After a night’s rest burrowed in the snowdrift near the woodshed, I rise while the air is silent and the remaining stars gradually conclude their evening vigil. The exposed bark and grass underfoot provides my early nourishment, and I linger a little longer than normal so close to a house. The entire time I am foraging, there are two round faces standing back from the picture window observing me respectfully, and there is no harm in that. A shadow appears at the cat door, and waits. It’s time to amble along across the road and beyond into the deeper woods. My senses are alert to a change in the weather.