Moaning at the door where all of life had passed, the grey striped feline heard me and darted in my direction. Through the dark, wind and cold it rushed at me with such fearlessness it caused me to wonder if I was being wise, standing with my morning oats to investigate what the racket was all about. It ran into my legs and rubbed there for awhile, continuing its mournful plea.
I cut some leftover beef and filled a bowl with water but the cat was gone, just like the neighbors who left it there.
When I howl at the doors of opportunity I pray that the gumption fires stay lit until after the beef is cut. Lately it seems that the urge to fold overwhelms the steady efforts to stay at the door, but here I am again at the steps from which I know, deep down, all the good in life comes.
