A concrete court behind a row of tall apartments, a plaintive cry, a tiny bit of scruff with sad golden eyes begs me to stay. All thoughts of rushing home to play is forgotton as I kneel to pick her up. Fur as soft as down, tickling whiskers and damp nose kiss my chin and I am lost. Grandly, she rides her perch over my shoulder purring outrageously all the way home.

     She spends the first few days of our acquaintance in the basement knowing all along Mother's condition of, "All right, but NOT in the house," wouldn't last. The little minx twines coyly round her ankles and she is as taken as the rest of us. How much we all enjoy her antics this golden summer. I can't recall how many times I throw a ball of yarn for her to field across the kitchen floor, or how often she pounces upon a foot after a dangling shoelace. I remember only the joy of laughter shared.

     "Cat" is her given name. My sisters' pleas to call her "Tiger" since she wears stripes after a fashion, falls on deaf ears. "Cat" she remains.

     A most exciting event occurs the following Spring. Wonder of wonders, Cat becomes a mother! Her family of four are discovered in the cab of uncle's abandoned truck and under her watchful supervision are lovingly removed to the warmth of the kitchen, their box placed as close to the chimney wall as possible. My sisters and I spend many contented hours sitting on the linoleum around that box just watching them breathe and squirm and reach out in their sleep with miniatue paws.

     Often during their growing period we return en masse to the place of birth abondoning friends for the peace of quiet reflection. Cat sits proudly beside me, her brood cuddled in my lap. We watch the trees swaying branches. We breathe the pungency of old leather warm from the sun and sit so high we look down on everything.

     At times Cat tolerantly allows a frilly bonnet as I wheel her about in a doll carriage at feeding time to the eny of all my friends. "Let me steer," they plead. "Just to the corner and back. Here, you can finish my candy." The bounty is sweet.

     Homes are eventually found for each of the little ones and with the approach of Fall Cat and I are just the two of us again. Each school day as I round the corner she leaps from her top-of-the porch lookout and tail tall and waving, runs to greet me halfway--

     "Mommy, Mommy. You're not looking. Isn't she pretty. Listen how she likes me. Can I keep her? Please?

Margaret Rossi      ^{© 1-97'}

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