Last night, before heading upstairs to bed, I decided to go outside and check on my adopted cat.

Having gotten home late, I wasn't around at the usual time when I normally set out his supper, a time when I try to assure him that while his owner isn't exactly the pet friendliest man I have ever met, that people in general are good.

But he wasn't around last night, despite the fact that his warm little cat house stood empty and I dished him out a heaping bowl of fresh food and clear water.

Outside, October winds were blowing, rustling the leaves down from their trees, shaking the branches with a mighty force. Raising my face to the sky, I stood against the wind, listening to the fading cries of geese overhead, and a trains whistle announcing its arrival, as it carried over the darkened fields.

I used to like October, I thought, and cautiously admitted to myself that somewhere deep down inside, I guess I still do. But October is like all things, it passes with time.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, a slight movement caught my eye. Nestled in the lattice work that surrounds my porch, was a little grey field mouse, pink nose, big ears, and the longest whiskers I have ever seen on something so small.

She held herself still, trying not to be noticed. Her fear evident in the fact, that she did not flee. We've much in common, I thought to myself, moving slowly towards her, reaching out my hand, except I won't hurt you.

And so she let me pet her, if only for a moment, before she quickly scurried away back into the night, returning to where it was from whence she came.