Dear Ones,
Wedged
against the stone wall beside our front door is a red wooden bench made by my
husband years ago. Sheltered from the
rain by an overhang, it’s where neighbors leave missives and the UPS guy drops off deliveries. During the past year it’s also become Socks
favorite lounging spot. Socks…being the
cat next door.
The
first time I discovered this muscular mass of fur stretched out under the
shaded bench with his grey coat pressed against the cool stone and his agate
eyes staring at me, I assumed he was looking for a cool refuge on a hot
afternoon. Then he began to appear on a
more regular basis. On my way back from
the mailbox or running an errand, there he’d be eyeing me with approbation and
if I didn’t stop and acknowledge his presence with a scratch behind his ears,
he’d scold me or scuttle over atop the stone wall to arch his back and withdraw
his approval.
Why
was Sock’s stopping to visit? Food, I
decided. I went in for a saucer of milk which I placed next to the bench and
waited for his reaction. He reacted all
right. Lifting his tail and his head in
unison, he stalked away hissing in utter disgust. Clearly he was no sweet little pussycat that
lapped up milk. No sir. This was a tom cat, a stealthy hunter of mice
and who knows what else. He wasn’t
telling. Okay, Socks, I get the
message. No milk. My next door neighbor
is a kind pet owner and obviously takes care of his needs. BUT why was he here so often I wondered?
I
grew used to finding Socks on the bench or under it and one afternoon I came
out to sit on the stone wall. With one
graceful leap, Socks catapulted into my lap, all twenty-five or so pounds of
fur. Before I knew it, he had his soft
little head tucked into the crook of my arm and I could feel the vibration of
his body as he mewed and sighed and made more sounds that I thought ever a cat
could make. I gently rubbed behind his
ears and noticed his back paws where his white socks were much higher than his front
paws. I told him he had knee socks. I
also discovered a white streak of fur almost buried under his chest. However, my
important discovery was the reason Socks came visiting. No it wasn’t for food, nor was it for a shady
spot though I’m sure that didn’t hurt matters.
It was for words of comfort. For a little love.
Old Socks must have despaired that I’d ever
figure out what he was searching for. Like all creatures, he needed some extra loving
and attention. Don’t we all, especially
beautiful old broads like us?
“The giving of Love is an education in itself.” E. Roosevelt
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