I could hear her walking on the polished oak floor

I could hear her walking on the polished oak floor in the hallway – tik t tik t tik t. She turned into the living room, stopping to rub the corner of her mouth on the edge of the doorframe, firmly, deliberately. She walked past me with soft precision, brushing the fur on her side ever so gentling along my trouser leg. Walks toward the window which is open a little, faces along the wall, tilts her head up and into the room, ears tightly back making her head look flattened, eyes wide. The heavy rain outside gurgles in the downspout and splashing sizzles on wet grass enter the room. She listens without turning her head, ears taught toward the sound, her tail high, undulating slow and languid like a strand of kelp in shallow ocean just beyond a crashing sea.

A moment is enough, this she has heard before, there’s no immanent danger, she walks across to the sofa, looks up measuring the height with a pause then jumps onto the arm, walks up it toward the back turns left, pads along with the soft ease of all the worlds cats.

Leaps two feet to the table, walks across to the window carefully avoiding a stack of mail, crouches gargoyle-like looking through a geranium in a red pot and out to a wet waving world.

The rain, the outside day… movement draws her out, a yellow leaf twirls on an invisible spider web, a shining cascade of water falls from a blocked gutter making worn and wary dahlia leaves of mid November fan side to side, a puppet dance without enthusiasm. Soon she will be asleep somewhere and why not? Even a few moments of pure being filled with impeccable movements, is magic.

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