My Cardboard Balcony

I Had A Cat by Belinda Roddie I had a cat. She was a calico who liked to squeak at me throughout the day. When I played games, she'd curl next to my toes and wish for me to pet her as I'd play. She was named after a movie (my pup was named after it too), where life and death and love all intertwined. She'd come on up to my room at night when I calmly slept. And then she'd just sit on the window sill. Her tail swayed like she was standing guard. She was a good cat - I think of her still. I took her premature death very hard. At least we've got Hobbes now - the great big brute who doesn't bite or scratch at all, to boot!

Compassion. That's a word I don't see executed very often these days. You know when you're in a grocery store, looking at all the different brands of butter, wondering just whether or not you want salted or unsalted? And then this little old lady wobbles by with two gallons of milk in her hands, and they're like weights holding her? And you decide to take at least one and help her get to the check-out? It's that easy.