Paws Off, Mister Cold Fingers!

Midas stumbled into the Parthenon.
“Athena, oh divine goddess!” he cried, falling to his knees in front of her. “Grant mercy, I beg of you!”
“What is it this time, Midas?”
He was bowing and missed the subtle eye-roll. “Please, I need your help–” a sob cut him short.
“If you want to learn to weave, I can teach you, but be forewarned, there is no certificate of completion to put toward your next degree or to impress your buddies.” She reached up to stroke the owl perched on her shoulder.
“Your grace, everything I touch becomes gold,” he restrained the sobs wracking his body enough to explain, “and my young daughter ran up to embrace me and–” He covered his face with his hands.
“And what do you want me to do?” Athena asked, more gently this time.
Midas looked up again, hands outstretched in helplessness. “I don’t know what to do, your divinity. You have skill in metallurgy, is it possible you could save her?”
The owl released its grip on Athena’s shoulder and swooped softly into Midas’s open palms. In less than a blink of an eye, gold transformed its body from its talons to its wingtips.
Midas gasped. “Please – I’m so sorry –”
Athena blinked slowly. “It seems my temple has a new statue.” She crouched beside him.“I will return your daughter to her rightful flesh.” She cradled the owl in one arm. “There are a few other things around here that could be useful in gold.”