Bessie lies awake, staring at the ceiling. The kitten, now five weeks old, cuddles into her left armpit under the blankets, while Miss Marple sleeps on her right. It’s about 3:00 in the morning in early November. A bitter breeze floats in through her window that Bessie leaves cracked open a few inches. She breathes in the freshness of it, the aroma of decaying leaves mixed with the promise of snow, sucking it deeply into her lungs.
This autumn, like the last one, she feels sad and depressed. The year is ending in two months time. The flowers are dying, the grass is dying, and Jason and Ash have already died— the two closest loved ones in her life outside her family.
Tears spring to her eyes; she hugs the kitten and dog too tightly. They complain before she loosens her grip; they settle b
