Lately I have been loaned by providence a graceful beautiful cat.Early on he was a shrinking, hunched and nervous creature who slept by the back door on the daily newspaper.He ate hungrily and drank water with a drop of milk.
He was reluctant for a couple of weeks to venture further but as the tranquil peaceful time went by he began to sleep on a towel by the hall radiator and eventually on my knee.
The most striking change was in his size.As he ate more and was petted more he relaxed so that when stretched by the fire ,more of his body was in contact with the floor and he looked larger all over.He was loosened up and comfortable.
If he were human I might say he had a good mother.He is affectionate and initially I feared his demands might be excessive.When he came onro my bed I was concerned.But after five minutes of being stroked he went off to his own place again.
Sometimes when he’s been out in the garden he reappears with an air of humorous triumph as if he has worked a miracle to enter through his door.Another time when I was reading in a different room from the usual one he appeared mid morning with a face full of more expression than I can easily put into words.
He was anxious and relieved,puzzled and afraid,happy and a touch angry with me.How can you do this to me? was his query.Suppose you had gone altogether?Oh,the insecurity of being a tame cat.
I wonder why cats do not miss their own species.Or maybe they meet them outside.Often though they fight to defend their territory but fortunately they have no WMD as yet.I like to read and stroke him as I muse over my book,