a black cat crosses my path. again.

Where's the cat?

This is what I'm wondering in the hours after getting up this morning. I glance toward the window. In return appear the usual sightings: the berr and jade on the sill, the choppy decayed lawn and telephone pole and parked cars and roadway and portion of a red-berried holly tree.

I step outdoors to see whether kitty's hangin' up the slope. Nope.

A few hours later as I'm at my laptop a familiar black visitor appears at the other side of the pane of glass.

Unlike yesterday when kitty needed nudging to pass through open doors, today she walks in with confidence of experience and purposefully. Explores less than yesterday.

Checks out the window views.

Follows me from room to room like a lil' doggy in a feline body. And plops herself down like she lives here and takes a snooze.

I'm so not a cat person. Yet there's something about this creature I like, something that sets her apart from the usual aloof I'm-your-master-you're-my-slave catness. I really feel this kitty's chosen me, I just can't put a finger paw on it.

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