There is a stray cat,
all black and scruffy,
who sits on my porch some mornings,
happily accepting a bowl of cat nip
and a belly rub.
I never know when to expect him,
and I know better than
to wait for him.
He is a wild warrior,
he can take care of himself,
and he does not need me.
But sometimes he likes
the comforts of home,
and so in due course
I will find him sitting
on my porch again.
(He reminds me
a lot
of you
in that way.)















Comments
--
"every one of us trying to forget.
we wish the dead blindness."
--
"Robert ... I'm trying to change my heathen ways ... would you have my soul condemned over rice?"
- Bucky
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