On a peaceful Friday evening Danner built a fire to stave off the rigours of a cold snap. He and Mrs. Danner sat beside the friendly blaze. Her sewing was in her lap, and in his was a book to which he paid scant attention. The kitten, behind its locked door, thumped and mewed.
"It's hungry," Mrs. Danner said. "If you must keep a cat, why don't you feed it?"
"I do," he answered. He refrained, for politic reasons, from mentioning what and how much he fed it. The kitten mewed again.
"Well," she repeated, "it sounds hungry."
Danner fidgeted. The laboratory was unheated and consequently chilly. From its gloomy interior the kitten peered beneath the door and saw the fire. It sensed warmth. The feline affinity for hearths drew it. One paw scratched tentatively on the door.
"It's cold," Mrs. Danner said. "Why don't you bring it here? No, I don't want it here. Take it a cover."
"It—it has a cover." Danner did not wish to go into that dark room.
The kitten scratched again and then it became earnest. There was a splitting, rending sound. The bottom panel of the door was torn away and it emerged nonchalantly, crossing the room and curling up by the fire.

Chapter 1