Matty Phurr

We're feeding a stray cat in the front yard. He (Matthew Phurr, called Matty) and I have worked out a routine. Early mornings, when I look out, he's there, crouched under an azalea bush by a large oak. I get some fresh water in a glass and the bag of cat food and go out. He retreats. I leave my offerings in bowls near the tree and back away respectfully into the house. Sometimes he's joined by a black cat with a tail that veers to her left. My neighbor three doors down, Adele, and her daughter Ellen are animal softies , too. They befriended the black cat and took her to be spayed, and then released her. But now they have another female and four kittens living in the woods behind their house. Matty is a bedraggled soul, with what seems to be an eye infection and one ear, his right, that has healed badly from an injury. This morning while he was eating, I crept around and got a picture. I hope he and I will become close enough friends that I can betray his trust and trap him to take him to the vet for an alteration and maybe some antibiotics for those eyes.