Sammy and the Cat

In the fading light of this Wednesday afternoon, Sam the dog and I ambled back from the dog park. He lagged behind, out of breath from a brisk game of Frisbee, I in no hurry to get home and put on the water for dinner. We passed a bunch of dried-out mushrooms, the stems withered so only the dessicated caps remained, graying in a hilly lawn. I paused for a moment at a box on a neighbor's curb, in which was a small give-away pile of books: The Whale and the Reactor and two books in a series named Judaism for Young People. Sammy the dog took interest in an all-black cat preening in the subtle light of late day on a low wooden railing. The cat sat erect and proud, took notice of Sam but did not budge as the gap between them diminished. I, in no hurry, stopped to let Sam marvel at this mysterious and wild creature whose owner released to the suburban wilderness, who was seeming to do better than thrive, was the king of his domain and to whom a dog much larger in stature posed no threat. Sam the dog minded his manners, even as I paid slack into his leash - never letting go, but tempting his instinct. The regal cat eventually lost interest, his eyes gazing elsewhere, and we moved on.