His name was King. He had dark tips on his ears and paws. His tail was dark brown, almost black. His coat was cream-colored with a little tan mixed in. He was beautiful and he seemed to know it. What he was most impressed with, however, was his prowess. He refused to be an indoor cat.
King always knew to come home when Mom would call him. Maybe he was part dog. One day my mom called and called and he didn’t come. We were getting worried when a little girl visiting her grandmother across the street asked if we were looking for our cat. Mom said we were.
“I think he’s in the shed behind our house,” the girl said.
We all went out to look. The shed was closed but when the girl opened the door several cats came running out, fur flying everywhere. King sat in the open doorway licking his paws. None of the flying fur was the same color as his. He seemed to be quite proud of himself.
Another day when King was out a German Shepherd tried to play with him but he didn’t like dogs. King attacked the dog’s nose and he ran away, yelping.
Yep, he was king of the neighborhood.