The Un-Named Stray

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