Back home, the snow had started to melt. Walter stood by the door of his small cabin, his breath visible in the evening air. He set down his bag and looked at the cat sitting patiently on the porch. “Well,” he said softly, “looks like we made it.” Angel meowed and brushed against his leg.

Inside, the fire crackled, filling the room with warmth. Walter lowered himself into his favorite chair, and Angel jumped onto his lap, curling into a familiar spot over his heart. For a long while, he said nothing just listened to her steady purr and the faint whisper of the wind outside. Within weeks, the story spread across the country. Newspapers called her “The Blizzard Angel.” TV crews came to film the pair, and people from around the world sent letters of thanks. But Walter wasn’t interested in fame. He only wanted to enjoy quiet nights with his unlikely savior. “Everyone says I saved her by taking her in,” he told one reporter, smiling. “But the truth is, she saved me first.” As the fire burned low and snow fell softly outside, Walter drifted to sleep a rescued man, guarded by the tiny heart that had refused to let him die.