Rough gusts of wind stalk the street, dragging shrouds of rattling leaves which darkle with moonlight. Pine tops bend, bare oaks quiver, the wild plum rustles and shakes. My pant legs flutter and slap my skin. They are icy cold. As I turn to go in, my eye is caught by two bright specks near a fence post across the street. They are like two faint blue-white stars. They blink. A cat is there. I picture its fur rumpling with each gust of wind as it watches me. I am too cold, and return to the house. Later, I go back out, and the eyes are still there, peering. I wonder how long the cat has lain there, braving the chill night. Then the small lights wink out, and a moment later, the motion sensing yard light of the house beyond flashes on. I see a small gray form slink behind a clump of plants, and then a dim shadow scurries from there to a fence, and scales it. The light goes out. The wind keeps blowing, and the clear sky is full of unmoving stars that glitter with unattainable heat.