It was a breezy spring or late winter day when I had just stepped down from the front porch of my family house. Lunch was concluded (a good old vegetable soup) and I was feeling the need for a little walk around the block. I got off the steps and lo and behold, a black tail swooshes past me.
Curious teenage me, looks around, thinking where is the little one? Of course, I knew who it was - his tale had been fed to me by various family members and the neighbours that took care of him. As he rounded the tiles of our front porch and tried to sneak on me I saw his cute little face for the first time.
Crazy John was the name they gave him and I could already see why. This one is energetic as heck! I think and I lower my posture waiting for him to approach. He doesn't so I turn to leave. Resuming the walk that had not yet commenced I took to the streets. I looked back once and found my porch deserted, but a small black tail rose up from my neighbour's front garden. So there he was.
The block I knew by then like the back of my hand. Many a times had I spent walking the cosy streets of our suburban home. And so, without much thought, I rounded the corner re-emerging outside my house. There he awaited me. Shy at first, he didn't dare show it. Eventually, he succumbed to his own curiosity and came to greet me. Crazy John purred and threw his head on my track pants, a warmth exuding from him. I pet him with affection and resumed my walk.
Each time I rounded the corner that day, our old pine tree visible, I'd spot him there waiting eagerly for attention. And I obliged every time.