Odin

Two summers ago a litter of cats was birthed in the tin shed in the garden next door. Strays. I considered briefly doing something about them, but not sure what that something was, I did nothing except leave out some water when the weather got really hot.
Then, last spring, we had new people next door, come in to refurbish the place and sell it. The cats were fully grown, and suddenly seemed to be hanging around much more. There were eight that I could see. I've always got on well with cats, so didn't mind that they had taken up residence on and under porches, in the sheltered places around the house.
I learned, just as the house next door was going on the market, that they had been feeding the cats. The woman concerned had been trying to just feed the one cat - the one with the milky eye, the one who couldn't hunt well. The one living under our holly bushes. The thing was, she had no idea how much one small cat ate, and so had been putting out enough food for all of them.
A month ago the people next door departed, and most of the cats went too, although a couple stayed in the ally to scrounge from bins. The cat with the milky eye seemed to be gone.
Then the ice storm came. It was bad. The cat with the milky eye holed up under the back porch. Tim gave it tuna after some discussion regarding the wisdom of feeding wild animals.
It took up residence on the back porch. I gave it some more milk and tuna one day when it looked particularly hungry (yeah, okay, you can read cute for hungry). Then today it was bold enough to sit on the porch all day. It only ran away when one of us was out there, and even then it didn't run far.
I gave it a box with a blanket. It has it's own dish. Tim named it Odin. It's hanging from the back door looking in at the window as I write.
I think we've been adopted.