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It felt good to love again, in that big empty house. Virginia Kellner got the cat last November, around her ninety-second birthday, and now itâs always nearby. It keeps her company as she moves, bent over her walker, from the couch to the bathroom and back again. The walker has a pair of orange scissors hanging from the handlebar, for opening mail. Virginia likes the petâs green eyes. She likes that itâs there in the morning, when she wakes up. Sometimes, on days when she feels sad, she sits in her soft armchair and rests the cat on her soft stomach and just lets it do its thing. Nuzzle. Stretch. Vibrate. Virginia knows that the cat is programmed to move this way; there is a motor somewhere, controlling things. Still, she can almost forget. âIt makes you feel like itâs real,â Virginia told me, the first time we spoke. âI mean, mentally, I know itâs not. Butâoh, it meowed again!â