I had left my scarf on the front porch the day before.

It was sitting on a chair, and a string hung down from it.

That morning, a stray cat noticed it.

It batted at the string,

As if the cat thought it were some toy,

And as the cat pulled at it, it became a little longer.

It was an orange cat with black stripes,

And the pupils in its eyes reminded me of the midnight sky.

I didn’t notice the cat then,

And when it heard the sound of the door opening it darted away.

I picked up the scarf.

I wore it as I walked down the block.

It protected my face from the cold, even though it had begun to unravel.

I fiddled with the string as I walked.

The cat saw the thread, and it followed me.

All the way to my destination, then back home.

I still didn’t notice it.

When I went inside, I left the scarf on the chair again.

Every morning I would walk, and leave my scarf outside,

And every day, the cat would follow me.

One day, I saw my reflection in the side mirror of my parent’s car,

Which had been parked in our drive way.

The pupils of my eyes reminded me of the midnight sky. 

The cat was always there.

It didn’t know who I was, but it was always following me, watching,

Even as it went unnoticed.

Every time I wrapped the scarf around my neck,

It would have one more hole from the cat’s claws,

And every time I walked, I would fiddle with the ever growing string.

Then one day, the scarf was gone.

I looked around the corner of my house,

And when I did, I finally noticed the cat,

Sitting on the ground, playing with the scarf.

Now I have a pet cat,

It still follows me,

And in the cats eyes I still see reflected my own, 

Not because it stares at me and my worn scarf,

But because when I looked at it, that day, I saw a cat playing with a string,

And I thought, “That cat is just like me.”