For doing one last task then running consistently five minutes late when the kids were small, I forgive you.

You’re patiently waiting, tail moving almost imperceptibly. You glance my way every now and then as I go about our nightly routine. Turn off lights, plug in phone, set alarm, turn down comforter. Sliding into bed, I lie on my back and wait for you to join me. I feel you jump on, my outstretched hand ready to receive your soft, furry head. You nudge my fingers, already purring loudly in anticipation of the love you are about to receive.

All signs pointed to a perfect day for a family I did not know. An Irish Catholic family hired me to play the bagpipes for a funeral honoring a man who had lived into his 90s, a former historian and professor at Columbia University, and the author of 20 books.