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“Yes.”

“And the bag by the couch — is that in her way?”

“No. That’s fine.”

They asked before moving anything. Ben tucked a cable along the baseboard, well clear of Peaches’s route. I stopped watching their bags and offered to close the blinds if needed.

Mark paused beside the dining table. “Which chair?”

I pointed at mine.

He rested a hand on its padded back and examined it closely. “Good height,” he said. “Excellent lumbar support. I see the appeal.”

“You’re grading my chair.”

“I’m running a comparison. Mine has a view of the lake.”

“Mine has a cat in it most afternoons.”

“I withdraw the comparison.” He continued into the living room.

Peaches watched all of it from her window bed, paws tucked, giving nothing away. Mark stopped a few feet from her.

“Hello, Peaches.”

She looked at him. He didn’t reach out, didn’t crouch, didn’t produce a treat or a voice for the occasion. He greeted her the way you’d greet a colleague whose office you were visiting, and then he let her be.

“Where do you normally sit in the afternoon?” he asked me.

I indicated the couch. He took the adjacent armchair and opened the shoot plan on his phone.

I sat on the couch and listened to him walk through the afternoon. When he finished, he turned the phone face-down on his knee.

We’d known each other for over ten years, but I’d never seen him sitting in my living room. It suited him better than I had expected.

The plan was simple footage first. They’d shoot Peaches in her window bed, the harness collection, and me on the couch describing the series as an introduction.

Priya framed the window bed. Peaches stayed in it for the entire setup, sleeping in the sun, with one paw hanging over the edge. It was a perfect shot.

“Rolling,” Priya said.

Peaches woke up, looked at the camera, and left.

“That was assertive,” Mark said.

We moved to the couch. I sat where I always sat, Ben clipped a small microphone to my collar, and I started explaining that Peaches generally liked company on her own terms. She walked along the back of the couch behind me, stepped down from the far cushion, and inspected an equipment bag.

Priya lowered the camera. “Follow her, or wait?”

“Wait,” Mark said. “She’s working.”

Peaches gave the bag a full inspection. I pulled a felt mouse from my pocket and set it on the rug a few feet from her. Its tail had been chewed down to an inch of cord.

She stepped over it to examine the bag’s strap.

“She does play with that,” I said. “Regularly.”

“Mm,” Mark said.