He (or possibly she) started to be seen skulking around the edges of my yard a few months ago. He was painfully thin, tabby gray with white socks, chest and nose, dull and lifeless. He was skittish, darting away into the woods if one of us appeared suddenly. I named him Bob as somewhere on his travels he lost most of his tail. Not very original and possibly defamatory, but there you are.

Bob has never known the touch of a human hand. Bob has never let me get any closer than 20 feet, and even in this, poised to dart away at any moment. Bob has never spent a night indoors. Instead, at twilight he melts back into the woods behind my house to sleep among the leaves and roosting birds and earthworms and possums. Bob doesn’t know that when I say “Here Kitty Kitty…” I am talking to him.

Bob disappears for stretches of time, and I begin to worry that something has befallen him. Then one day he appears again, at the edge of the woods, stalking across the neighbor’s yard, and once lolling luxuriantly in my flower bed.

So, after a time, I bought cat food, leaving it and water a safe distance from the house. At first, he would not come near if I was outside and if I accidentally startled him mid-meal, away he ran. But one day I came upon him and he simply paused, sizing me up and went back to eating. I gingerly lowered myself into a patio chair, taking great care not to look at him, conscious of the honor being bestowed on me. And he stayed.

After that day he waits for me, staring at the door I will come out, and he allows me stay and watch him eat. Now he takes time after his meal to stretch luxuriously, and groom his now healthy and lustrous coat, his white whiskers stand at attention and gleam in the morning sun.

Now most mornings we sit in companionable silence, together taking in the wonder of the new day. We ask nothing of each other. We sit, eyes slitted at the occasional cool breeze, we cock our heads in tandem at birdsong, we watch leaves now beginning to fall, we watch squirrels capering. Then we part, me into the house to get ready for work, and he into the mysteries of his day.

The other morning when I filled his bowl, I saw carefully laid beside it a dead mole, tiny and perfect. Eyes never opened upon this world, pink paws lifted as in prayer. Left for me by Bob, an offering or perhaps a thank you of sorts. Bob, you are entirely welcome.