We stood together on Barton street...November. In front of Steve's Bar and Laundromat. A black , white and grey tabby, the type that got the name "Patches" , lay agianst the curb--stiff--dead. I shivered, squeezed you waist. You smiled, your chapped lips cracking, the shredded cloth on your coat flapping in the shrill wind. You gazed intently, looking up the street, searching for some sign of the bus. I gazed at you, remembered the insousiance in your eyes the day we fell in love. A sudden screech--a child zips past, trips over your foot, falls and rolls before the cat. There is a small noise from your throat. The child pokes the cat, smiles, cuddles it to her chest and runs to take it home. I take your hand as we climb aboard the bus--take you to the mall--buy you a new coat.