By John R. Hillis

Yet another homeless cat beckons our door. 'We don't need another cat,' I say, no more. Food is too high, time is too short, need I say any more.

Her response to me, 'oh I agree, we need only feed him once you see, and back to our routine we will go, no more to care any more'.

The day becomes dark and guess what I see, but my wife's care extended lovingly. To the homeless cat who beckoned our door, you are one lucky cat, need I say any more.

Food and water, a box for shelter, a towel for comfort, and what I say has little matter.

You don't know how good you have it, I think, as I watch my wife's loving hands take haste. As she combs the mats from his long black fur, I hear her say; 'oh I agree, no more cats for you and me'.

His name is George, an outside cat; he lies around, no doubt getting fat. He greets us as we come and go, seldom wanting any more.

'We don't need another cat', I continue to say, but if it is him or me, my wife may well agree, my place is in question in our family.

Submitted By zeeshan

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