I called out her name when I came into the house.  If only I had called out the correct name.   My mistake.   I would pay later.   Of course she didn’t come greet me.   Although she eventually came to investigate, hearing a strange voice in the house intermixed with laughter.  My friend and I had settled ourselves in two comfy chairs on the cold winter’s evening and when Stella appeared all white and fluffy she stared me down and then hopped in a chair, crossed over a table and finally stood on the arm my chair.    Her inspection continued until she claimed me and allowed me to rub her back.

A white haze of fur floated about the room, up into the light of the lamp, over the footstool and onto my notebook keyboard.   She purred.   And as I continued to chat with her owner,  Stella snarled at me as if to say, “Pay attention.”

“Yes mam,”  I said and she gave me a look that only a cat, sure of herself,  can give.   Supreme.

“She’s magical, don’t you know,”  my friend said.    

“Oh really?”

“Yes,   her disguise is her white coat, but underneath she’s a black cat–at heart.”  

And so that’s how Stella and I met.   

I asked her permission to tell you her stories.  So far she says, “No!”  


© Glenda Kotchish

February 1, 2017