January 20, 2016 § Leave a comment

A Word Portrait.

Thick soft fur. A hint of teeth. Vibrations rumbling through her like a purr. A flash of claws. Dilating pupils. Flickering ears, up-back-down-forward with conflicting moods.

When a domestic animal like a cat or dog grows a little wild, unused to human interaction, skittering on the edges of civilization … it’s become feral. Watching passersby with wide glowing eyes. Daring a suburban porch for a bowl of food, left out to coax it near. Bolting a safe distance away at any hint of approach, then stopping, staring, caught between wanting and fear.

She is like this: half-feral, craving contact and closeness, wary of those who might provide it. Earn her trust through slow patient waiting, quiet soft voice, no sudden movements, and she’s a pouncing wriggling purring creature. But the claws are still there, and the edge of wildness, and she can flee back into the urban jungle if she needs it.


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