Blackness

The weather is changing.  There's a cold breeze out there tonight.  Possible rain, possible snow is on the way.  The moon is 98 percent full tonight but shrouded in clouds.

It's a Sherlock Holmes kind of night.  One could imagine hearing the howling of the hounds on the moors.  If one had hounds.  And moors.

What could protect me against the terrors of the night?  There's only one hope.

My faithful companion.  Blackwell.  The blackest of cats.