"Yeah," said House, "and believe it or not, I didn't even name him." The dog answered to Padfoot too, just because House saw the value in not constantly yelling profanities, but they both knew what his name really was.

The dog nosed at Kate's hand, licked her fingers, and then took off like a shot down the steps. He'd be laying on the front porch on the pillow there in the morning.

House walked inside, gesturing her in. His hut was, if anything, a bachelor pad, as far as huts went. Not messy, but not particularly clean. Books strewn here and there, a strange mixture of detective novels, medical texts, and lesbian erotica. There was a guitar open in the case in the corner. The bed was a real bed, large and comfortable. It wasn't made, but the sheets were clean.

"I suppose this is where I offer you a drink," he said, "but I'm afraid all I can manage is water or marijuana."