Patience, thy name is Cat.

Or maybe that should be "Patience, thy name is Orange Cat."

When I got up this morning, the orange cat was in his spot by the back door, curled up on the mat. He must have heard me walking towards the door because as soon as he saw me, he lifted up his head and was in the middle of a yawn when I looked out of the window.

He waits there for me nearly every morning, except for the two days each week when he's off gallivanting heaven-knows-where. Looking for female cats, I would bet.

I will admit that the orange cat is less nasty than he used to be. He no longer tries to scratch me as I put down the bowl of Meow Mix. Rather than scratch, he puts his head down towards my hand and rubs his nose against the back of my hand as I place the food dish on the porch. Then he looks up at me and meows just a tiny bit, watching me as I close the screen door. Only after that door is closed will he start munching on the dry food.

And I watch him eating for a minute or so... still wondering how in the world he found his way back here. And why on earth would he have wanted to come back in the first place?  I'm not being over-friendly with this cat... I don't try to pet him or pick him up (being that I value my life)... and Gatsby has not welcomed him back to the porch with open paws.

We are all just tolerating this orange cat.... feeding him because he's hungry.... making sure he has a comfortable place to sleep on the porch or underneath the stairs. And that's it. I can't catch him and get him to a vet for fixing or vaccinations.... I can't bring him to the shelter because they will immediately put him down after he scratches someone or shows them his ill-mannered side.  And I can't even just drive him to the Lake anymore because that orange cat knows his way back.

So there we have it.... that orange cat, who has no 'real' name.... who wants to be a part of this family but doesn't want to learn proper manners.... but for the time being, he is better behaved than his previous lengthy residence on our porch.

Every morning, I ask that orange cat why he came back. Not only why he came back, but how did he find his way back here.  That alone just boggles the mind.

Even though one of the neighbors suggested the perfect name for this cat (Boomerang) I still refuse to christen him with a real name.  He's still the orange cat.

And he's still here, nearly every day, giving me lessons in patience and tolerance.