Sue woke early to the rustle of paws on the tiles, a clear sign the cats prowled the kitchen. Maynerd, the long-haired tabby perched on the windowsill, surveyed his imaginary kingdom. Toffee and Piper tangled on the floor, pawing a loose corner of the old rug.

She threw on her robe, stuffed her feet into slippers, and shuffled from the bedroom. Reaching for the kettle when she got to the kitchen, she put it on the stove to heat. The water hissed when it boiled, steam curling up like a lazy ghost. She yawned, opening the fridge, eyes narrowing.

The gallon of milk she’d bought two days ago lay sideways on the top shelf, leaking a chalky puddle onto a plate of leftover meatloaf. Growling in annoyance, she lifted it and winced as the plastic jug crinkled in her hand. Nearly empty.

“Dammit,” she muttered.

The cats circled her legs, mewing for breakfast, but she stepped around them and opened the pantry. A single can of tuna stared back at her, next to a jar of hot pepper sauce and a shriveled zucchini that looked cursed.

“Well,” she said, lifting the vegetable. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a zucchini, aren’t you?”

Piper meowed, as if offended on the zucchini’s behalf.

Sue considered the limited ingredients: one egg, some flour, the dying zucchini, and that hellishly hot red pepper sauce she’d bought instead of tomato paste last month. The memory of the sauce’s fiery assault on her tongue still made her wince. She shoved it aside and cracked the egg into a bowl.

She sliced the zucchini, hoping to shred it into a fritter or pancake, maybe something the cats would ignore long enough for her to eat. As the grater rasped and the pitiful vegetable disintegrated into green slush, a knock sounded at the door.

She frowned. No one visited this early. Wiping her hands on her robe, she opened the door a crack.

A woman in her thirties stood outside, a cooler under one arm.

“Mornin’,” she said with a shy smile. “You Sue?”

“Who’s asking,” she said cautiously. Maynerd hissed behind her.

“I’m Torrie, live a couple doors down. I, uh, got your milk by accident yesterday. Grocery mix-up, I think.”

She held up the cooler like an offering. Inside sat a fresh, unopened gallon of milk.

Sue blinked. “You carried it over in a cooler?”

“It’s warm this morning,” Torrie said. “Didn’t want it to spoil.”

She hesitated, then opened the door wider. “You want some zucchini fritters? I’ve got…well, zucchini.”

Her smile widened. “Sure. Long’s it ain’t spicy.”

“No promises.”

They settled at her wobbly kitchen table; the cats circling Jodi suspiciously. Toffee jumped into her lap like she owned her.

“You’ve made a friend,” Sue said, flipping a fritter in the skillet. “She hates everyone.”

“I have a way with cats,” she said, stroking Toffee’s ears.

The fritters turned out better than expected—golden, crisp around the edges, steaming with the faintest scent of garlic. Sue put a drop of the hot pepper sauce on her plate, thought better of it, and wiped most of it off with a napkin.

“You live alone?” Torrie asked after the first bite.

“Yup. Well, unless you count the three of them.” She nodded toward the cats. “Divorced. You?”

“Divorced. A decade ago. Guess that makes me free-range.”

Sue chuckled. She poured them both coffee, adding a splash of the reclaimed milk. Perfect.

“You saved breakfast,” she said. “In more ways than one.”

“I try to be useful.” Torrie paused, then added, “I do a little gardening. Too much, really. If you ever need vegetables, I’m your gal. Though I’ve got a zucchini plant that refuses to thrive. It just gives up halfway.”

Sue smirked. “Maybe yours is a cousin of mine.” She nodded toward the plate, where the last fritter sat, golden and forlorn.

Torrie grinned. “A truly miserable zucchini.”

They ate in companionable silence, broken only by the cats vying for Torrie’s attention and the occasional creak of the floor. Outside, the sun rose fully, warming the dew-flecked glass of the kitchen window. The morning, which had begun with spilled milk and a dying vegetable, suddenly seemed not so grim.

“Would you like to come for lunch sometime?” Sue asked, surprising herself. “If you don’t mind experimental cooking.”

“Only if I get to bring the milk next time,” Torrie replied.

“You’re on.”