What For?

There was a man once who lived in a little cabin out in the woods--far out from any sort of regular houses--contentedly, albeit a bit lonely-like. He had friends whom he would go and visit and take gifts to that he had made, and whom he was always writing letters to and invitations to his little hermitage, which sometimes returned with red stamps on them that the address could not be found, or returned with a kindly written excuse, or like some, didn't return at all.

But the man was far from discouraged. All around his cabin were woodlands and meadows and a pond and tall tree holes and little burrows and salty places and berry patches and as a result of so much plenteous extravagance, so there were also woodpeckers and 'coons and deer and bear and meadow voles and ants and the man delighted in seeing them come and partake of the natural wild delicacies and would talk to them from his porch as he saw them. Because there was no one unfriendly ever visiting the little cove of contentment, the man's four-footed and two-winged neighbors trusted him and minded not his companionship (we might even suppose that they enjoyed it).

One day as the man knelt in the dirt outside his cabin removing a few rare weeds that had come up amongst his lillies and humming, he saw out of the corner of his eye a little orange cat who was sitting under one of his tall pine trees and watching him. He was so surprised that for one split second he noticed that he had stopped humming and then his first thought considered it queer that such a creature would have come way out to his place when there were no houses for miles, and his second observation was that the cat was very small and very thin. He felt compassion and made a little friendly sound in his throat at which the puss dashed into the ferns behind the pine tree and was gone.

Several days went by and the man could not get the little cat out of his head. He began calling the creature Amie and although he would tap his forehead every time he did it and call himself daft, he began putting food out, fresh every day and making those friendly noises in his throat quite often. Six days went by and nothing happened, and then the next morning, he noticed that a little food had disappeared and it was with much excitement that he sat and watched his woodland friends that evening, whispering in such a joyful fashion that one after one he saw them lift their heads from their banquet, look at him, and move even closer.

The next morning a tiny sheltered and padded woven basket appeared next to the man's porch and this time he thought himself so silly that he would not admit to himself that he had put it there and like a addled fellow kept blaming it on "that compassionate man who lived down in the pond a ways." But he couldn't help his excitement about the piece of food being gone and he didn't stop to think if it had been one of the 'coons.

Three days and several morsels later, the man spotted a speck of orange over by the ferns and restraining himself to only one friendly noise, made himself keep working. To his elatement, more orange appeared and the cat hesitantly li-ft-ed--sl-o-w-ly--eac-h--p-aw across the clearing and arriving tentatively at the dish, ate some food. That night the bed had been slept in, and the next morning found the man waiting to serve Amie some breakfast.

Whoa! Not so fast! A helper? Amie sprinted for the ferns and was so fast that the man wondered if the repast had even been noticed. Well, Amie would be very hungry for supper, and so he waited, kindly.

But supper was two days later. The man dared hope that the friendly noises helped draw Amie back, although reason told him that it was the food. Then again... what was touching his fingers, soft-like and...and...fur? He couldn't look... but he knew he was being studied and his fingers quivered under the examination... and shivered so that Amie scurried to the ferns, but he could see the pert orange face peering at him... and drawing nearer.

Three more mealtimes were spent in this fashion and each time the man noticed that less food was getting eaten and more time was absorbed in an odd vibrating underneath the flaming coat and a strange pressure against his knees and loving hands. But that wasn't all. His berrypicking one morning was disturbed by a rustling in the bushes and a squeaky call and a special time of companionship and understanding nose-rubs. That night he left the window open an inch and a half wider than normal... and after a close encounter with glowing eyes, the mans feet were clothed with gladness--in other words, a little orange cat called Friend.