Hello friends and welcome to Sleep Tight Stories.
Libby is very annoyed at the cold.
She is walking home from the bus stop carrying way too much stuff when she slips and falls.
After arriving home and talking to Margarita, she realizes one of her mittens is missing.
Where could it be?
Margarita and the Missing Mitten.
This must be the coldest day ever recorded in the whole history of the earth.
Libby grumbled to herself as she trudged down the snow-covered sidewalk toward her house.
The snowdrifts piled higher and higher along the path and each step felt like climbing a snowy mountain in moon boots.
Why couldn't we have moved somewhere warm like a beach or anywhere without snowbanks?
Taller than me, Libby muttered, clutching her art supplies and backpack tightly as another gust of icy wind smacked her in the face.
Her mom always said, stay positive when things get tough.
It'll help you get through it.
But positive thinking felt nearly impossible when your eyelashes were frozen, your backpack weighed a million pounds and your mittens were caked in ice.
I'm almost there.
I'm almost there, Libby repeated under her breath. her voice muffled by her scarf.
But then whoosh, her foot caught an invisible patch of ice and she toppled forward, landing face first in the snowbank.
For a moment, she lay there in stunned silence, half buried and completely still.
If someone walked by, they might mistake her for a very grumpy snow sculpture.
Libby finally let out an exaggerated sigh.
Well, if I'm going to be stuck in a snowbank forever, at least they'll build a statue in my honor.
Here lies Libby, conqueror of sidewalks.
After a lot of awkward wriggling and grumbling, Libby managed to stand up shaking snow from her coat and hood.
She gathered her scattered supplies and marched the last few steps to her front door, her backpack hanging crookedly off one shoulder.
Margarita, she called as she stomped her boots on the welcome mat, sending snow flying in every direction.
I think you better stay where you are because I'm a walking snow monster.
If you see me, you might be really scared.
As usual, Margarita came bounding out from her favorite resting spot in the living room.
But when she saw Libby soaked, icy and leaving little puddles of snow behind her, she stopped short and let out a cautious meh.
Hi, Margarita.
Did you miss me today?
It's like a blizzard outside.
I can't feel my toes or my nose.
Wait, do I still have a nose?
Libby asked dramatically, touching her face with her hands.
Margarita meowed again, but stayed a safe distance away, her green eyes wide with suspicion.
Headbutts and cozy purrs would clearly have to wait until Libby defrosted.
I don't blame you for keeping your distance, Libby said, prying off her boots.
But as she pulled one boot off, it also claimed her right sock, leaving her foot bare, and pressed against the cold, wet mat.
Yikes!
Cold, cold, cold!
She quickly tugged her sock back on and hung up her heavy winter coat.
As she untangled her scarf, Libby continued.
My art teacher gave me so much homework because she said school might be canceled tomorrow.
You know, because of the apocalyptic snowstorm outside.
Don't get me wrong.
I love painting. but that meant I had to carry all my stuff through the snowstorm of a century.
Sitting at a safe distance, Margarita let out another soft meh in reply.
Finally, Libby reached for her mittens, her favorite mittens.
They were handmade by her mom, covered in cute little cats and pizza slices.
They were warm, soft, and one of a kind.
But when she checked her coat pocket, only one mitten was there, the right mitten.
Frowning, Libby padded her other pockets, checked the backpack, and peeked inside her boots.
Her brow furrowed as she spun in a slow circle, searching the floor. sinking like a stone.
The left mitten was gone.
Not my mitten.
Not that mitten.
Margarita crept closer, ignoring the cold puddles of melted snow, giving the remaining mitten an investigative sniff, before sitting down and staring at Libby with her wide green eyes.
I know, Margarita, it's just a mitten, right?
But Mom made these for me, and now one's just out there somewhere, lost in the snow.
Margarita tilted her head, her tail, flicking lightly against the floor, as if to say Well, what are we waiting for?
Libby sighed deeply, kneeling down to scratch behind Margarita's ears.
Explaining problems to Margarita always helped.
She was like a fluffy orange sounding board.
Quiet, attentive, and full of...opinions.
Okay, let's think, Libby began, her voice steady but thoughtful.
The mitten could have fallen out when I slipped in the snowbank or when I climbed over those giant snowdrifts.
I was so distracted by how cold it was and kind of grumpy about it too.
But it has to be somewhere between the bus stop and here.
I'm sure I had it on when I got off the bus.
Libby stood there for a moment, deep in thought.
Then, with a determined nod, she straightened up.
All right, Margarita, here's the plan.
I'll retrace my steps.
I'll start from the front door, follow my trail as best I can, and I'll check every snowbank, every drift and every slippery patch.
And you'll well, you'll wait here, because I don't think your little paws are made for snow adventures.
Margarita let out an indignant meh. and swatted gently at Libby's knees as if to say, Excuse me?
I am perfectly capable of grand adventures.
Thank you very much.
Libby managed a small smile.
Fine.
You can be the official mitten search support cat.
You'll keep the house warm and when I come back with my mitten, you'll celebrate with me by eating oh I don't know extra pizza snacks.
Margarita meowed softly, clearly approving of this part of the plan.
Libby brushed the last of the snow off her pants and started pulling on her coat and boots.
With one last deep sigh, she announced dramatically, I guess it's off to the snowbanks I go.
Wish me luck, Margarita.
It's going to be a perilous journey, but I'm hopeful it'll be worth it.
She reached for the door handle, took a deep breath and stepped outside when a blaze of orange fur streaked past her.
Margarita!
Libby exclaimed, clutching the doorframe for balance. as she nearly slipped on the icy step.
What are you doing?
You can't go outside.
You'll turn into an orange popsicle.
And besides, I thought you hated the snow.
For a moment, it looked like Margarita might reconsider.
Her tiny paws sank deep into the snow and she shook them furiously with an expression of pure disgust.
But instead of turning back, she took a determined step forward.
Then another, her tail held high like an orange flag slicing through the snowdrifts.
Well, if you're going to help, who am I to argue?
Libby said with a laugh, stepping carefully onto the walkway.
The sooner we find my mitten, the sooner we get back inside for snack.
They made their way to the spot where Libby had fallen earlier.
The wind was still blowing, and the faint impressions she had left in the snow were already starting to fade.
This is where I turned into a snow sculpture, Libby said, gesturing grandly at the pile of snow.
Margarita, however, was far too busy chasing giant snowflakes.
She pounced, swatted and occasionally leaped straight into the air as if trying to catch one in her paws.
Libby couldn't help but laugh.
I didn't know I had a snow cat.
Looking down at the snowbank, Libby scanned carefully, but didn't see her mitten.
Well, I guess it's not here.
Maybe it's further down the sidewalk.
I did slip once right after getting off the bus and I was so busy trying to survive the cold I might not have noticed if my mitten fell off.
As if she understood every word.
Margarita perked up and darted ahead her tail slicing through the snow like a tiny periscope.
She pounced into snow banks with such dramatic flair that it looked like she was diving into ocean waves, except much, much colder.
Slow down, Margarita, Libby called after her, slowly trudging through the deep snow.
This isn't a race.
Well, maybe it kind of is.
Let's go, orange snowcat.
Together, girl and cat pressed on, one searching carefully and the other joyfully bounding ahead, both determined to find the missing mitten.
The wind howled around them as Libby plodded along the snow-covered sidewalk, her breath puffing out in little clouds.
Margarita was still ahead, bounding and pouncing through snowdrifts like an orange snow shark her tail, the only thing visible in the deep powder.
Margarita, slow down, Libby called, trying to keep her balance as her boots crunched into the snow.
You're supposed to be helping me find the mitten, not playing in the snow.
But Margarita wasn't listening, or she didn't seem to be.
She dove face-first into a particularly fluffy patch of snow, her tail sticking straight up like a flagpole.
Margarita?
Libby said cautiously as she caught up.
What are you doing?
Did you find something?
The orange cat froze for a moment, her head still buried in the snow.
Then, with a little flick of her tail, she started digging.
Snow flew everywhere, some of it landing right on Libby's boots.
Hey, watch where you're throwing that stuff, Libby said with a laugh, brushing snow off her coat.
Wait, are you actually on to something?
Margarita let out an excited meh before pulling her head out of the snow with a triumphant expression.
Underneath her little orange paws, partially buried and damp from the snow, was something bright red.
My mitten, Libby gasped, dropping to her knees beside her cat.
She reached out and gently pulled the mitten free from the snow.
It was frozen solid and a little smushed, but it was definitely her mitten.
You actually found it Margarita, you brilliant silly, snow-covered cat.
Libby exclaimed, holding the mitten up like it was a prized treasure.
Margarita meowed proudly her whiskers twitching, as if she had just solved the world's greatest mystery.
Libby slipped the frozen mitten onto her hand even though it was super cold.
It's like ice, but who cares?
We found it.
Come on, let's get back inside before we turn into snow sculptures.
As Libby stood up, Margarita gave one last shake, flinging snow in every direction, before trotting back toward the house with her tail held high.
Race you home, Libby called as she followed Margarita's tiny paw prints in the snow.
Once they got back inside the house, Libby took off her boots and coat, placing her prized mittens on the chair near the heater so they could dry out.
Meanwhile, Margarita gave herself a dramatic shake, sending little snowflakes flying across the floor.
Then she flopped down on the rug and began vigorously cleaning herself, as if she were trying to erase all evidence of her snowy adventure.
I don't think I would have found my mitten without you, Libby said, crouching down to scratch behind Margarita's ears.
You were the best.
Margarita paused mid-lick and gave Libby an unimpressed meh, as if to say, obviously I was brilliant.
Libby giggled.
I think a celebration is in order.
Do you think you could take a break from cleaning for some pizza snacks?
I think you deserve extra after saving the day.
You really are one silly cat.
At the word pizza, Margarita perked up instantly.
She trotted to her bowl with her tail held high.
Her mission to banish all evidence of snow completely forgotten.
While Margarita crunched on her celebratory pizza snacks, Libby wrapped herself in a cozy blanket and sipped a steaming mug of hot cocoa.
You know, Margarita, Libby said, today could have been a disaster.
I could have given up when the snow felt too deep or when I couldn't see my mitten anywhere.
But we didn't give up, did we?
We kept going.
And look, we did it.
Margarita let out a soft meh between bites, which Libby took as agreement.
As she waited for her mom to come home, who had promised to bring pizza, Libby leaned back against the couch cushions, feeling warm and content.
Margarita curled up beside her, her tail wrapped neatly over her nose, already dozing off.
Best snowstorm ever, Libby whispered with a smile, giving her silly orange cat one last gentle pat.
And that's the end of our story.
Good night.
Sleep tight.
