Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The Invisible Being shifted his anchorage a bit in Earth's requirements. I'd say he's a suitable recipient for the Gifts." over. "Mature by his length and mass. Artificial plumage neither overly gaudy nor utterly drab—indicating median social level, which is confirmed by the size of his bachelor nest. Inward maps of his environment not fantastically inaccurate. Feelings reasonably meshed—at least neither volcanic nor frozen. Thoughts and values in "Umm ... statistically adequate but spiritually unsatisfying. Remember, the fate of his race hangs on his reactions to them. I'd be inclined to important, really, as the Big Gifts. Besides...." "Besides what? Come on, spit it out!" The Invisible Being was the "Well," said his less hearty but unswervingly honest companion, "I'm "And why shouldn't I, if I want to? Snakes have stings in their tails (or do they on this planet?) and I'm a sort of snake. If he fails the test, he fails. And aren't both of us malicious, plaguing spirits, eager to knock holes in the inward armor of provincial entities? It's Ernie Meeker—of Chicago, Illinois, U.S. of A., Occident, Terra, Sol, Ernie blinked. After a moment, he pointed toward the center of the Ernie Meeker went home and shaved. Five days—and shaves—later, he "That's true, all right," Ernie agreed, trying to remember how well he them to, in accordance with their flimsy souls, he told himself at the barely conscious level. Men should die, hearts should break, girls should tell, nations perish, curtains get dirty, milk sour ... and So Ernie Meeker pushed through the little slot beside the mirror and That day, Ernie felt a little sick, somehow. After dinner, he decided Ernie sat down suddenly on the toilet seat. The spoon rattled against Dissociates H 2 O into hemi-quasi-stable H and O, furnishing a abandoned the notion and even refrained from sniffing the stuff—after all, the human body is mostly water. "Ernie! Are you going to be much longer?" Sleep refused even to flirt with Ernie, his mind was full of so many things, especially calculations involving the distance between his car and the house and the length of the garden hose. In desperation, as the white hours accumulated and his thoughts began to squirm, he closed it with a clap and looked at the wall with frightened eyes. Ernie Meeker had discovered, inside the birthday box that was himself, have to be revising all his opinions and beliefs every couple of days at least—maybe every couple of hours. tiniest detail. But who would ever want to do such a thing, or want to be able to? It was an abnormal, dangerous, temporary sensitivity, he told himself, generated by the excitement of the crazy discovery he'd made infinity-paneled adventure-comic of his life as he bolts his last rough ration of air. Or like the feeling a psychotic must have that he's Ernie Meeker was not a drinking man, then. A pint had stood a week on darn comfortable. For want of a better place, Ernie dropped the rubber tube from the Further than that, in the way of engine hygiene, Ernie's strictly He hesitated. At his feet, the garden hose gurgled noisily over the curb into the gutter it had vindicated his midnight estimate, proving and was relieved to find it still empty. He wished fervently, not for decided anyway who that would be). It would be just too silly to approach anyone he knew with a more-than-wild story and featureless blue box. vanishing letters ... "torque-twisters, translators" ... a box that talked.... At that point, simple faith came to Ernie's rescue: in the same bathroom, he had Ernie swung the hose around, flipping his thumb over the end to make Ernie felt light-headed. He decided there was enough water in the gas "Ernie! Come on in and have breakfast!" "I've just found out that we're supposed to water our lawns only before seven in the morning or after seven in the evenings. It's the law." It was the day for their monthly drive out to Wheaton to visit Uncle Fabius. On the whole, Ernie was glad his sister was in the car when he motor started right up and began purring powerfully. Ernie's sister nearly empty." Ernie chose a moment when his sister was out of the room to ask if "Who's been getting at you?" Uncle Fabius demanded sharply, to Ernie's or something and demonstrated it once with a pail of water and then disappeared. You're supposed to believe that Detroit or the big oil companies got rid of him. It's just another of those malicious legends, concocted—by Russia, I imagine—to weaken your faith in American Industry, like the everlasting battery or the razor blade that never With considerable difficulty, Ernie convinced his uncle that he had "just heard the story from a friend." prosperity, America, money, know-how, and a number of other institutions that defended pretty easily, so that the situation was wholly normal when Ernie's sister returned. To tell the truth, Ernie wasn't feeling as elated about today's his finger on the reason: It was the completely ... well, arbitrary he'd have felt more able to do something able to talk about it and assure himself he wasn't going crazy ... oh, it is rough when you can't share things, really rough not being able to share depressing news corrodes the spirit, but not being able to share exciting news can sometimes be even more corroding. Maybe, he told himself, he could figure out someone to tell. But who? And how? His mind shied away from the problem, rather decisively. From that moment, the fuel-powder became a trial to Ernie rather than a he heard a window in Mr. Jones's house slam loudly. It unsettled him. Coming home the next day, he caught his sister and Mr. Jones consulting about something on the latter's doorsteps, which unsettled him further. He couldn't decide on a safe place to keep the box and took to carrying office and by an unhappy coincidence needed some bicarb just then for a troubled stomach. Ernie explained on the spur of the moment that he was lies that he felt were quite unconvincing as well as making him appear decidedly eccentric, even butter-brained. Bill took to calling him "the sculptor." Meanwhile, besides the problem of the white powder, Ernie was having other unsettling experiences, stemming (though of course he didn't know that) from the other Gifts—and not just the Big Gift of Like many another car-owning commuter, Ernie found the traffic and During those brief, swift, crowded trips Ernie, generally looking steadily out the window at the brown buildings and black stanchions whipping past, enjoyed a kind of anonymity and privacy more refreshing to his spirit than he realized. But now all that had been suddenly total strangers struck up conversations almost every morning and afternoon. Ernie couldn't figure out the reason and wasn't at all sure he liked it—except for Vivian. She was the sort of girl Ernie dreamed about, improperly. Tall, blonde She worked in an office too, a fancier one than Ernie's, as he found "Well, I'll tell you then, Ernie, and I've got to admit it's something quite out of the ordinary. I've never noticed it in anyone else. Ernie, I'm sure your knowledge of romantic novels is shamefully you, Ernie, actually have. Flashing eyes." "No, Ernie, though you're doing it now," she told him, shaking her head. "No, Ernie, your eyes just give a tiny flash of their own about

<question>:
What is Ernie’s living situation?

<options>:
A He lives alone with family close by
B He has a wife and kids
C He lives with some family
D He is estranged from his real family

<answer>:

C