A small thing

Today, when I went over my grandmother's house and the cat headed downstairs to the basement to escape, I followed. The basement is dark and full of junk piled atop junk. The cats can travel through it, but people can't. I called his name and he meowed back, allowing me to figure out which pile he was under. I crouched on the ground and stared into shining scared eyes, and cooed at him lamely to come out, then held out my hand, which is normally his signal to shift further back into whatever hole he's in. Instead he shuffled out and let me pet him.