My kitty is fun

From Alfred’s journal

The gray cat from the blue house was out on the porch rail all afternoon, and I spent most of it in the dogwood watching her not quite sleep. For years I thought the right word for her was danger, and I said so to Switch more than once, in those tones. But she has never once come closer than the second step, and today she rolled onto her back in the sun with all four feet in the air like something that had given up on the whole business of hunting. My kitty is fun, I wrote, and then sat with how odd the possessive looked, since she is nobody's and certainly not mine. Switch says I have gone soft. Maybe. She was on the rail again at dusk and I was still in the dogwood, and neither of us moved.