Lottie's Point of View

The conference was lengthy and productive. I presented my ideas to the very details that I had planned for. Uncle Lyle asked questions by means of clarification and logistics. We shared a busy discussion of the upcoming project that snatched our time away in the blink of an eye. Actually, the concept of time had completely slipped my mind while the debate progressed. It was only after my uncle first glanced up at the clock at the wall that I remembered that we were bound to a schedule. Six thirty in the evening had arrived, even inching past it. We had long past my shift end at six and just barely passed his. It was time for us to wrap up and head home to wind down for the night.

My office door was the first along the hall, though I made a detour to the second one down to check on Digby. His shift end was the same as mine, six o'clock, so he might have already left by now. If not, I could lighten up the evening a little more by giving him a squeeze goodbye. When I found his office dark through the glass window fixed into the door as a result of him having locked up already, I returned to my office to do the same. I shut down the computer at my desk with a long press of the button at the back, unhinged my puffy pink coat from its place draped over the back of my chair, and shrugged my arms into it. As it was the middle of May with pleasantly warm breezes, a winter coat wasn't needed, although it kept me at ease to understand that I was prepared.

The door to my uncle's office across the hall swung open just as I was locking up my own. He locked his door while I zipped up my jacket to wait politely. As I watched him, his head bowed in his careful work, I sensed the deepening drowsy aura of a day that was winding down. He had nothing to say on his way out today, but neither did I. We accompanied each other in a quiet walk to descend to the first floor, shut off the light system at the door, and ducked back into the outside world for the final time tonight.

The pale blue skies of morning stuck around late, given the time of year. It was somewhere around a quarter to seven when we first set off from the building for the night and yet, our journey was still considerably lit. We shuffled across salmon-pink pathways amidst a show of low hedge walls leading out from the HHDA and proceeded on our way home. We followed sidewalks, crossed under arching tree branches, and took a few familiar turns on our way back home. Well, maybe familiar wasn't quite the right word—I had memorized every single square inch of it over the years.

We arrived at my doorstep. As the dark of night hadn't yet come around to close the day, the lamp overhanging my black front door didn't glow to show us the way. Not a sound stirred around us as Uncle Lyle unlocked the door—Somehow not tugging it tight enough the first time and trying again—And allowed us into the room. I closely followed him inside, succumbing to a sort of surge of relief when my eyes laid upon the direct sights as my uncle shut the door after us.

We had a very cozy little house, very welcoming. The satisfaction from arriving at home didn't stem from any kind of reluctance to attend work. The HHDA was almost a second home to be, given the wide number of hours that I spent there on a daily basis. But this was also the same reason that finding myself home kindled the relaxation. It was a treat to be here, considering I only spent three or four hours here while I was awake. I tried to count once for no reason other than boredom.

As Uncle Lyle restricted himself to the kitchen to prepare our dinner, I decided that I wanted to lie down and take a breather. Steam rising from a tall, bubbling pot already heavily fogged up the windows in the kitchen as I brought myself out of the entry and into the hall. To the left, a wide opening gave access to a smaller area where the couch and television were set up, and past the opening a door to the bathroom. The bedrooms lay across the right side, first mine and then my uncle's. The boiling water in the kitchen was still popping and searing from around the corner as I twisted the doorknob to my room and emerged inside.

Rarely deviating from the usual, the entirety of my carpeted floor was empty of clutter. My bed, thin and wooden, was decorated with dense sky-blue covers and the rays of sun that tumbled onto them from the open window. I could nearly feel the warmth soaking into my body as I lay my front across the blanket, resting the side of my head on the pillow, and savored the sensation of lying down after being on my feet for several hours.

It wasn't the number of minutes ticking by that was important, only the coziness of sprawling out on the blanket and the cushioned surface against my fur. The demand of presence in the day was melting away, right down into the mattress beneath me and relieving me of the certain pressure. I appreciated the sensation until I was content with it, twisting to instead lay on my back and glance up at the ceiling in the softer atmosphere. I settled down on my back, silently studying the plain surface above me and allowing life to sink in as it was. The mattress gently cradling my back. The faint rustling of my uncle working in the kitchen. The unbroken sunlight that clothed me in a yellowish glow. I would have been nothing without some kind of a break from the ceaseless buzz of life.

Only when my paw flew to absentmindedly scratch the base of my hair bun did I realize that I hadn't taken it out yet. I tended to make a habit of undoing the style soon after I arrived at home for the night. I likely would have thanked myself for doing it before dinner. My body was heavy with drowsiness after reclining as I climbed up from my bed again and carried myself back out into the hall. The sound of boiling water in the kitchen had gone, replaced by the gentle clattering of dishes. I was probably going to be called for dinner soon. I emerged into the bathroom at the end of the hall, flicked on the lightswitch as my eyes quickly adjusted to the flood of lights, and pulled the door shut after me.

Standing in front of the mirror, I stared into the face that I had known for twenty-eight years. I rested my paws against the flat of the counter, blinking myself back to alertness as my done-up eyelashes fluttered with every one, before I reached up atop my head. One after the other, I carefully withdrew the pins that had disappeared into my hair and tossed them beside the sink. Without the pins—And with the cluttered pile they created on the bathroom counter—The hairstyle was still fairly intact with the band and bow holding it together.

Here comes the struggle, I mentally grumbled, still examining my own face in the mirror as I pried my claws beneath the band to free my hair from it. I appreciated the routine, but there was something so small and insignificant that fueled dread for it at the same time. My hair tumbled down onto my shoulders as I wrenched it free from the hair tie, frizzed and dented from the style, and a tingling discomfort shot to my head like frigid fingers running across my scalp. My paw had flung around the handle of the black short-bristled brush next to the sink within seconds, frantically relieving the odd sensation by whisking it through my hair and brushing the tingles out. It was the same thing every time, forming itself into a usual routine I hadn't asked for.

A soft knock rapped on the other side of the shut door. I spared a glance in its direction, discarding the bow hair tie on the counter to more efficiently brush out my hair in case the discomfort would come creeping back in.

"Mm-hmm?" I prompted my uncle on the other side of the door.

"Dinner's ready." I listened to his soft, almost scratchy voice from the hall as he spoke gently. "I put it out on the table. Go ahead and finish up what you're doing in there. Don't feel rushed or anything like that."

Uncle Lyle was very patient like that, I had realized across the years of our shared residence. Having lived here since I was seven, there were quite a few things I had come across about him. I skimmed through my hair with the brush to the point of satisfaction, dropped the lock of hair again as it closed into me halfway down my back, and left the bathroom to join my uncle at the table.

It was a quiet meal, but that was typical. Neither of us spoke while we ate, sat across from each other at the table as the room grew shadowed in the fading evening. Chopsticks clicked against bowls as we picked up bite-sized vegetables and rolls of noodles that scorched my tongue with spice. Dinnertime was a space in the day where I tended to have conversations with myself, silently tossing thoughts back and forth as if I were chatting face to face with someone else. Tonight, it was how so much of today was just like every other day. Nothing ever changed, I noticed. I tugged myself out of bed at six thirty, showered, walked to work, put in my hours, walked home, lay down in bed for a bit, undid my hair, and ate. There was something so unfulfilling about that. I was stuck in my own little box of familiarity where everything outside of it was a life I never knew. Was I truly destined to be stuck here forever?

It was a hint after a quarter to eight when the soft sound of Uncle Lyle setting down his empty bowl into the sink caught my attention. He wasn't facing me, reaching down into the opening to leave the dish. He straightened up again, snuck a glance at the clock positioned above the front door, and pushed out a heavy sigh as if the results displeased him.

"You finished yet?" He asked me, peering at me across the table behind his thick-rimmed glasses.

"Not quite," I admitted, turning my eyes down to the inside of my bowl to further prove my point. I was almost done, but a cluster of noodles and the brown sauce smeared beneath it remained.

"Be sure to finish up, if you can," he told me. There was a certain exhaustion weighing down his voice. "I'm just gonna go sit in the gathering area with a book for a while. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," I assured him.

I had just scraped together the last of my noodles with my chopsticks when I caught the sound of Uncle Lyle sinking into one of the chairs in the gathering area behind me, having evidently already picked out his entertainment for the evening. I stuffed down my last bite and rose from the table, plucking up the bowl on my way to the sink to wash it out. My uncle's bowl still sat abandoned inside, likely to be rinsed after I went to bed, but I was here anyway. After that, though, maybe it was a good idea to get some sleep and bring this night to a close.

The reigning silence from dinner had fallen over the space again, broken only by the running water and the occasional page turn behind my back, but it was almost lonelier this time. I first rinsed out my own bowl, washing away the evidence of sauce remnants without struggle, and set it aside to work on the next one. I ran the next bowl under the water, quietly watching the brown sauce trickle down the drain before I packed the clean dishes away back into the cupboards. I didn't need a thank you to do something nice for someone I cared for so dearly, or even acknowledgment for that matter, but not even being looked at from across the room was strange. Uncle Lyle sat completely buried in a dark-cover book in his tall gray chair as if nothing around him existed. Or mattered.

He was probably just tired. He mumbled about it frequently. I decided not to be concerned, leaving behind my finished work at the kitchen counter and starting off back towards the hall to return to my bedroom.

"Oh, hey, wait." His voice interjected through the silence just as I stepped into the hall. I caught the subtle sound of him shutting his book again before I yet had the chance to turn back around.

I faced him again. He was still seated in his cushioned chair, pointed almost directly towards me in the angle it was previously positioned in. He had set down his book on his lap, neglecting it to turn a more attentive eye to the conversation.

"Yes?" I said.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Uncle Lyle told me. He paused, his dark eyes glazing over in thought, before he put a fist to his forehead in a frustrated motion. "Darn, what was it? I just had it. Give me a minute."

He still didn't remove his paw from his face as I crossed the room to patiently accompany him, racking his memory for the topic of conversation. I lowered myself into the next chair over in the circle arrangement, perching my paws on the arm to study him until he would speak. Finally, he uncovered his face, raising his head to meet my steady gaze from behind his glasses. The lights beaming down from above sent a shine across the rim.

"It's about that project you were talking to me about today," he went on. "That new one you just introduced. It's a big deal. It means a lot to me to see you putting in so much work and taking such a big leap for our company. I'm really proud of you for that."

"Thank you, Uncle Lyle," I replied, but a sneaking suspicion told me there was more to be said. I was right.

"Mm-hmm. But as I said, that's a huge ambition to accomplish," he pointed out. Bafflement washed over me. Was he about to shut me down after actively discussing it with me at work earlier? "I'm concerned about you handling it on your own, since you've never pursued a solo endeavor before. I'm not questioning your abilities, of course. I know for certain that you'll be able to manage it. I just don't want you to put yourself under too much stress to succeed."

Uncle Lyle slipped his glasses from his face, studying the lenses for a few seconds as if checking whether they had been dirtied up in a matter of moments. After he appeared to have looked at them thoroughly enough, he tucked them back into place.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you ever need help with something during this whole thing, don't be afraid to ask," he concluded. "Believe me, I know how dedicated you are to this work and pleasing everyone involved. Just don't let that get in the way if you genuinely need support. No one will think you're weak or incompetent or whatever if you do. If you ever need an extra set of paws on something, you can always come to me, or Digby, if you prefer. We'll help you in any way we can."

My heart dipped sharply into my chest at the name, rippling with a fluttery sort of giddiness, but my feelings for Digby weren't exactly important to mention right now.

"I understand," I assured him instead.

"Good," Uncle Lyle replied. He reached over and gently enclosed one of my paws in his own on the arm of my chair, offering an encouraging squeeze. "I think that's all I have to say. I hope so. If it isn't and I remember something else in the middle of the night when I'm supposed to be sleeping, it'll wait until the morning. It's not worth disrupting your sleep over. Speaking of which, I suggest you get some soon."

"I planned to," I agreed as he released my paw to withdraw.

"All right. Let me say goodnight first," he mumbled, setting aside his book on the chair before he heaved himself up by its arms.

I stood up with him and allowed myself to become wrapped up in his arms, joined in a tender embrace. Only sometimes did we get the chance to say goodnight like this and it was an unexpected treat when we did. I clutched him close to me and buried my face in his shoulder, breathing in his warmth that was so much like a home, and felt him squeeze me in return.

"Sleep well," Uncle Lyle murmured. His voice resonated somewhere between us in our embrace. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I whispered.

Uncle Lyle left a soft kiss on the side of my head before he pulled away again, still resting his paws on my arms.

"You get going now," he told me. "Don't forget to take your makeup off before you go to bed."

When I blinked, the last conversation of the night was in the past. I climbed into my lace nightgown in my bedroom and found myself back at the bathroom mirror to rinse the makeup from my lashes. I bunched up my long sleeves and ran my paws under the gushing water from the sink, passing them over my eyes to scrub the mascara off. I dabbed at my face with a towel to dry it again and left the bathroom once more, ready to collapse into bed at least. I ducked through the door to my bedroom, already in the motion of quietly shutting the door after me, but my uncle's heavy footsteps shuffling through the hall after me brought me to pause.

With the lights still burning through the hallway, I didn't bother flicking on my own light. I set my paw on the doorframe for balance to peer through the crack in the doorway, jerking my head back again with my uncle's sudden appearance in front of my door. I hadn't expected to see him there so suddenly. But he wasn't headed towards my door. Instead, he gripped ahold of the doorknob in the door across from mine—The door that would open to stairs descending to the basement, where he kept his home office—And wrenched the door open in such a way that I almost thought something angered him. I watched him as his paw latched firmly around the railing and he brought himself down the stairs with no emotion and a labored gait.

I shut my bedroom door without a sound.

The scent of fresh coffee wafting through the room and the subtle sound of the trickling pour to my left complimented the cozy atmosphere of the HHDA's break room. The fragile sensation of the early morning still crept into my bones, as we had just arrived at work almost five minutes ago around seven thirty. While Uncle Lyle stood at the counter to pour himself a cup of black coffee from the pot, I stood beside him with a mug of my own on the counter between my paws. It wasn't coffee I was seeking, but instead I brewed myself a cup of green tea, watching the tea bag sit motionless at the bottom of the pale liquid and delighting in the warmth spreading to the pads of my paws.

Uncle Lyle set down the coffee pot again and wrapped his paw around the handle of his mug, but didn't yet lift it for a sip as he glanced over at me beside him.

"So, have you talked to Digby yet?" He asked.

A world of restraint prevented me from yanking my paws back from my mug so abruptly that it would have toppled over. My stomach tumbled in a passing wave of nervousness as my mind fired to determine what he meant. What was he saying? Surely he wasn't implying the obvious.

"About what?" I replied.

"That new project of yours," Uncle Lyle answered, and I relaxed again. "The project which, by the way, you have yet to give me a proper name for to more efficiently refer to it. I'm assuming that he isn't yet informed, considering the majority of our conversations happened off company time. Well, at least the time where he was present, anyway."

"I haven't thought of a name," I admitted, turning my focus back to my tea and bobbing the teabag in it a few times to help disperse it. "It's such a complicated decision. And no, I haven't told him yet."

"You should do that today," Uncle Lyle suggested, finally raising his mug to take a long sip before he addressed me again. "Matter of fact, let's do that this morning. He's not going to be here for another half hour or so. We can use that time to prep for a conference for when he gets here."

"I haven't finished planning yet," I said.

"Doesn't matter," he told me. "He'll just be happy to be involved."

That settled it. I agreed to put together the preparations for a beginning-shift conference and only needed about fifteen minutes to do so. My uncle left the break room first, neglecting the time to add anything further to his black coffee, and I departed minutes later with my fully steeped tea. Upon arriving at my office, I first scribbled down a note for Digby on a yellow sticky note to accompany me in the first conference room once he arrived and pasted it on the glass window in his office door. I returned at my own office to the sight of my green tea still spitting steam into the air to prove its heat. I powered up the computer positioned on my desk and for the next several minutes compiled a bullet-point list of everything there was, as of this moment in development, to mention about the new project swiftly weaving its way into my life. From ambitions to tasks in preparation—Albeit an officially recognized title—I laid the foundations for a meeting that might have been about to swallow up the full first hour before the doors were flung open to the world.

The printer behind my desk clicked and whirred as it formed the page of notes I had just completed. That was probably the only period of time I would spend on the computer today, given my bustling schedule elsewhere. I logged out of my computer and reached back from my seat towards the printer, retrieving the sheet of paper that now waited for me. I cracked open the pale folder beside my keyboard, the one containing the rest of the developmental documents I had right now, and tucked away the newest one as well. I was ready to prep the conference room.

I allowed myself a lengthy sip of my tea, flipped the folder shut again, and rose from my desk. The tea was well on its way to being cold, already having significantly muted the flavor. I wrapped up the folder snugly in my arms, taking my leave through the office door and clicked my way across the hard floors of the halls in my high heels. The conference room permitted me a completely blank slate, with a cleared table and a whiteboard that had been polished clean in my absence, and I knew exactly where to begin.

I plopped down my folder on the table to free my paws on the way to the whiteboard. I snuck a glance into the marker bin strapped magnetically to the side of the board, studying my options, and plucked out a purple marker to begin writing. I gripped the marker in my paw, unclipping the cap and raising it to the board, but the sound of the door swinging open behind me lowered it again. My heart gave an abnormal little dance as I turned back around, but it was only my uncle that had arrived, letting the door fall shut behind him as he withdrew the seat next to the one I had claimed with my folder.

"I didn't think you'd be here so quickly." Uncle Lyle set down his coffee mug—Still steaming, unlike my tea back in my office—And lowered himself into his chair with a faint sigh. "How long have you been in here?"

"Thirty seconds, at the most," I replied.

"Are those your notes?" He asked, raising his paw in a brief gesture towards the folder next to him. When I nodded in confirmation, he posed another question. "Mind if I glance through them real quick?"

"Sure," I said. Uncle Lyle picked up the folder to relocate it in front of him instead. "There's nothing there that you don't know already."

As Uncle Lyle gently sifted through the present documents, the soft sound merging well with the rhythmic ticking of the clock, I listened to the squeak of the marker against the whiteboard as I wrote in broad text.

5/23/21

New Project

"Are you nervous?" Uncle Lyle asked me, drawing my attention away from the board. I looked at him again and noticed that while the folder still lay open in front of him, his focus had fixed upon me instead.

"Why would I be nervous?" I inquired.

"To introduce this idea to Digby," he said.

"Oh." I clipped the cap back onto the marker. "Well, I feel nervous just by standing near him, so generally, yes. Specifically, no. He's very good about being supportive and kind, so I'm not worried about him shooting me down in some way."

"No, I guess it doesn't make sense to think he'd do that," Uncle Lyle agreed in a murmur, shifting slightly to adjust his seat and casually folding his arms. "When it comes to you, you could fire him on the spot and he'd still bring you a warm cup of tea on the way out."

I didn't have the chance to consider what that meant before the door swinging open a second time interjected into our conversation. Digby ducked into the room, as alert and upbeat as ever for seven forty-five in the morning, standing in the doorway with a furry brown paw propping open the door as he looked around at the room's occupants. Instantly, my stomach furrowed with nerves.

"Good morning!" Digby greeted as a bright smile reached his face before I realized that I was smiling as well. "What have we got going on today?"

"Thank you for arriving so quickly, Digby," I said, turning away to stick the marker back into the bin. The sound of the door falling shut again implied his full emergence into the room. "You're very early, though."

I looked back at Digby as he paused at the side of the table. His eyes lingered on the clock above my head for a few seconds before he met my gaze.

"Not quite," he said, a hesitance creeping into his voice in his disagreement as if he was afraid of being looked at as impolite by doing so.

I spun around to observe the clock he had just looked at. He was right—It was not a quarter to eight, as I previously assumed, but instead a hint past. He was actually right on time. I must have taken up more time preparing than it seemed. I opened my mouth to apologize as I turned back to face him but he was already speaking, promptly switching the subject as if to spare me from embarrassment at my mistake.

"A new project?" Digby read aloud from the board, seating himself in the chair across from my uncle's as he continued to examine it. "That's big news. Where is this coming from?"

"It's an idea that I've had for a while for a new branch of service for Happy Home," I explained from the side of the board. The two pairs of eyes both flitted towards me to listen. "I've had the basics in mind for years but the resources and skill only now."

"Well, that's fantastic," Digby told me. As anticipated, the enthusiasm reigned clear in his voice. "I agree, it's about time to switch things up. That's a great idea to add something new. When will it be opened up and made available to the public?"

"There's no set date yet," I admitted. Digby nodded patiently as he followed along. "As of right now, this is all still in the beginning phases of development."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Digby told me. Uncle Lyle tore his gaze away from me to look at him. "All great accomplishments have to start somewhere. What's it called?"

"That's also something that I don't have yet," I said.

A sense of doubt had begun to wash over me with a twinge of awkwardness. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to schedule this conference for today. Digby was asking such efficient, productive questions, and I had no answers to give him. It was far too behind in development to properly introduce. Well, I was already here.

"All right. I'll take a step back," Digby agreed politely as if the words running through my mind were appearing across my forehead. "I apologize for just jumping in like that. Let's start from the beginning. What features do we have for certain as of right now?"

That was an easier question to deal with. Some of the tension lifted from my shoulders as I stretched my paw far across the table, grasping ahold of my folder and straightening up again.

"Let's see," I announced, cracking open the folder to glance over my notes. "First of all, we—"

My voice trailed off at the short, periodical buzzing of a ringing cell phone. It didn't take long to discover whom it belonged to as Uncle Lyle quickly shifted in his seat to withdraw his phone from his back pocket. He only glanced at the screen for about two seconds before he eased himself up from the table with a brief gesture that it would only take a minute and tugged himself through the door for privacy.

I flipped the folder in my paws shut again and Digby, having watched my uncle in his swift departure, glanced back at me at the sound. Under the ticking of the clock that progressed us through each passing second, we remained silent in wait for something to happen. Digby was likely actively anticipating the meeting to start up again, but I wasn't. Everything had just begun to fall apart as soon as we all joined together. At this point, it was more productive to ditch it altogether.

The door was flung open again as my uncle poked his head through the doorway, still holding his phone up to his ear.

"This is going to take longer than I thought," he explained. "It's best if we just close up here. Sorry for cutting us off like this. Let's try again same time tomorrow."

If there was anything more to prove that this wasn't working, it was that. Disappointment dunk the weight back onto my shoulders and I gulped down a heavy sigh as the door was pulled shut again. Seeming unsure of what to do, Digby had been glancing between the door and me before he carefully rose to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Digby. This is a bit embarrassing," I confessed, defeatedly plopping my folder down onto the table and facing the whiteboard to wipe away the writing I had eagerly put down not five minutes ago.

"Why?" Digby inquired behind me as my paw found the dry eraser on the bottom rim of the whiteboard.

"Because I had the statement and nothing to back it up with," I said, outstretching my paw and starting to scrub away the purple markups with the eraser. "That was fairly unprofessional on my part and I apologize."

"Don't apologize, Lottie," Digby told me. I finished clearing the board and tossed a glance back at him. His expression was gentle, though his words were certain. "It sounds like you started working on it as soon as you could. To expect you to have fully processed and developed an entire branch of business in a week or two would be ridiculous. Believe me, this is only the beginning. It's only going to get better from here."

"Thank you, Digby," I replied, allowing a smile to wash over my face and straining every ounce of my voice from shaking under the influence of the skipping of my heart. Somehow, he always knew just what to say. Just another one of the countless things that made me adore him.

When Digby departed from the room, he left behind the empty whiteboard, the ticking clock, and my shuffling thoughts. The words we had exchanged had engraved themselves into my mind, a pleasantly warm glow of a memory, as I snagged the same purple marker from the bin and raised it to lay the foundations for tomorrow's meeting instead.

5/24/21

New Beginnings

. . .

Only when I stopped holding the lack of advancements against me did the advancements start rolling in. It all started mentally. It wasn't an exaggeration to state I spent all day considering it. From the brisk travel between various segments of my schedule and the slower moments at work to the journey home at my uncle's side and my regular evening routine, the thought never left my mind. I contemplated every detail from the least notable to the most significant with every motion I took. By the time my eyes flung open in the morning, I had next to everything—A long-term plan, every task that needed to be completed before its launch, even a vague estimation of when developments would be finalized. Most importantly, what I had also finally managed to grasp was an official, fitting title to top it off.

By five past eight in the morning, I was braving the halls of the second floor to reach the conference room after setting it up yesterday morning. I was fully aware that I would have been the last one to attend, but the reasoning justified the absence. I used the extra time beforehand adding to my initial notes and re-printing after thoroughly reviewing the bullet-point list to check that I hadn't left anything out. At five past eight, I clicked my way across the hallway with the future wrapped up in my arms in a tan folder.

Digby and Uncle Lyle had already found their way to the same seats at the table as yesterday when I emerged into the conference room. I exchanged brief wishes of a good morning but hardly so much as paused before I was crossing the room in short strides to reach the whiteboard. There was no sense in wasting time today. All three of us knew exactly why we were here.

I set my folder down onto the surface of the table and snagged the purple marker from the bin after barely arriving at the whiteboard. My heart was dancing an enthusiastic jig as I snapped the cap from the marker and proceeded to inscribe the title of the project in wide letters beneath the introduction I had left before for everyone to clearly see. Once finished, I clasped the marker in both of my paws and turned back to face my modest-sized listening audience with a beaming smile stretching across my face.

"Allow me to introduce you to Happy Home Paradise."