It was our cat's first winter. When a raging blizzard came up suddenly, we tried frantically to find Cinderella, calling her repeatedly and poking into snowdrifts around the stoop where she liked to hide.
Finally I called the police station to inquire if a "found" cat had been reported. The sergeant listened politely to my complaint, and assured me that cats had been known to live through terrible storms. "Cinderella," I added on a hopeful note, "is exceptionally intelligent. In fact, she almost talks."
"In that case, lady," replied the officer, "hang up. She's probably trying to call you now."
A Morning Kiss
A morning kiss, a discreet touch of his nose landing somewhere on the middle of my face.
Because his long white whiskers tickled, I began every day laughing.
Janet F Faure
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