Blackie is our neighborhood cat. Although a bit scruffy, he roams from door to door making himself comfortable for meals and bedding. I don’t know what his schedule is, but sometimes he picks our house. There is always food and water waiting. Now I see I’m not the only one with a soft heart. Glad our winters aren’t as harsh as yours! ~Elle
I started feeding him about six months ago.
He sat outside the sliding doors of my kitchen window peering in as I shuffled half asleep through my early morning routine – turn on Keurig, take vitamins, feed Buzz, my old cat swirling between my legs, make the kids’ lunches.
It was Buzz who alerted me to his presence by howling and hissing at the glass screen loudly. I looked and saw him there, staring back unaffected, his coat scraggly but his stance proud. Immediately I noticed that he resembled a cat I once had many years before who had died.
“Well, hello Jeffy,” I said to the stray, making the mistake of naming him out loud. I may as well have bought him a collar. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“I’ve got to feed him,” I apologized to my own feisty feline, stroking her behind the ears and looking her in…
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