"Wouldn't be too surprised," I say with a shrug, watching, pleased, as my Elvis laps up the attention, whining faintly as he presses up into his hand. He used to be a damn scared little thing, cowering in corners. I guess we've both grown past that stage. "He's the only other one I've ever known. My dad named him."

It's not a common name, but neither is Harley.