I know the name of the woman of the house. I don’t remember the names of the man or the children. They were all very nice neighbors..down-the-block neighbors.
The real friends were the kitties. Estella, a tiny calico who fearlessly killed birds out of trees. Pip, whom we called Orange cat because he was. Merlin, a gray kitty who succumbed to coyotes. RIP Merlin. And the replacement for Merlin–Biscuit. We saw the muted orange shorthair Biscuit go from gangly youth to mature adult. They grow up so fast!
This set of three cats lived outside, and they were very friendly. They came up to be admired and petted, even to a limited extent with the dog.
They have been part of Veronica’s life, and have often been used to manipulate her to take a walk. There are many good reasons to take a walk. The dog requires it, we will all sleep better because of it, etc. She might refuse, but we would remind her that there were kitties to see, and she would soften. So many pictures of the baby and now kid Veronica petting these friendly cats.
Our neighbors moved.
No more cats.
I am broken hearted.
Cats don’t write letters. And even if they could, it wouldn’t be the same.
Thank you, kitties, for enriching my life with your soft fur and friendliness.