"Walking with Murphy through the bone-freezing chill toward the bus stop, I start shivering. And somehow, when he slips his arm around me to warm me up, it feels right. Righter than anything ever has."

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Every pellet has a story all its own. Every pellet has a story all its own. With its fur and teeth and bones And one or two stones, Every pellet has a story all its own. We shall dissect every pellet with glee. Perhaps we'll find a rodents knee. And never shall we tire In the sacred task that we conspire, No do our work less perfectly And those bright flecks at the core, Which makes our hearts soar, Shall forever remain the deepest mystery. - The owlets in the Pelletorium at St. Aegolius

— Kathryn Lasky