![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Cold wintry evening. I take the trash bin to the front curb. As I walk back to the back yard, I see Ash there, sitting inside the fence, watching me rather anxiously. As I open the gate, she runs away. When we are outside, often times, it's like I'm a stranger to her. I still don't understand it.
I'm reminded of another time when I took the trash out to the curb on a warmer evening, maybe summer, probably not long before his death, when Willy actually came out to the curb following after me, and we played a bit on the driveway, he rolling on his back, me tickling him. Wonderfully dog-like. It's what Bo might have done. We did not let the cats indoors back then, but Willy and I had still developed a bond, perhaps deeper than what I have had with any other cat, including Ash. A pity he did not live much longer than a year. A year and a summer. He was barely on the earth for scarcely a moment, but it was such a special moment.
I'm reminded of another time when I took the trash out to the curb on a warmer evening, maybe summer, probably not long before his death, when Willy actually came out to the curb following after me, and we played a bit on the driveway, he rolling on his back, me tickling him. Wonderfully dog-like. It's what Bo might have done. We did not let the cats indoors back then, but Willy and I had still developed a bond, perhaps deeper than what I have had with any other cat, including Ash. A pity he did not live much longer than a year. A year and a summer. He was barely on the earth for scarcely a moment, but it was such a special moment.
