Mad Mog - THE RETURN

THE NEIGHBOUR I haven’t seen for three years, not a whisker, landed with a thump and parting of leaves, cries of recognition and the early courtesies of long absence. 

I thought she were dead, or geriatric, rueing the faster breed of mouse and finding that garden walls were higher than they used to be. 

I’ve had a decade birthday in the intervening time, now she has a rheumy eye, but that aside we look in fine fettle, or so I told each other as fur flying, we cuddled and purred.  The only neighbourhood mog smart enough to negotiate my insect screen net without a hissing squalling tangle, Mad Mog called at will, appeared at my feet, surprised at my bedside, vetted my guests, harried the house spiders and went on her way again.  She came and went so frequently, it was like having a cat of my own.  Fur collected amongst the dust.  A smeary of grime from her self stroking passage marred the lower edges of door jambs.  Never hungry, she’s loved at home, well catered for chip and pinned, Mad Mog didn't come for the food that I would provide a needy visitor.  I gave her nothing yet still she visited and I got into the habit of checking she wasn’t here each time I locked up and left. 

Two kittens, brother and sister, one black one gold and now grown, have taken pussy possession of the jungle that my yard has become.  They in their curiosity have each attempted access, both confounded and black one entrapped in the netting.  Their youthful bombast, I’d thought, would be too much for an old puss, high wall notwithstanding and perhaps it was. 

But, I’m not forgotten and I shall check the premises carefully when I leave for my feet and the chair legs are being face wiped as I type. 
There’s a floor level purring.