'Dyllis from the bins', her brother and sister, Blue and Paws - so named as they appeared to me a jazz trio - left to fend for themselves. Blue - big, strong, sleek and silver grey as a pedigree. Paws, smaller, equally silver, dons white stockings ... and Dyllis, the smallest, the singer, always leading on the road to survival; her long black fur out of place in the sun - more Persian than alley cat - bedraggled as a drowned rat in the rain and she, herself, light as a feather boa.
Time passes and Blue leaves the group, chosen to have a home. Paws follows. Dyllis continues alone, sitting on a rock with a far away gaze; long, black fur tangled with burrs and dull. How many winters has she?
We take her home. Will she adapt?
Dyllis becomes a princess, light and neat of paw, dainty and delicate, a feather boa wafting from bed, to sofa, to floor; purring beautifully, preening constantly, viewing films of an evening and captivating our hearts.
Daily, she practises her vocals. Should ever she fall again on hard times, she will don her feather boa and strut her stuff.