Sometimes it does happen you cannot tell a story. If it prompts strongly enough for outline or drafting, afterward it must be put aside, kept for some future, unknown eventuality. Filed away. Sensitivities of various sorts might be involved, usually identification of personalities, delicate or dangerous subjects. Sometimes the material was simply too blunt and direct, too strongly declarative.
In this case the matter presented flatly and rather awkwardly; head-on.
A cat feeder in the acquaintance was found at her usual corner, on the grass in the midst of her litter. Pigeons, crows, mynahs & sparrows hovering roundabout.
Against the legal order, this lady surreptitiously continued to feed the birds as well as cats, usually early in the morning before dawn. After so many weeks the fowls recognised her and flocked whenever she appeared. They would even wait outside her door mornings and evenings at her usual times.
Approaching 7pm. Lady providing for her outdoor lot. The fact the birds might be stealing some of the feed behind her back was nothing to do with her, Mr Policeman.
Crouched on the approach and fixed in her purpose.
Coming closer across the road, the handsome B/W tab between her feet was sighted.
Stout & thick-bodied, rather like herself, the animal was relishing the choice feed this lady gave both her indoor favourites, and also this the near segment of her outdoor. (Expensive Belgian product saved in the long run with vet fees & related.)
Greedily the beauty here—and it was indeed a beauty—tupped at her stainless, azure bowl. Feeder close behind caressing with both hands along its flanks.
Stroking rhythmically she was, the lady, with some rapidity. Firmly and with grip. This was no mere patting of the coat.
Coming from a squatting culture, the thickset old Feeder easily maintained her posture, concentrated carefully above the figure before her.
In that pose the lady’s panties might have been clearly visible, did one direct the gaze in that region.
Standing little over a metre off in the gutter watching, the lady failed to discern the onlooker’s presence.
Fixed and closely focused the while.
We did have there a decidedly tricky/sticky circumstance.
The observer might creep off perhaps. Perhaps the lady would entirely fail to notice. Even if she did, the marking of the retreat might not come until after the cat had finished with its lusty feeding.
Otherwise, one could venture a cheery Hallo and negotiate the further in some fashion.
Stroking and stroking. The ritual prayers within the niche at the Hindu temples oddly came to mind.
Beautiful form this puss; not unlike the lingam. Rich, healthy colour; handsome
proportions.
Ordinarily it might not have allowed such close attendance upon itself.
Haig Road, Singapore
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