Our strays

I was at a corporation the other day, sitting in its beautiful lobby waiting for my host. There were three women; one is sitting at the receptionist desk, two standing over the counter. I listened as they talked. “My cat is lonely.” It sounded as if the receptionist had two cats and one of them died. She then mentioned a stray that lives behind her home. Another woman said, “I got a stray who was housebroken.” I pulled out my palm pilot because I had to write this down. For example, this: “Marco doesn’t like to be combed.” I was sitting in that lobby with the hope that I was asked to be there because the coporation wanted to finance Villages Without Walls. I know strays – stray youth who need a home, stray youth who need to be brushed and housebroken. I thought if my eight boys were cats or dogs, I would have a better chance at raising money for the strays living in our backyards.