by Dr. G. A. Anderson

Created on: April 18, 2008

The best black cat story happened to me
in the year of nineteen eighty-three.
On Halloween morning, just after eight,
I found him at the kitchen gate.

A tiny meow, a tiny black kitten,
eyed me pleadingly, and I was smitten.
Slight of body but thick of fur,
wasn't sure if he was a him or a her.

But a he was what he turned out to be,
and happily inside he followed me.
I thought it amazing on Halloween day,
that a black cat would show up just that way.

I called him Jack, short for Black Jack,
though I toyed with the idea of calling him Mac.
I had never named all-black cat
but he seemed to be satisfied being called Jack.

He stayed with us until his teens,
and I think of him still on Halloweens.
I remember how Black Jack won me over
at the gate on that day in late October.

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