This morning as I was writing, I watched a stray cat walk across the fields behind my mom's. I love cats. Dogs make better pets. I enjoy watching dogs play. I enjoy playing with dogs. But I LOVE watching cats. There is something regal and majestic about them. There is something about the way their face is shaped and how they look at you. There is something about the curiosity that sometimes directs their paths. I especially love how no matter the size, whether the stray behind my mom's or the cougar high in the mountains or the lion on the plains or the tiger in the jungle, they all look the same. They each carry the same qualities that I love in them all.
I watched this little gray cat follow his curiosity. He stopped at a couple of holes along the way and furiously clawed at them. I thought for sure he was going to bring up a small mouse or a mole. Eventually his curiosity led him up the steps of my mother's deck. As long as I stayed on the other side of the glass door, he was content to watch me. He so wanted to give in to his curiosity and investigate further, but his instincts saved him. When I finally slid the door open very slowly, he scampered down the steps, but not far. For a few minutes he continued to deliberate about whether he should give in and see what I had to offer. I love how you can see his little head just above the step and below the gate.
Instinct took over and my friend ran away. But it was a nice visit.
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