On a chilly autumn night in the little town of Golden, BC, where the leaves swirled like tiny golden dancers and the air carried the whispers of winter, something magical happened.

Just outside a cozy hotel, a small orange cat sat, shivering in the cold. Her fur was the color of autumn pumpkins and glowing embers. Her bright eyes flickered with hope.

"Where did you come from, little one?" I asked.

She answered with the tiniest meow—a sound so soft, like the rustling of leaves.

I couldn't leave her out in the cold, so I scooped her up and carried her inside. Wrapped in a warm blanket, she curled into a perfect ball, purring like a tiny engine, safe at last.

But I knew she had a home somewhere. Someone, out there, must be searching for their golden treasure.