Night, the moon and the neighbour's cat.

It is night again and a thin sheen of cloud covers the stars and the moon shines silver through this subtle veil.
Last week all of the houses around were dark. Not a light shone, not a chimney smoked.
It is not cold. Yesterday a fire burned and we all lay in the luxury of a warm house. Outside in the daytime the sun was warm like summer but as night fell a chill bit into the air and it was good to have a fire, to see the smoke rise dark from the chimney.
Tonight it is not cold, there is no fire and lights shine from all the windows in all of the houses. People come and go from these houses. No cats live there. Apart from in the small white house next door where the old man lives who thinks we are one cat. He does not see well but he is kind and likes to give is food and talk to us in Welsh. He has a cat, and in his garden his lifetime of cats sleep in small marked graves. When the moon is full their ghosts join us to sing in praise of her light. He is old and his life is marked out in cats and there are many, some black, some black and white and some gray. Once there was a ginger cat there, called Ewan, but he left to seek his fortune. Maybe one day he will come back. For now he lives with Nadolig, pied cat, a fierce fighter and hunter, not a lap cat, half wild.
He goes his own way.