The Cat

Is orange of color and usually sits atop the raised drain field behind the shop. It's a sunny location and I'm sure she likes its warmth and the proximity to game hidden under the sparse brush. She's a fine cat, regal.

I like her.

If I carefully step outside and am slow of movement and advance no further than the shop's doorstep she remains in place, still, alert. I feed her tidbits of this and that; often bits of my lunch. She likes egg salad, sardines. She'll stand and then stretch, forepaws extended, then step forward and sit and curl her tail forward around her front paws and wait with a very intense gaze....if, I move forward, even an inch, she'll scoot the roost and vanish as if by magic.

My offerings of meals must be placed at the shop's rear entrance, just so. She'll wait until I close the door before she slinks her way forward. At the edge of the drain field she'll pause and reconnoiter the grounds. From my vantage inside at the back window I'll watch as she takes her free meal, all tidy and neat and afterwards there to sit and clean. She refuses the dish of water I've placed just in case.

I'd like to be her friend. The shop needs a cat - a shop cat. She'd look nice on the window sill and fun to have underfoot and keep me company in the slow hours of the day. I like cats. They're independent and have little need for humans. They grace us with their company. They're badasses.

My last shop cat kept me company for twelve years. Her name was Lonesome. It's time for another and I intend, or better yet, shall try, and tame this orange bundle of fur.

Wish me luck.

Stephen