Miss You Mr. Blacknwhite

I know that most people call their dogs friends and, indeed, they are. I like dogs and have had them but they are rather needy creatures. Now, a cat is something else. A cat is not needy and it's very choosy. You might become its friend - or not. It does the deciding. I know this because I once had a cat friend, Mr. Blacknwhite. I lived in a coastal town that didn't favour too many street lights at night and although I lived in the village centre, was able to sit on my back porch and star gaze. I just liked to sit there and look up, not being a whole lot into knowing much about stars and planets, but I did love star gazing. One summer night, I noticed that I had a fellow stargazer. A somewhat frowzy looking black and white, long-haired cat was sitting also looking up. Each night I went outside, there was my cat friend about five or six feet away, also gazing upward. I began to whisper at him knowing that cats have sensitive ears and hate loud voices, even normal ones. He looked at me, sizing me up. I knew I had already passed the star gazing requirement. I invited him over and he came nearer, but didn't hop up onto the bench beside me. A few nights later with some rain in between, he did, in fact hop up on the bench and day by by day sat closer and closer. There were no purrs or rubbings up against; just the fellowship we had in loving the night sky. I began whispering his name, Mr. Blacknwhite, and he rather liked it. I think. You have to do a lot of guessing with cats. I could see companionship in his big eyes. He leaned on me sometimes. I decided to befriend him and got some little packets of cat treats, offering him one or two on the bench. He didn't stoop low by taking them out of my hand. Cats do have great dignity. Night after night, we sat together and often had conversations in our ways. When winter came, he sat out on the front lawn in rain and snow looking at my house. He just stared, that's all. It was cold, bitterly cold, so I fashioned a box near the back porch, one that was against a window thinking of its warmth. The box was cosy inside with a woolen blanket. He wasn't always in it, but he seemed to like it. When Spring came again we had become friends and I left food out on the back porch for him. Summer happened and again we both enjoyed stars, but this time, Mr. Blacknwhite allowed me to brush his fur coat. He purred and sometimes, rubbed up against my arm. One day he seemed very down. When he became ill, I took him to the vet who said that there was a tattoo in his ear and that the number showed it belonged to my neighbour across the street. Mr. Blacknwhite had scammed me. But well done. I called the neighbour who told me that it was the cat of his daughter but that it wasn't liked by their other four cats, one each owned by his kids. I told him the cat was very ill and at the vets. "She's yours," he said, "She doesn't like it here, anyway." The vet okayed that I was the new owner, and told me that someone in the neighbourhood must have put out rat poison and it was unlikely Mr. Blacknwhite would survive. He, who was really a spayed she, didn't survive. She is not forgotten, however,  especially on warm summer nights when I look up at the dark sky and almost believe I can feel my cat beside me, my star gazing friend Mr. Blacknwhite.