Her feet were too tired for morning. They lay below the blankets and the black cat who had crawled upon them in the late October darkness. The alarm clock had not rung. It never did. She loathed its disturbance, but set it each night out of habit. She couldn’t count on the cat either. He was a pillow princess and more likely to sleep in than her.

She finally freed her legs from the blankets, and the cat, and reached for the white area rug with her toes. The black cat and white rug were a bad combination in hindsight.

Making her way in the dark to the kitchen, she fumbled for the light switch and reached for a plastic grocery bag. No holes, good this one would do. The basement stairs announced her intentions as she made her way to the box.

The lid was lifted and the shovel recovered from its caddy. She knelt on arthritic knees that protested the grey concrete beneath them. Then began her hunt for buried treasures. She made figure 8’s and combed the litter like a child searching for beach glass.