The sofa in the playroom/library separates into two twin size beds. At bedtime, Evelyn lost the race from the living room; Bronson bounced jubilantly on the springier one.   Evelyn was devastated; she lunged towards Bronson. When pulled back, she burst into tears. The severity of the confrontation was certain to escalate.

“Evie, would you like to take a bath?” I asked calculatedly.   Through the flood of tears she shook her head yes. The predictable asynchrony of bath water and tears is mystery that I think may one day be solved.

As Evelyn caracoled in warm water I returned to the bedroom. Bronson continued his joyful territorial bounce. Two beds, edge against edge, separate unequal neighborhoods. I looked at the beds, then at Bronson; then at the two pillows at the head of each bed. I lifted each pillow, and placed them back down. Bronson continued to jump on the same spot, but I could see that he understood what I had done. When Evelyn came back from the bath wrapped in the towel, they jumped together.