I sat slouched down on my lumpy sofa, exhausted. It was the first break I had gotten all day, and I was beat. I smiled slightly as the warmth from my fireplace revitalized my aching existence. Everything was tranquil. The soothing sound of the crackling embers mixed with the rattle of rain on the pavement outside my cottage. These sounds created a symphony that seemed to dissolve the burdens I had carried home from work. 

For the past 30 years, I worked as a mortician, an occupation thrust upon me by my lack of people skills and need for solitude. I enjoyed knowing what was going to happen every day when I woke up. Eventually, my body began to yearn for that consistency. Because of this, I never married, and I have no kids. I have lived alone, except for the occasional Scarlet Tanager or Brown Thrasher that would come and feast upon the treats I left in the bird feeder.  

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This particular cozy evening was interrupted by a strange tapping noise outside. I stumbled over to the window, forcing the velvet curtain aside and glancing out. Nothing. Just the same old oak trees. Their gnarled branches swayed through the rain storm, just like they always did. 

I inhaled and exhaled, then retreated back to my sofa. I picked up my chamomile tea and pressed it to my lips, taking slow, relaxing sips like I did every night. My wandering eyes settled their gaze upon the wooden table beside me. A feeling of guilt washed over me as I noticed the rejected invitation. It was for my three-year-old niece's birthday party. I couldn't bring myself to abandon my routine. I couldn't stand to break away from my consistency. So I simply did not go, just like always. 

My thoughts were interrupted by that same tapping noise outside. I grabbed my aqua robe and made my way to the front door. This time there was something there. A small basket that helpless little yelps were coming from. The coldness of the night began to strangle me with its touch, and my breath danced in the air in front of me. Without much thought, I grabbed the basket and hurried back inside. 

I removed the thin sheet to see a small shivering puppy inside the basket—a chocolate lab. Suddenly, the only thought that ran through my mind was saving this little dog. I dried him off until he puffed out like a brown cotton ball. Then I wrapped him in a blanket that had been folded on my couch.  

I held him tight until his shivering stopped. He looked at me with emerald eyes, almost as if to thank me. Then he drifted into a peaceful slumber. Now that the immediate crisis was over, anxiety set in. I began to panic. 

This cannot happen. This cannot happen. You're breaking your routine, Janet. You're breaking your consistency.  

Paranoid thoughts rattled my brain to the point of breaking. I set the sleeping creature on my sofa and walked into the kitchen to calm myself. My body shivered, and I crumbled in a heap on the floor.  

I didn't know it then, but I suffered from a disease known as Metathesiophobia—fear of change. Later I discovered that my phobia had been brought on by the constant moving with my mom when I was little and all the different men she had brought into my life. It had caused even the slightest bit of abnormality to send my head spinning. But at this point, I had no knowledge of this. 

I managed to stand up and call my sister, Katherine. We hadn't talked in years due to my condition. She soothed me in the same way she used to do when we were kids. I felt myself regaining strength, and she promised to come over the following day.  

I hung the phone up and went back into the living room. The little dog was starting to stir from his sleep. I sat down somewhat awkwardly about a foot from the creature. It yawned sleepily and trotted over onto my lap. I petted him cautiously for a few moments. He is kinda cute, I thought. 

I brought him into the kitchen and gave him some water. He lapped at it happily, wagging his little tail. I smiled, a genuine smile. I remember it feeling so good. For once, anxiety stayed back and I could think clearly. Hours past and I enjoyed the company of the little dog. Soon, the sun swallowed the luminous moon and we both slept.