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John turned the car into a short driveway. Along the side of the house, between the garage door that didn’t open and the kitchen entrance, sat a tiny garden with a rickety porch swing, a plastic pond, and a concrete bench. I unloaded the dogs and led them to the Golden Retriever Farm garden while John went in through the kitchen door to find Newt and corral her into a bedroom.  As soon as I stepped onto the crunchy stone path, I saw the cat. He splayed across the bench, paws draped over the side. His head lifted a few inches to gaze at us. Direct speckled his smoky gray coat but the fuzzy mane that surrounded his large, bright eyes made him look regal. After a glance at us, the cat settled back into sleep. The dogs were too wound up and excited to be somewhere new–and relieved to be out of the car–to notice the cat.  John pulled the side door open. “The power’s out,” he said. He turned on the flashlight on his phone and led me and the boys into the master bedro...