Read by Matilda Longbottom

IIn early June, as I was admiring my white hydrangea mopheads mingling with the Dr. Seuss-like red bee balm, a furry black-and-white head emerged amid the Annabelles. Summer, one of my feral cats and the most exotic bloom in my garden, blinked her owlish eyes at me and surveyed her domain.

I welcomed Summer and her companions into my life during December, a time when my garden lay dormant, wrapped in Winter’s embrace. Sheltered in large crates on my deck, overlooking the desolate landscape, they timidly ventured forth into their new home. Summer, Shelley, and Sandy—each with their unique markings—were tasked with curbing the local rodent population, though they seemed initially hesitant to embrace their newfound freedom.

With gentle encouragement, they began to explore, venturing into neighboring yards, always returning to the sanctuary of my garden. As Winter thawed into Spring, they flourished, becoming integral parts of the garden’s tapestry. Amidst the lush growth, they found joy in playful ambushes and lazy afternoons basking in the sun.

Unexpectedly, they also sought affection, weaving themselves into the fabric of my daily life. Summer, in particular, became a constant companion, her purrs a soothing melody as she rubbed against my legs, demanding attention. Shelley, too, surrendered to the allure of human touch, while Sandy maintained her aloof demeanor, observing from a distance.

Beyond companionship, they became my gardening allies, albeit in their unique ways. Unkinking hoses, kneading grass, and providing an ample supply of fertilizer, they added their own touch to the garden’s upkeep. Occasionally, they even proved their worth by warding off unwanted visitors, though their pursuits sometimes veered into playful mischief.

As Summer waned and Autumn approached, I reflected on the joys and challenges of another gardening season. Amidst the inevitable setbacks, my feral trio remained a constant source of beauty and amusement. They reminded me that perfection in the garden is elusive, but the magic of companionship, both feline and floral, is ever present. ❖

About the Author: Kathy Klein is a retired editor who has found solace and joy in tending her garden, despite the meteorological challenges of living in Chicago. Her love for both words and plants has blossomed over the years, leading to the publication of various essays, including “Rosemary Is for Remembrance” in GreenPrints magazine. When not immersed in her garden, Kathy enjoys writing, reading, and spending time with her family