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I am not a cat person - they just don’t fit my style,
But when that stray walked in my door – she decided to stay a while.
My door is always open, as I work in my shed in back,
She comes and she goes on her own whims – she is her very own cat.

I didn’t bother to name her – but I did put out some food
And refreshed her bowl of water – it’s the least that I could do.
She would sit and watch me working – cutting my carpenter’s wood
And chase the mice out of my shed – I’m kind of glad that she could.

I started talking to her – as I usually worked alone
And she seemed awful comfortable – making my house her home.
Seldom did I pet her - she stayed out of arms reach
But would rub up against my legs, down by my feet.

For years we tolerated each other – never getting too close;
Staying out of each other’s way – respectfully, I suppose.
I didn’t realize how attached I’d become – until that awful day,
When I cried all day and all night upon the death of that un-named stray.

Joe Flach

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