The Doves Are Gently Cooing
It is mid-morning. The skies are grey. The trees and the rose bush outside my kitchen window are swaying in the breeze. I can hear the doves declare their eternal love to each other. “Coo, coo, my beloved,” they murmur, as they look at each other with eyes filled with love. The little birds twitter joyfully as they flit from one budding branch to another. It is springtime. Everything is awakening.
In the kitchen, Pussy Cat eyes me sadly. “Meow, meow! Where has Teal gone? Why has he brought me here again?”
“Never mind, Pussy Cat, we’re almost old friends. You will feel at home soon enough. By tonight you will be sleeping next to me, like you did last time, and purr away contentedly,” I say, wondering how I can make this poor cat feel less miserable. I’m in a quandary.
I take a cup of tea and go upstairs. Pussy Cat rushes ahead of me and waits at the top landing, staring at me balefully, as I slowly trudge up the stairs. As I sit down, Pussy Cat looks at me in askance. I cannot understand what he wants. Disgusted, he turns his back to me and retreats. I lean back and doze off.
I wake up to the sound of the rain attacking the window panes with violent urgency. Startled, my eyelids spring open. The skies have darkened. The music on the radio struggled to compete with the sound of the rain. I feel a furry head against my feet. Pussy Cat meowing pitifully. I lean down and pick him up and hold him across my lap and caress him. I gently rock him back and forth. He purrs contentedly. The warmth of him against me is comforting. I fall asleep once more. A perfect way to spend a grey, stormy morning.