The living room is warm and quiet. Sunlight spills across the soft rug, and the red bouncy ball rests exactly where Lucky always finds it. He curls into a cozy heap beside it, tail still.
Lucky's nose twitches. The spot where his ball should be holds only dust and a crumpled receipt. He circles the rug twice, tail stiff, and lets out a sharp woof at the empty corner. Where did it go?
Lucky charges into the kitchen, sniffing frantically around the table leg and the trash can. A moth flutters past his ear and he leaps — claws scrabble on the tile — but the ball isn't here. Only a sneeze shakes his whole body.
Lucky trots to the back door and sniffs the floor. Scratch marks zigzag across the wood, as if something heavy dragged itself outside. He presses his nose to the gap beneath the door — cold air, and nothing red.
Lucky bursts back into the living room — and freezes. The sofa cushion is shifted just slightly. Beneath it, something red peeks out. His ears shoot up. His tail gives one sudden wag.
He digs with one paw, then both. Nails click-click-click against the floor. The cushion lifts — and pop! The red ball launches into the air and bonks him gently on the head. He blinks.
Lucky catches his ball mid-bounce and rolls onto his back, paws curled around it like a treasure. His tail thumps a steady rhythm against the rug. He thinks: I found you. You're mine again.
He stands, drops the ball, and chases it three steps. Drops it again. Chases it once more. Each bounce is a perfect game, all his own. The living room fills with the sound of happy little paws.