The Midnight Prowler — Susan Hart

This is a gentle short story, shorter than I usually write, featuring a cat like my own, that I wrote this morning and wanted to offer it to readers at no cost.Jeannie Ashcroft had never lived anywhere but Hallowell Harbor, and she didn't plan to start now. The tidy spit of a town clung to a scalloped curve of the East Coast, and aside from the harbor seals and the annual invasion of summer tourists, not much ever changed. Most folks had known each other since way back—generations, in a lot of cases—which meant news traveled faster than wildfire and stuck longer than sea spray.So, Jeannie was genuinely shocked when an unfamiliar face appeared at the Tuesday morning knitting club. It wasn't her club, strictly speaking—Belinda ran the show, and Ruth supplied the scones—but Jeannie was the one who always noticed the little oddities that made up the village's daily gossip.The stranger in question came in with a cautious smile, soft-spoken, the sort of person who would apologize if you stepped on her toe. She ordered a plain coffee, black, and sat in the corner with a battered leather bag and a notebook.