Mark Evans

There was a beautiful black cat who adopted my wife and me some twenty years ago. When I pulled out my concertina to play a few tunes that evening, she got very excited and jumped on the chair and laid across the back of my neck contentedly purring. It was a nightly routine for five years. Other than that she paid me no mind. My wife was convinced the cat had been a concertina player in another life. Today, all my bulldog Obi does is whimper and ask to go outside. I miss that cat.