Pussycats Without the Dolls

While walking home from the bus stop, today, I spotted two cats in front of a couple of the homes, at the other end of my row. These were the same two cats I had seen this morning, on my way to work. They were laying in the same spots. One is white, the other mostly black, with a white underbelly. They seem to spend all their time laying on the driveway in front of the homes at that end of the terraced row. I think the black and white one hangs out in my back garden, from time to time. When there are cars in their favorite spots, they just lay on top of the cars.
What a life! Imagine laying about, doing whatever you want all day. No need to take buses, or work to earn your keep. No wonder cats purr. I have often compared myself to cats, since I was young. The best pet I ever had was my cat, Misty. I can't remember what age I was when I got him, but I know I had him by the time I was eleven. The proof is a Polaroid photo of him, with me, taken with my great aunt, Ann's camera. I am wearing an outfit in that photo that I wore when I was eleven. It would have been the latter half of 1970, or early 1971. I wonder where that photo is now?
Misty was a kitten when he came to live with me. He was silver tabby on the top of his head, on his back, sides and tail. The lower half of his face and body were white, and he had a touch of calico. Most of the time we lived together, he used to come sleep with me. Misty was also good at keeping the mice out of the house, or at least, in hiding so we were never bothered by them. Once in a while, he would kill one. Someday, when I can afford domestic help, I want to get another cat. Comparing myself to cats, I am like a big cat, like a tiger. With me, you can either get the soft fur, or the sharp claws, depending on how you act.
As I walk up to my door, I spot a third cat. This one is long-haired, red tabby with white. He's crouched on the lawn, just past my door. He quietly eyes me as I put my key in the lock. I've seen him in the back garden, as well. So, I have three local cats watching over me. Maybe they are keeping me safe from bad people. My great aunt, Ann used to say, "never trust anyone who doesn't get one well with cats." My evil ex-wife, the Black Queen, didn't like cats. She claimed to be allergic to them. With her, I failed to heed Ann's warning until it was too late. Ann died seventeen years before I met the Black Queen. Misty died eighteen years before I met the Black Queen. So, when I met her, there were no cats to protect me. No aunts either.