She goes out every morning, checks the yard, and then jumps the back fence to disappear into the overgrown vegetation.
She generally returns for "cat curfew" around 6, when we let her in and lock the door.
Tasha glares but so what?
We're the ones who feed her, etc.
I suspected another family
Today, I found her lounging in the front bushes of the house behind ours.
As I questioned her, the mother and son whom I'd not met before, came out. "Is that your cat?"
I explained.
Then they told me a story.
Husband and father Chris, whom I'd met, recently died.
Tasha was his friend throughout his illness.
I glanced down. She washed her paw.
"She'd hop the fence, sit beside his wheelchair, and put her paw on his foot. It was so comforting."
Our cat?
"Sometimes she let him pet her."
The woman's voice broke. "One day Chris had a stroke. She kneaded his leg, as if for comfort.
Tasha rolled over and yawned.
"We mean no disrespect. We send her home at night. But . . . "
"I'm so happy she could help," I broke in. "Had I known, I would have sent her with treats."
They laughed and talked more about Chris.
I went home thankful that while I didn't know about the tragedy across my back fence, my cat did--and she helped.
But she still needs to be in for curfew.
Right?
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