Yuki

Yuki, my daughter's deaf white cat had hid in a crouched position with her back to where I waited for a view of her exquisite eyes through the greenery. Lush and overgrown and neglected in its winter splendour even lettuce are peppering the grass walkways of the self-seeding garden. In the communion between us as Yuki turns and gazes at me, we seem conjoined for the love of that dankly green and luxurious place.

When we go inside later to the toasty interior of the old sprawling Federation bungalow, we are nonchalant in the first face of the greeting we are given, I think both of us feeling warmly made special.