But Mirriam had the consolation of reports to analyze, a new year of data just beginning to be born. Her life was predictable, regular, and safe. So what if it was a bit dull at times? She pushed back against a longing she didn't fully understand and tried to focus on the present and only the present. As she stood impatiently by the old-fashioned drip pot, waiting for yet another carafe of barely drinkable brew, a scratching noise sounded at the kitchen door.

"Shoo!" Mirriam said. "I don't do strays!" She pulled her ratty pink terry bathrobe tight, worn all day over her clothes as a charm against drafts. The scratching continued. Guilt twinged her over leaving any living creature out in the deep winter night. Surely it wouldn't hurt to open the door just a crack.

"Please miss. I'm very lost," said a tiny voice, not much more than a whisper of a wail above the wind.