Where is my Romeo?

Mr. Black-with-White-Patches has not turned up on top of the bin at the front door for days. Neither has he been calling my name in the back garden in the evenings. The nights are turning dark and cold earlier each day, but there has been few traces of him.

I understand that my boyfriend is not always welcomed near the house. When he woos with his high-pitch, trembling, masculine song, Chris (our loving neighbour) would shush him and try to scare him with rattling sounds, flying tomatoes and occasionally tennis balls - or honestly, any object nearest to him. It is odd that human beings feel offended by our love acts. It is only natural for the male species to spread their seeds – for Mr. Black-with-White-Patches, that is on the bin, along the fence, by the door steps, on my back…and any household he could sneakily get into.

But at the moment, where are you, my Romeo? Everywhere I turn, there are thoughts of your presence.

Peno