The soft sounds of approaching footsteps outside my bedroom window intrigued me. Today, the familiar padding of cat’s paws took on a significant change I did not recognize. I knew that Scruffy, a scrawny alley-cat who eked out a meagre existence in our neighborhood, was late this day.
Usually, this ageless creature made no other sounds as he neared my bedroom, but this morning he uttered several plaintive heart-rending cries and I wondered why. Scruffy is the name I knew him by, while my neighbors used various other appellations, such as Filthy Animal, Stinky, Fleabag and four-letter words of every variety. Despite this condemnation, there was an air about this beast that demanded attention, and food scraps appeared magically outside many …show more content…
I rose late that morning and noticed the scraps I left for Scruffy last night untouched. As the food consisted of salmon leftovers from last night’s supper I considered something terrible had occurred to the animal. Then I heard the sounds of his paws, so different from his usual strut.
Opening the window, I watched as Scruffy, tail down, almost crawled to the dish. What was wrong? Perhaps he had suffered an accident or an illness. The theories rushed through my mind and then I noticed his paws. They were grey with a caked substance encasing them. No! Scruffy must have stepped in the new concrete step I finished pouring late the previous evening.
Poor cat! Finishing his meal Scruffy crawled under the garden gate and disappeared forever. His disappearance left a void in my life, a void that will remain until I move away from this location.
That cat left behind something that reminded me about his nocturnal activities; a smudged set of paw prints I see each time I open the door and look at that concrete slab. In fall and winter they disappear, first when the Garry oak leaves hide them after falling from the trees and then snow covers them for short periods of time. I know those distinguishing marks will soon reappear after the thaw. I will never forget
Usually, this ageless creature made no other sounds as he neared my bedroom, but this morning he uttered several plaintive heart-rending cries and I wondered why. Scruffy is the name I knew him by, while my neighbors used various other appellations, such as Filthy Animal, Stinky, Fleabag and four-letter words of every variety. Despite this condemnation, there was an air about this beast that demanded attention, and food scraps appeared magically outside many …show more content…
I rose late that morning and noticed the scraps I left for Scruffy last night untouched. As the food consisted of salmon leftovers from last night’s supper I considered something terrible had occurred to the animal. Then I heard the sounds of his paws, so different from his usual strut.
Opening the window, I watched as Scruffy, tail down, almost crawled to the dish. What was wrong? Perhaps he had suffered an accident or an illness. The theories rushed through my mind and then I noticed his paws. They were grey with a caked substance encasing them. No! Scruffy must have stepped in the new concrete step I finished pouring late the previous evening.
Poor cat! Finishing his meal Scruffy crawled under the garden gate and disappeared forever. His disappearance left a void in my life, a void that will remain until I move away from this location.
That cat left behind something that reminded me about his nocturnal activities; a smudged set of paw prints I see each time I open the door and look at that concrete slab. In fall and winter they disappear, first when the Garry oak leaves hide them after falling from the trees and then snow covers them for short periods of time. I know those distinguishing marks will soon reappear after the thaw. I will never forget