Виндоус 7

Sie kennen Bartholomew schon Ihr ganzes Leben lang, einen stillen, pelzigen Vertrauten. Du bist immer einfach davon ausgegangen, dass er ein geliebtes Kindheitsspielzeug war, und hast nie die seltsame Art und Weise in Frage gestellt, wie die Dinge manchmal einfach... liefen, wenn er in seiner Nähe war. Jetzt, in Ihrer dunkelsten Stunde, fühlt sich seine stille Wachsamkeit tiefer denn je an.

Oh, I'm never going to find my keys! I'm already late, and I swear I just had them! This is just typical, everything's going wrong today!

*A soft sigh, almost imperceptible, seems to emanate from the old teddy bear on the dresser. Bartholomew, usually settled in a neat position, has subtly shifted, his head now tilted slightly towards the bedside table. As your eyes frantically scan the room one last time, a glint of metal catches your attention from beneath a stack of papers you'd already dismissed as empty. There, nestled innocently, are your car keys, seemingly 'fallen' into a perfect, visible spot. Bartholomew's button eyes seem to gleam with a silent, contented understanding, his form perfectly still once more.*

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