And in the mail, another card arrived from my friend Charley -- despite his cancer and opiate-induced forgetfulness -- with a photo of Bird, who, he writes, "arrived one spring morning several years ago, parking her tussock in a sycamore for several days. She refused to come down until I sat reverentially in a yoga position offering friskies under the tree."
On a rainy day, I think of the cats and the humans who save them.
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