January, 1851

It was a bitterly cold night in January. Cold enough to freeze a grown man's balls off. A low winter wind howled. Flames flickered weakly in the streetlamps. Humans rich and poor hurried through the streets, eager to get home and out of the cold. On that night, a small bundle was left on the steps of St. Bastet's Home for Orphaned Kittens.

A young female cat- no more than fifteen or sixteen- blinked back tears as she set down the bundle on the steps. She had light brown fur, and wide dark brown eyes. She wore a tattered brown wool coat over her dress. She shivered as the harsh wind whipped around her, and pulled her coat tighter around herself.

"Goodbye, my son. I hope the sisters will take better care of you than I could." She whispered.

She looked up, noticing someone lighting a candle in one of the orphanage windows- filling the room with a soft yellow glow. Not wanting to be caught abandoning her child, the cat ran away without a backward glance. Soon after, one of the feline nuns- Sister Agnes- ran down the front steps to inspect the mysterious bundle. She'd thrown on a coat over her nightgown, and still she shivered with cold. Only twenty five years old, she was one of the younger nuns. She was a silver tabby cat with gentle blue eyes.

She heard a very faint mewling sound coming from the bundle. She picked up the object and pulled back the thin, tattered blanket- the face of a kitten stared back at her. It was a newborn, no more than a few days old. It was scrawny, malnourished, and had thin, light brown fur. Its eyes were still fused shut.

Sister Agnes found a small note pinned to the blanket. She read out loud: "'My name is Warren. Please take care of me…' My goodness, you poor little thing! Let's get you inside and out of the cold." She exclaimed, holding the bundle close to her chest and running inside.

The poor thing was so small and weak, it was a miracle she'd found him in time. Even a few hours later, he would have frozen to death. As Sister Agnes entered the building and ran down the darkened hallway, she almost collided with another sister, Sister Laura.

Sister Laura was an older calico cat. She always looked so severe, like she'd never smiled in her life. Privately, Sister Agnes had never liked her. Sister Laura glared at Agnes, and crossed her arms against her chest. She looked more than a little annoyed at being woken up.

"Sister Agnes…I had a feeling it was you." She said, shaking her head in contempt. She scowled at the younger nun. "What are you doing, running around in the middle of the night? And what on Earth is in that dirty bundle you're holding?" She asked, pointing an accusing finger at the bundle in Sister Agnes' arms.

Right on cue, Warren started crying again. Sister Agnes pulled back the blanket and showed the tiny kitten to Sister Laura, holding him out to her.

"This is Warren. His mother left him on the front steps. See?" She indicated the note.

Sister Laura blinked, looking a little surprised. "Hmm. Another foundling. It's a miracle you found him when you did." She sighed. "Well then, let's get him cleaned up and try to feed him."

In the small orphanage kitchen, Sister Laura warmed a bottle on the stove, and Sister Agnes gave it to Warren. The tiny kitten's cries were more like hoarse squeaks. He greedily drank the whole bottle. Sister Agnes was impressed- for such a small, weak baby, he had a healthy appetite! The whole time, she held Warren on her lap, gently rocking him. Like he was her own child.

Then, they took Warren to the infants' ward, which housed the youngest children under the age of three. Rows of simple, institutional wooden cribs lined the room. The toddlers were always breaking out of their cribs, and loved to be chased around. It was a game to them. But when Sister Agnes and Sister Laura entered the room, the children were all asleep. They looked so peaceful sleeping. Like little angels. You would never know what mischief some of them got up to!

Sister Agnes carefully lay Warren down in one of the cribs, and unwrapped his blanket. He started whining again, his little body shivering in the cold, drafty room. The child was naked except for a ragged cotton diaper.

"Let's get him changed into something better." Sister Agnes said, more to herself than Sister Laura.

She changed Warren into a clean diaper, and a simple white baby gown. The gown hung on his small, thin body, but it would have to do for now. Most of the newborns Sister Agnes handled looked chubby. Healthier. Warren looked downright sickly.

"He's so small." Sister Agnes marveled, looking down at Warren as he slept. "Even for a newborn, he's tiny."

Sister Laura looked grim, and put a paw on the other nun's shoulder. "He's a premature baby. Most of them don't survive. I wouldn't get too attached to him if I were you."

Sister Agnes looked a bit sad, and she cleared her throat awkwardly. "Oh, I won't. I promise. After all…I'm not his mother."

"You would do well to remember that." Sister Laura said, a bit coldly. Realizing how cruel she sounded, she backpedaled: "Agnes, look at me. You're wonderful with the children. You're such a natural with them. That's not a bad thing. It's a God-given gift. But remember, they're not your children. Some of them are meant for Heaven, and there's only so much we can do."

"I understand." Sister Agnes said quietly, staring down at Warren again. She stayed beside his crib in the darkness long after Sister Laura left. She hoped the other sister was wrong. She wanted Warren to survive. To grow, and get well. If he didn't…a small part of her would die, too. She had already grown attached to the orphaned kitten in their short time together.

Some children died. Some were adopted. They came and went. That was the reality of life at an orphanage. But Sister Agnes already felt a special bond with this child. Probably because she found him, and saved him from certain death. So she sent up a quiet prayer to the Lord, asking him to spare the life of this child. He was meant for great things, she was sure of it.

Warren did not die. He had a difficult first winter, there were two times he got very sick, but he survived. He did more than just survive- he thrived. Slowly but surely, he grew and began to put on weight. As he got older, he developed a real personality. He loved Sister Agnes. She was his favorite sister, and he cried bloody murder whenever she left him. Only Sister Agnes was allowed to feed him and take care of him and tell him bedtime stories. Only her, and no one else.

He started walking shortly after his first birthday. A few months later, he said his first word, "Aggie", instead of Mama. Sister Agnes was so proud she almost burst into tears. His second word was "Book", but it sounded more like "Boo".

"Book?" Warren asked, toddling up to Sister Agnes- who was sitting in her favorite rocking chair- with a book of Grimm's Fairy Tales. He shoved the book at her.

"Oh, darling, of course I'll read to you!" Sister Agnes said, settling him in her lap and opening the book.

Now fifteen months old, Warren was a far cry from the small, sickly newborn abandoned at St. Bastet's. He wasn't as plump or chubby as the other children his age, but he was such a big boy now. She hardly recognized him. And yes, he'd turned into a little escape artist who figured out how to get out of his crib. It was only a matter of time.

Sister Agnes started reading Warren one of the stories, Cat and Mouse in Partnership, and he listened, spellbound. She always had his complete attention when she read out loud.

There was no question about it now: Warren would be just fine.