How I Knew How my Cat Felt
My cat just walked in to my flat; decided to adopt me, I suppose. I never knew how long she'd stay, whether she liked a ground floor flat and saw me as a hotel with full bed and board.
For that reason I thought it best not to name her. I never knew if she'd one day hear a familiar voice outside that'd call her away.
Then one day she went missing, and I could never know, but that event would change my attitude about how the cat felt.
The story came about when the cat followed me to where the car was parked and watched me drive off.
When I returned, I couldn't park in my original spot, and chose a place streets away.
I went home, but I never saw the cat that afternoon, nor did I see her the following day.
I did worry about what had happened to the cat, but it wasn't until about 1:30am the following morning that I had an idea. She may still be at the spot I'd left her; where I'd first parked, so I went there.
Sitting on a wall near my first parking place was that cat. It was dark, and I didn't see her at first. I just heard a plaintiff mewing. There she was, all black and white and fluffy. Better still, she was alright. She'd just been sitting on a wall, waiting for me to come back.
I called her and she followed me home. From that moment on she was MY cat. Oh, I never did get to naming her, but that doesn't matter.
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