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understood the term no better than it did fear or love; but it seemed to the house, nonetheless, that Henry's seeking shelter revealed more sanity than Kevin's flight into the storm. And because Henry smelled neither of smoke nor of toxic chemicals, the only aromas the house was capable of detecting, it knew he posed no immediate physical danger.
        It was less sure about the blankets, which had rolled off Henry's lap and were now squeaking and writhing on the floor. At last, the small wiggling lump in the middle of one of the blankets fought its way to the edge and emerged. It was a black kitten, drenched and grimy and missing patches of fur. It looked around, ears flattened, hissed, and then began to scratch itself furiously.
        Henry took his face out of his hands. He had stopped crying. "House," he said, "cats okay?" When there was no answer, he sighed and unfolded the second blanket, revealing an orange kitten, as unprepossessing as the first, who spat and promptly ran under the couch. "Would have drowned," Henry said. "Tried to scratch Henry when he picked them up." He said more quietly, "Couldn't bring all of them. House, give Henry a sign. One for yes-two for no. Owner coming back today?"
        The house flashed the living room lights twice, and Henry shivered.
        "House could be lying," he said. "House could be calling the police."
        The house flashed the lights twice again, and activated fans to blow the smell of the brewing coffee toward Henry. It knew that humans had much more acute senses of smell than it did, and Kevin had never been able to resist coffee. Even so, it was a good twenty minutes before Henry got up and went into the kitchen, where he remained stubbornly standing next to the sink even after the house had repeatedly opened and closed the doors to the cabinet containing the coffee mugs. At last the house surrounded Henry with a ring of bots, to make sure he wouldn't flee, and then sent a Waldobot into the cabinets to retrieve a mug and bring it to him.
        "Stop it," Henry said when he saw the Waldobot clambering across the floor with the mug. "Make that thing stop. Make the big spider put the cup down, House. Henry will pick it up if the big spider goes away, and all the little ones too! Make them go!"
        They went, clicking softly across the marble tile of the kitchen back to the living room, and Henry picked up the mug and moved hesitantly toward the coffeepot. "Scared, House. Henry's scared!" He spilled half the coffee trying to fill the mug; he shook the way Kevin had once, during a high fever. But after he had taken a sip of the coffee, he opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of milk and a chicken drumstick. "For the cats," he said. "Henry's stealing the food for the cats. Henry won't eat it himself." The house opened the cabinet door where the dishes were, and Henry took out a saucer and a plate. Then he went back into the living room—where both kittens were now cowering against the wall under Kevin's drafting table—and set out the small meal. When Henry had finished pulling the chicken meat off the drumstick and putting it on the plate, he went back into the kitchen. He put the milk back into the refrigerator and threw away the chicken bone. Then he headed toward the kitchen door. "Henry's leaving now, House. Owner has two new cats. House, please feed cats until owner gets back. No bones."
        The house blinked the kitchen light twice. Henry couldn't go outside; the storm was still too dangerous. Henry frowned. "No to cats, House? Owner hates cats?"
        Blink, blink. The house didn't know if Kevin hated cats or not, but since he'd never be coming back, it didn't matter. Henry shrugged and resumed his progress toward the door, but the house sent a swarm of bots to head him off. The bots herded Henry back into the living room—where the kittens, their tails huge, fled in terror—and then down the hall into the master