There was a cat that came around to the back yard some mornings. It only appeared when Leandro was alone on the back porch, maybe peeling potatoes for his mother or fixing something for his grandfather, or simply sitting and enjoying the low morning sun.
When Leandro saw the cat poke its head warily through the bottom fence and take a first tentative step into the yard, he would hurry to the kitchen, rummage in the bin for scraps of meat or fish, and hurry back out, laying the food on a flat stone to one side of the patch of threadbare grass that passed for a lawn. Smelling the food, the cat—a ragged tabby—would scamper to it and scoff away, letting Leandro stroke its head and back. Once finished, it remained for a few moments, purring with pleasure, before padding off and back through the fence, on its way to whatever important business it had that morning.
