Spencer came to visit today. Saturday. He is wise for his young years.The rain came and Spencer sat on the porch in his favourite chair. He always goes for that chair. And it has to be "just so." He comes from his home on the hill. Usually with his brother, Smokey. But today he is on his own. He tucks himself into "his" chair.
The chair I leave out all year long. I have been trained well. It stays on the porch. No one ever sits in that chair. It belongs to Spencer. Beautiful , beautiful cat. Who, for some reason , thinks our place is swell.He thinks I'm swell. For some reason. We share moments.
Spencer likes to sit and twitch. Twitch and sit. Whiskers ever alert.
He poses. He preens. He sniffs the rainy air. He smells things.
He settles down. And it is good, he figures. He can catch a nap in his chair. In the rain. The rain twitters and puddles outside the porch. It is good here.He yawns. He whispers into the air.
His eyes grow heavy. He droops.
Then he snoozes. Dreams of things that he likes to do. Dreams of cuddles he will get when he wakens. Smokey is off chasing bugs and stomping in puddles.Spencer dreams.
Then he wakens. We look at each other. Each knowing something about the other.
A connection. He's a cat. Yes. Just a cat. I feel honoured.
He peers in the kitchen window. Another ritual that must be observed. Then he leaps.
The rain has gone.
The sun is low. The day is done. Spencer has once more swept in and out. Like that gold light that drenches everything after the rain. He sniffs and purrs.
It has been a good day, this Saturday, when Spencer came.
