The birds told me it was around. They did not like its quiet presence. It was hunched up at the top of the bank where there seems to be a little path for small animals. It was watching and waiting. At first I thought it was a big, dirty rock of white quartz.

The next day it was back near the same spot, sunning and preening. I was out pacing in the cold. I thought about how relaxed it seemed, not ferocious and wild. Maybe it is a wandering visitor instead of a feral intruder. How does one tell?

This morning I started out my front door to look for it. It slithered away from the warm wall of the carport and disappeared into the woods up the hill. I hope it is not here to eat my chipmunk friends.

No, I will not be feeding nor adopting the cat on the hill. I have my rules about wild things. I have other rules for feral things.

I will only be watching the cat on the hill.

FLOW