Black Bart

Today is Bart's Gotcha Day: the anniversary of the day he came into the house to live with us.

Read about it in last year's journal entry.

Bart continues to amaze. He is just such a nice cat that it is hard to believe that this is the same cat who hissed and lunged at me when we had him caged in 2003, the shy "feral" who would skulk for cover if he even thought we were looking at him. A year ago, I assumed he had been born in the woods and grown up feral. Now, evidence suggests that he was once accustomed to a house and living with people. How he lost that life and came to live the fearful, desperate life of a stray is something I will never know. Nor will I know why it was that he decided--at the end of the summer of last year--to make his hestitant approach to us that ended with him becoming one of the housecats.

I just know he is a marvel and a mystery, this sturdy, sleek black cat that nibbles my toes and weaves between my ankles when I go for coffee in the morning, who comes when he's called and purrs with pure abandoned when we caress him.

I am so glad he decided to take the first tentative steps in trusting us.