.

“Do you like tea?”

“Yes,” Remy said. “Very much.”

Bam disappeared to arrange it.

Soon there were two cups on the little porch table.

Ziggy unfolded the blanket and offered Remy half.

When the night breeze stirred, they tucked it around their knees.

Inside, the conversation carried on. Remy listened, then leaned toward the doorway.

“Actually,” they said, “I have an idea.”

Everyone paused to hear it.

Beside them, Ziggy reached for another biscuit.

It was still an excellent place to sit.

Especially now.