I’m worried about Speedy, the feral cat. Since these past few days I’ve

not gone to the cemetery. I asked Felipe the cemetery cleaner to open

his tuna cans. I hope he’s ok. What happens, is that he kind of keeps his

distance from me. Yes, he feels the hour in his belly and shows up for

some dinner. Which I place in a small steel plate I rinse with my bottle

of water. Five feet away from me. He looks at me with those beautiful

eyes of his. We lock ourselves in a brief exchange of love and

empathy for each other. I, admiring his dexterity and deep cunning at

surviving in such an empty and full place of stones, and he…looking at

me inquisitively…what is this man about? Unpacking things…my can of

tuna…his drink…reading by the light of that petrol lamp…and staying

awake way long into the night. I keep an eye on him from the tree

nearby. In case some rat gets too close to him. I think Speedy is a great

thinker. Having to have his survival skills ready at the fall of the next

tree leaf. Thus, that gives me assurance he is OK.

I shall see you soon, my dear friend.

EO