The Cat Who Saw into My Soul

The other day, after a pleasantly blustery shopping meander with our NOLA visitors, heading up the hill we found a cat.

[sighting: Pitt Street, Dunedin, NZ]

It was amazing, like this cat KNEW I wanted to creepily take photos of it and call out its name, “kitttteeeeeeeeey”, in a gross voice, and stoop down and scratch it behind its elegant ears.

‘MIAAAAAAOOOO’ it yowled, and stalked towards me, posing delicately in front of the wrought iron gate guarding its home.

“KITTY!” I cried, stooping my sad girl body close to the ground and putting out my hand as to entice my feline friend. The greatest part? This cat needed no encouragement.

“Kitty, you’re gonna be famous on the internet.” I proclaimed, but it was like the cat knew already and had been waiting.

My human companions weren’t impressed. Ken Noga and Auntie Jo stood back in disdain.

"UGH."

And so, with my scarf tied tightly against the persistent southerlies and my heart buoyed by cat blog fodder, I bid my new cat friend farewell.

CLASS ACT

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About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
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2 Responses to The Cat Who Saw into My Soul

  1. ccJaspers says:

    those whiskers compete with the reverend’s

  2. Pingback: In the end, everybody loves cats. | welltailoredsuit

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