It was a Saturday morning in Edmonds, Washington. Cafes and galleries were opening, and cars were parking, passengers emerging to enjoy large breakfasts. Down by the water, early morning joggers were able to see the peaks across the water emerging as the sun began to burn off the clouds. For once, June was acting like a real summer month.

On Fifth and Walnut, a large moving van was parked outside of a condo building. 515 Walnut Street was an unassuming pinkish building with four units. The ground floor unit closest to the street was finally going to be occupied again.

Directly above Unit 1, in Number 3, Leroy knew something unusual was taking place. On the street below, he could hear banging and raised voices. He let out a tentative bark, wondering if someone would respond. Verna, owner of Leroy, shushed him. She sat at the dining room table, drinking a cup of tea while she finished the crossword in the paper.

“It’s just the new neighbours at Number 1,” she said to the slightly overweight Bernese Mountain dog who turned to look at her, “They’re moving in today.” Leroy wagged his tail. Maybe the new neighbours would have a friend for him. George and Verna had lived in Number 3 for almost five years, ever since George had retired from teaching history to high school students.

Verna couldn’t quite see the Sound from their living room window, but she liked knowing it was there, within walking distance. George had wanted a view.

“George dear, we can enjoy the water everyday by taking a short walk. We don’t need to pay to own a small piece of the view,” Verna had nodded her head twice, in that certain decisive way of hers and the next thing George knew, 515 Walnut Street #3 was their new address. His consolation was realizing he finally was fulfilling a small and secret dream to live on a street that had a name.

“Verna,” George called from their bedroom, “The new number ones look quite young. Straight out of college, I’d say.”

“George! Are you spying on them?” Verna sounded horrified, but was at the window next to him, faster than he expected. At 63, she was still as energetic as she had been at 50. She’s not getting old as quickly as I am, George thought as he looked at her. She had a halo of white hair and deep laugh lines, but she was still looked thin and fit in the pink jogging outfit she was wearing from this morning’s walk. He patted his more significant waistline unconsciously.

“Which ones are they?” she asked, as she raised herself on her tip toes in order to peer over the lace curtains.

“It’s hard to tell,” George said, “They seem to have  pack of friends helping them, but I think the spiky-haired one with the big glasses is directing operations. The one in the red t-shirt. He doesn’t look old enough to be buying a condo!”

“You were 25 when we bought our first home, dear” Verna said smiling at him, “He could easily be 25 – they don’t dress their age the way we used to.”

At this point, Leroy, who had followed Verna into the bedroom, squeezed himself in between them and jumped up to rest his paws on the window sill. In the one-second glimpse he got before George ordered him to get down, Leroy saw his nemesis, Henry, prowling on the pavement below. He let out a distressed howl as he landed on all fours again. Cats were so lucky. There was Henry, getting in on all the action and excitement, allowed to go outside unsupervised, while Leroy had to stay in the house or on a leash. Life just wasn’t fair. He looked mournfully up at his owners but they didn’t pay any attention to his big sad brown eyes.

“I think that’s his wife,” George said, as a pretty blonde girl came around the corner from the condo entrance.

“You can’t assume that they’re married,” said Verna. They don’t get married the way we used to, George thought, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll have to bake them a pie,” Verna said, turning around, “They’re going to need some good food tonight. What should I do, apple or banana cream?” Without waiting for an answer, she was gone, and George heard cupboards open. I hope she makes one for us too, he thought.