He was so very handsome.
He had long hair – almost copper-colored, and it framed his face like a lion's mane.
I saw him for the first time today, walking to work, to The New Place.
He just stood there, as if he had been waiting for me.
Our eyes met – I was held fast by his burnished, amber eyes.
Then he meowed.
Yes; this was a most attractive cat. With fur that was deep and tawny – the outer hairs red as if they had been dipped in lava. He allowed me to scratch him under the chin, and then stood next to my ankles as if to say "I will stand just this close; that's quite enough for a first meeting."
I then tried to stroke his back, when he suddenly sprang away, twisting like a hooked fish. I felt just the slightest gleam of feline teeth against my hand. I then heard an exclamation of dismay from behind me anad I turned to meet his owner, who apologized profusely: "I am so sorry – but he's had such a bad week…he doesn't know what the neighborhood's coming to: he's been chased by dogs, he's getting into catfights…and he hurt his back, so he doesn't like it touched…he just feels as if his space is being invaded…I really am sorry, I should have told you…"
I of course told her not to worry at all. I mean, who hasn't rebelled against pain and victimization?
I learned that his name was Luke.
Clearly what we had there was a failure to communicate.