I always check carefully–obsessively, even–to make sure that Moa is inside before we go to bed.  I can’t sleep well without knowing that she’s safe and sound, and I’ve passed a late night or two waiting for her to turn up.  One night last week I couldn’t find her inside or out, no matter how how many places I looked or how many times I called her name.  Finally, trying to ignore the tight knot of worry that was growing in my throat, I went in to check on Petra and Tage one last time before turning in myself.  As I leaned down to brush my hand across Tage’s brow, I saw a slight movement in the corner of my eye so I took a closer look.  Here’s what I found: