“Never love a wild thing.” (Breakfast at Tiffany’s)
It’s a myth. I loved a wild thing and she loved me back. Now, she never cuddled and she never really became less wild, just a little less feral. But she loved me nonetheless.
My old wild black feral cat is gone. She lived a good cat’s life. Roaming the forest when she was young, and God only knows where all she went. She just showed up here a few times a year when she was tired. We didn’t even bother giving her a name. She didn’t belong to us, she belonged to the wild. We just called her “Black” and that became her name.
“He’s all right! Aren’t you, cat? Poor cat! Poor slob! Poor slob without a name! The way I see it I haven’t got the right to give him one. We don’t belong to each other. We just took up one day by the river. I don’t want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together. I’m not sure where that is but I know what it is like. It’s like Tiffany’s.” (also Breakfast at Tiffany’s)
I guess I finally found a place where “me and things go together.” When she got old and tired for good, I brought her inside for good and she became “my familiar.” We understood each other.
Dang, I’ll miss her. I’m so happy she and I were able to have these last few weeks together with her close to me.
Forgive me for waxing poetic.