His name is Prince. He had a mate named Purple Rain.

She has been gone since November. A part of the circle.

Either by hawk or eagle or coyote.

She stayed close to the barn. Snuggled with the dogs.

He was the wanderer. Ran from the dogs.

He survives. Barn cats either survive or they don’t.

A good life. His and mine.

Fresh air. Warm shelter. Sun sleeping.

I walk down the hill to feed him. He waits to curl around my ankle.

Just a little love. Kibbles are what he really wants.

He is a fine hunter. A rabbit will find its end by Prince.

A noble death.

Much like Purple Rain’s.

We all live and die in the circle.