I remember finding you the first time,
You were cold, frightened and fierce.
You definitely made me feel frightened,
But somehow, I managed to bring you home.
You didn’t want the warm milk I poured out for you,
Neither did you want the strips of chicken I plucked out of my dinner for you.
After a few hours of trying to satiate you and silence the pitiful wails you made,
I left you in a tumble of warm, fresh towels.
When I saw you the next morning,
Having made up my mind that you would have slipped through the window I’d left very slightly open that night,
It was a surprise.
You were purring, drinking from the fresh water in your little plastic bowl,
Looking for all the world like you’d been here from the day you were born.