The first cats I ever met lived underneath the massive pine tree in our backyard. Two tuxedo cats. My brother and I would go out and try to play with them when they’d wander into our plastic play house. My mother cautioned us never to touch them because they might be diseased.
The next cat to enter my life was a little white cat with orange blotches across her back. She would visit my friend’s garage, two doors down from my grandparents’ house. Sometimes we’d close the garage door and feed her milk and ham with the help of Gracie’s grandparents.
One day, when we were riding our bikes by the end of our cul-de-sac, we were stopped by a man in his early 20s. He was on his driveway carrying a backpack. He said, “hey, you know that little white cat?”
“No,” we lied, too smart to talk to…
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