The yellow house
As though cued by some wildlife grapevine, all strays found their way to her. The tiny cottage she had painted the color of Van Gogh's yellow house at Arles seemed all but swallowed up by towering trees, but all strays found it a refuge, a focal point - as though they understood that she too might be a kind of stray. All strays let her settle sometime differences, allowed her to reconcile historic foes as when the crow would fly from his perch to pluck a single hair from the tail of the sleeping cat, until finally she thought she had instilled in her charges a grudging tolerance of each other and a reluctant trust. And the yellow cottage was a sanctuary where, as though recognizing their own kind beyond the outer aspect, within the skin, all strays somehow always beat a path to her.