Stuck

She sunk to her belly and crawled into the dusty space under the polyethylene weatherproof planks. No amount of pleading would get her out. She was trembling with fear but looked you in the eye with her arms crossed. Oh, brother. At least we have beer. A neighbor grabbed a broom.

"I don't think poking her with a broom will help," I said, unhelpfully.

Flat on his stomach he persisted until acknowledging it hadn't.

Another person retrieved the skimmer net from the pool and a long pole with a lasso. They were handed up to the porch by yet another set of neighbors, who had seen a woman in a skirt lying on her belly on astro turf with an open can of tuna--me--and said nothing.

Still, the prodding, the cajoling did nothing. She backed away into the darkest corner.

Someone wrenched off the bottom part of the drainage pipe, so she wouldn't cut herself on the way out. But she turned her large body to face the corner, unimpressed.

Finally the night came on and I lay on my back and sang her name to her, again and again. I bade the remaining neighbors leave with their Natural light beer-stimulated loud voices. I lit a candle, flipped up my computer screen to write this blog, with the flashlight on my iPhone shining toward her, and suddenly her warm face rubbed against mine. Cat lady. I don't care.