She slips out of the shadows, a narrow opening between two weathered wood planks reminiscent of barns. But this is a city cat. Not that it matters all that much... the life expectancy is the same. Thick, matted hair protects against the unpredictable and extreme changes in weather. Light feet and wily eyes always on alert for deadly dogs and potential prey.
The structures of cities, just as those of the farm, will eventually crumble and decay. So much more quickly do living things die. We are all but ghosts, slipping into this life for a moment, then passing away, like a stray cat who appears in a darkened corridor, then darts back into the black abyss, never to be seen again.
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