My tortoiseshell Pinky’s fella

I had a visit from Oliver (my name for him for black olive) yesterday. Hadn’t seen him a long while. When he and Pinky met he was about eight months old and she, two years. When he grew up, he came spooning, following her everywhere until she got exasperated and swatted at him. I would come in on them lying side by side on Renato’s sofa. “Meow’s Way” and “Meow’s Way Redux” tells their story and that of my other animal friends.

Then when she was gone he kept coming, calling for her in a sweet voice that broke my heart all over again. I hadn’t seen him in a while until yesterday. He’s gorgeous, has white whiskers and a smudge of white on chest and paws.

I talked to him and he meowed in response, all the while Bijou crouched in the deck doorway, his ears flat. They were quite a pair, black and black, the little one sleek and slim, the big one puffed out with his winter coat.

Oliver meowed again and I invited him to enter but Bijou objected and hissed when he made to come in. That made me sad. I would have loved to tell Oliver properly with a treat that I understood and remembered Pinky with him.

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