"Whatcha looking for Pete?"
Pete's as tall as Pete can get, standing with his paws on the second shelf of my tool rack, his nose searching the edge of the third.
"Nothing," he says, and comes down to curl on the floor, as if nothing was indeed the case.
"What does a Nothing look like?" I ask, after he's settled.
Pete looks up at me, then away, then up and then away again.
"A cat," he says.