I have a feeling I’m being watched. Probably, because I am. He lies silently atop the mailbox posts, keeping both green eyes on the front room window. When he sees the curtains move, that is his signal to approach. Trotting softly to the porch on padded feet, he looks hopefully at the door as I open it.
“Breakfast, Mr. Gray,” I tell him. He meows and dips his head into the bowl of crunchy food. I inquire about his health, whether he had a restful evening, what he has on tap for the day, but he, being the polite diner he is, never talks with his mouth full. Eating is serious business.
I really don’t know where he came from. I don’t think he has an actual owner. I fear the people he once lived with have moved away and left him. Undaunted, he faces life bravely, views it as it is, and keeps a good attitude.
When he was younger, he was quite the conversationalist. He meowed loudly and often as he crossed the lawn. But, I guess life experiences have taught him it’s best to keep some things to himself. So, now he’s a man of few words (or a cat with few meows).
My dog is highly indignant when he sees me go for the bag of kittie krunchies. He prances around me, gazing at me accusingly. But, I feed Mr. Gray anyway, a traitor to one, a friend to the other. I guess I admire Mr. Gray’s determined spirit, his cheerful disposition. Life can’t be easy but I haven’t yet heard him complain. He’s grateful for the food and sometimes, when I’m working in the flowers, he will lie in a nearby spot of sunshine, and take care that his whiskers are clean. He makes no apologies. He is what he is, and he’s comfortable in his own fur.
He does have a remarkable ability that makes observing him worthwhile. He is an excellent weather predictor. It is a sign of coming rain when a cat licks his paws. Mr. Gray hasn’t been wrong yet!
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