I heard a tapping at the door. Grumbling to myself, I uncurled from my seat, set my book down, and went to the door.
You stood there. Disheveled and ragged. It was hard to tell if the rain caused your unappealing appearance, or if you naturally looked that way. Tufts of blonde stuck out in all directions.
Your eyes sought mine. Pleading for shelter. Pleading for warmth and comfort from the storm.
The covered porch was keeping you dry for now, but the wind howled in gusts causing those blond tufts to continuously rearrange in a new disheveled state.
Pleading, soulful, brown eyes looked at me.
I knew what would happen if I let you in. I knew you would steal my heart. Uproot my life. Even knowing this, I stepped aside.
You trotted past. Sniffing at the table where my keys lay in a bowl. Tail slightly wagging; you looked back at me. In your eyes was relief to be warm and pleading to be accepted.
I patted your head, and suggested you get dry and fed. You grinned. More at the prospect of eating, then the drying part, I know.
Dry, fed, and warm. You sat at my feet while I posted a picture of you on the lost and found. Praying you were not lost to someone, but found.