For the past couple of weeks I’ve been working on a poem about a childhood memory of a stray cat that my mother took in for a short time. Shared it again in last night’s workshop. This morning, walked with Charlie and Suzi under a silver sky. I wasn’t feeling 100% and thought I’d keep my walk short. I walked down the railroad tracks that run between the wetlands of Rocky Narrows; cattails and redwing blackbirds and geese dominate on both sides. All of a sudden I noticed out of my right eye a cat. I nodded hello and then did a double take. A cat? I’ve walked these woods and wetland trails, daily, for twenty years, and never have I seen a cat. A stray cat? I remembered I’m writing a poem, of course, and better stop and find out what this cat is all about. Charlie and Suzi were cautious, but kept a respectful distance. The cat looked self-protective. And cold. And hungry. I didn’t think it was a good idea to try and pick the cat up and walk home with it, afraid it would be riled up by the dogs, and vice versa. So, I marked the spot with some sticks. I had to turn back and get home in time for a video appointment I had just made with the doctor about my sinuses. Smartly, I took a picture. The dogs followed me home, a little sad at the change of plan. I felt like I was walking home inside my own poem. I posted the cats picture on Nextdoor Sherborn, hoping it belongs to someone and might be found again. I could at least bring hopeful news of a sighting. I had my appointment and got my anti-biotic if I decide to take it. Then, I thought again about the cat; I wanted the cat not to be left alone and hungry in the woods. So, as soon as a break in my day came, I put on my sneakers and went out the door carrying a bag with milk and salmon. My poem told me what to do: from my cabinet I found the cracked bowl; one from an old set of my mother’s every day dishes that she had broken (or, one of us kids, most likely) and glued back together again. The scar line of the crack is still visible on the white bowl and there’s an additional chip. The salmon was past its prime and I had saved it for the dogs. I walked back to the spot in the wetlands between the tracks. No cat. But I poured the milk into the dish and left the salmon for the cat where I hope it will be discovered.