I saw him for the first time hiding,
under the porch chair,
cowering in fear of me.
His golden eyes stared at me,
weary and cautious,
drilling holes through my body.
I called him to me and made the cat noise,
the sound everyone knows as universal.
Still he stayed.
The next time I saw him,
he was under the porch chair,
soaking wet from the rain.
My heard bleed for him,
and I stood in the pouring rain,
refusing to leave, for he was not alone.
The next time I saw him,
he sat in front of the porch chair,
slightly closer to me,
I bent down and he ran away from my outstretched hand.
The next time I saw him,
he was closer,
a few feet in front of the porch chair.
He meowed,
a sound so sad and lonely,
I begged him to come nearer,
but he did not.
The next time I saw him,
he was at the front door,
looking in.
I went out into the hot day,
and sat with him, for hours.
Though he did not come to me,
he did not run either.
The next time I saw him,
I crouched onto my haunches,
and felt his white, brown, and black fur.
He meowed and crouched,
but did not run.
Now, I see him everyday,
I pet him everyday,
I tell him he has a home now.
That whoever hurt him would not do so again.
He did not run, instead he laid next to me.
Content at last,
Home at last.
He curled in a ball,
sleepy and peaceful,
feeling that he could finally trust another.