29.10.98

"Come on, Little," I coax, holding the ginger-coloured cat/kitten in my careful grasp. He mews softly, a tiny cry of desperation and fear.

We walk outside. Correction: I walk, he is held. He clings tightly to me, digging his claws into the flesh of my shoulder. I'm used to it by now.

Dusk has fallen over the day, and the shadows of the large tree in the middle of the yard swish in time with the breeze, casting darkness over me and the nervous little cat. We reach the halfway point of the backyard and I stand, watching the gauzy moon and slowly emerging stars.

"Come on," I whisper into his fur. "It's not so bad, is it?"

Little mews in reply, looking urgently towards the back door.

"Oh, fine," I sigh. "Be that way."

We walk back inside. Trying to convince an agoraphobic cat to enjoy the fine moments of outside existance is more difficult than anyone would think.