And The 23rd: In Winter I Go Whacky

She was never tame, never domestic, strong-willed, soundly made, and skeptical, having spent the first decade or so of her life on the streets of Old East London, the trendy “rough” part of the downtown core. Started hanging around D3’s girlfriend’s house, and eventually having gained her trust they took her in, had her fixed, and so began her life as a cat companion, rather then the feral feline she had been.  

When I met her it was in that first 24 hours after D3 had eyed her stealthily casing the backyard to see if the cacophony of canines had left after his girlfriend’s death at home from cancer. Having her sons there those last weeks of her life, and their furry beasts, Sofie had decided the streets were more favourable, and so disappeared in those last days of her human companions life. It was after her first 24 hours at D3’s abode, and she was still rather skeptical, but not of him. I could see right away that she was his familiar, as I could see the love and complete respect, with a healthy dose of gratitude for taking her in, given he had been animal-less for decades and had not initially been keen on this inheritance from his almost 30 year relationship with Sofie’s ‘person’, she trusted him, and with a deep affection. 

From February 6th, 2018

Oh Please! Cat stare - thetemenosjournal.comOver at D3’s the other night for a BBQ beef dinner with baked potatoe & squash, with a side of peppered cucks, and a friend dropped in. So I skooched over, knocking Sof unto the floor. It was at about that point that this quaffed of stench drifted out from somewhere in her vicinity.

Makes rotten eggs smell of tangerine, and dog poop akin to lavender. She seemed to believe one could lick away the stench. No sweety kin stink bomb, not a chance.

So I leaned down to feign a kiss and whispered: “sweetheart, ya stink“, and I got this look of abject disdain.


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