A feral cat once walked alone
Along the moonlit sand,
With wary eyes and claws well-honed
And fear of every hand.
It trusted none, for none had stayed;
The world had taught it so.
It lived by night, it slept by day,
And kept its body low.
Yet still behind its cautious steps
Another trail appeared:
A human walking slow and soft,
Not close enough to fear.
They left out food, they spoke in tones
The ocean might approve:
Patience, she began to know,
Who asked the cat to choose.
At times the cat would glance behind
And see two paths run true;
Her own small prints beside the ones
The human’s footsteps drew.
But storms would rise, and winds would whip,
And on those harsher nights,
She saw only one set left,
Beneath the silver light,
And in her lonely, trembling heart
A puzzled thought began:
Why do they go when darkness falls?
Why leave me where I stand?
But when the cold grew sharp as grief
And hunger bowed her head,
The kitty collapsed upon the shore,
Too tired to seek her bed.
She woke to warmth, to steady arms,
To blankets soft and worn,
Her human held her close and safe,
And carried her through the storm.
When at last the dawn returned,
Her strength came back again,
Through the window she saw the sand:
One trail from end to end.
She blinked, confused, and wondered how,
She crossed that ruthless sea,
Her human stroked her ragged fur,
And whispered tenderly:
“Those prints you saw were never yours
When nights grew dark and wild.
I carried you across the sand;
Stay home now, my fur-child.
~M.Watson
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