Anya woke early the next morning, restless.  She dressed in jeans and a pale sweater, then went to fix herself a bowl of Cheerios.  Morozko slept all the while.  Pouring over the cereal, Anya stirred the milk idly.  There was a scratch at the door.

“Mistress, you seem unhappy,” purred Aym.  He slinked in on jazzy feet, bending his ears as if tipping his hat to her. 

“No.  I am just tired.  That is all.  I cannot for the life of me sleep.”  Anya took a bite of cereal.

Aym leapt onto the table and settled beside her, his tail twitching.  “And what has you blue, damselfly?  Is it a...