The Kindness of Strangers

At the Lake Cheston dam bridge, a large black and white cat lounged.

"Is the cat yours?" I asked the man teaching his children to cast.

"Yep."

"Does he follow you all or the dog?"

"Us! Usually our second cat walks with us, too."

I liked the man teaching his children to cast, finding it normal that his cats would join them on a stroll, belling his cat.

That large cat joined me on my stroll, rubbing my legs, weaving through them, lying on the path and rolling in the dirt, then running flat out ahead of me, turning and running back.

I didn't even need to call Here kitty kitty! because the cat was calling me, on.

At the trestle bridge, that black and white cat ran up the iron as if to dare his own companion, a female muted tortie who suddenly appeared. She too made my acquaintance, and then satisfied to have found each other, they nosed one another and lingered while I walked on.

Two more turns and I picked up other strange companions, a group six ducks, male and female, I think, adult and young, I think. They drifted toward the beach and I loped along on the path. When they stopped, I stopped, and when they paddled, I wandered.

For a moment, I feared they would fly off, startled as they were by the sight and sound of man and boy and two dogs, who happily did not see me or my ducks, and disappeared up the hill. Left with my little flock, I studied them and they ignored me, and when they turned back toward to the fat of the lake, I crossed over and wove around to find them joining a seventh duck, another kind, who had found the right place to dive.

All in all, I enjoyed a companionable stroll among strangers: two children learning to cast, one wet hairy dog, one kind man, two curious cats, and seven ducks of two kinds. That's my kind of late afternoon.