(no subject)
We walk up the stairs together at the back of the shop lot, enter through the back door. There is much darkness involved, moving without a sound - the secret visitor. He leaves using the same entrance. I wave him off, door still open.
As he disappears down some steps, the blind ginger coloured cat with pus in her empty eye sockets was seen rolling on the concrete - the only movement below the subtle glow of the June moonlight. I called out her name: "Joanna". The neighbours named her that. She survives on food scraps and cat biscuits they feed her with. Being incapable of hunting (though instinctively active at night, being a stray cat) she moves, blindly, rubbing herself against surfaces close by: metal grills, plant pots, pieces of wood, rubbish. Smell memory, no night vision.
She heard my voice and walked towards me. It made a strange gritty noise - perhaps born with a deformed meowing mechanism. Poor poor Joanna. I wanted to talk to her: "Do you feel alone tonight, dear Stray Friend?"
I remember her giving birth to one kitten. Walking to work one day, I saw part of it, rat-sized, hidden behind a group of potted plants. Coming back from work, I noticed it was in the same position. Joanna was smelling it - it was dead, I knew. Joanna couldn't do anything but make that strange gritty meow. The next day when I walked to work, I tried not to look at that area again. I even held my breath.
As he disappears down some steps, the blind ginger coloured cat with pus in her empty eye sockets was seen rolling on the concrete - the only movement below the subtle glow of the June moonlight. I called out her name: "Joanna". The neighbours named her that. She survives on food scraps and cat biscuits they feed her with. Being incapable of hunting (though instinctively active at night, being a stray cat) she moves, blindly, rubbing herself against surfaces close by: metal grills, plant pots, pieces of wood, rubbish. Smell memory, no night vision.
She heard my voice and walked towards me. It made a strange gritty noise - perhaps born with a deformed meowing mechanism. Poor poor Joanna. I wanted to talk to her: "Do you feel alone tonight, dear Stray Friend?"
I remember her giving birth to one kitten. Walking to work one day, I saw part of it, rat-sized, hidden behind a group of potted plants. Coming back from work, I noticed it was in the same position. Joanna was smelling it - it was dead, I knew. Joanna couldn't do anything but make that strange gritty meow. The next day when I walked to work, I tried not to look at that area again. I even held my breath.