No knock at the entrance. It was a small voice. Meow. Just once. I repeated it. Heard it again. Repeat. Loop. We began to echo each other. The meow was so persistent, so small, that I began looking for it under the table, under the bed, behind the sofa. I did not open the door.
A stray kitten visits the building. Other residents have complained about poop, torn things, little nibbled bits. Where does she come from and why? She belongs to no one and yet she is on everybody’s mind. She claws at garbage bags and strews the leftovers around, making us look like yesterday’s slaves.
The other day the door was ajar and she just walked in. It was the first time I had set eyes on her. The coat mimicked a tiger’s, a dustier version. She did a recce of the kitchen, the bathroom, the inside room, the balcony. She seemed to know her way around and also knew her way out.
And then last night I heard her voice. So soft, like a ball of wool she might have chased had she belonged someplace, to someone.
© Farzana Versey