A black cat in the long grass

I want to tell a little anecdote, totally insignificant in its importance, that nevertheless made my day like insignificant events usually do.

I was waiting for the train after my interview, in a little station with a terrain nearby full of long grass. It was sunny and hot and very much like June should be, but not a day to wear a suit and be all professional-like. I was hot, I was dehydrated, I was not feeling good and I wanted to be home. I suddenly heard some ruffle among the long grass. At first I thought it was a wounded bird or some kind of biggish rodent, but I paid more attention to the movements and saw a glimpse of a black tail and the head of a black cat. It was one of those short fur black cats, probably feral like there are so many around here. I don't know what it was doing there, hunting or playing, but seeing a cat always makes me happy.

Black cats have of course an undeserved bad reputation, but I love them. The cat that was living with us in Liverpool was black, so it might have played a role in my fondness for them. But even this set aside, I think their colour gives them the grace of little panthers, but they still have this mischievous nature small felines have. If I had to adopt a cat choosing only by its colour, I would get a black one. Anyway, with the heat and the long grass, it was as if I was looking at a little panther in the savanna.